His Read Free

light of the flashlight he’d pointed at us. I’d been too incapacitated with pneumonia to even react.
    But he’d surprised me and helped us. I’ll never forget it. Now we’re a threesome. Me, my kid sister, and a thirty-six-year-old Mexican man with a wicked scar across his cheek and only one hand.
    But Bean can take care of business with the hand he has left. I trust him with Bethy. Without him, I don’t know if we’d still be here. Even with his help, in dark moments I’ve considered surrendering to the people who are looking for Bethy and me.
    No.
    Every time that thought creeps in, I dig deep and find the strength to keep going. We’ve been living this life for four and a half years. What’s two more?
    Bethy coughs and I stiffen. That hacking sound is one of the reasons I decided to come back down to the tunnels at night. Bethy’s sick, and we can’t keep sleeping outside in this weather.
    The glow of a lantern ahead illuminates the forms of around a dozen people. My hand instinctively lowers to the knife strapped to my thigh.
    “Me first,” Bean says when we’re close enough that people start turning to look at us. He pushes his way through the group and into the darkened alcove where we’ll sleep tonight.
    It smells like pot smoke and vomit. But the icy wind isn’t cutting into my skin like it does outside. I’ll make that trade.
    Bethy shrugs off the sleeping bag strapped to her back, and I help her spread it out. Her eyes meet mine as she crawls inside, and even in the dim light of the nearby lantern I see the question there.
    Are we eating tonight?
    She won’t ask me out loud. She learned a long time ago that asking just reminds us how hungry we are. I kind of wish she would ask me, though. I wish she’d give me a dirty look and say she hates me for taking away her warm bed and full stomach at home in exchange for this.
    The guilt eats me up. I wish she’d confront me about this miserable existence. I wouldn’t even try to defend myself at this point.
    But she won’t. She trusts me completely. She keeps me up when I get down. And that makes it so much worse when I fail her.
    “I’ll go up for food,” I say. Her eyes light hopefully.
    “I got it,” Bean says, zipping up his worn canvas coat.
    “You sure?”
    He takes a small handgun from his pocket and passes it to me.
    “Take my gun,” he says loudly. “It’s loaded.”
    Several heads swivel in our direction. Bean just protected us with his words. I take the weapon and nod.
    His boots crunch against the shards of gravel on the ground as he heads away from the tunnel. I sit with my back to Bethy, the gun in my lap. Its presence will scare off most people who’d consider jumping us, but others are crazy and desperate enough to jump me in an attempt to steal the gun.
    I hope Bean comes through with food. Between a decent meal and some rest, Bethy might be feeling better tomorrow.
    A man with a long beard and wild eyes studies me from twenty feet away. I cock the gun and point it at him. He turns away, and I lower it back to my lap, sighing.
    Sometimes surviving is exhausting.

    Bethy is coughing so hard she has to stop walking. She bends over and takes a few deep breaths, but she immediately starts coughing again right after.
    Bean locks eyes with me for an instant. He’s worried. I am, too. I’m about out of my mind with worry. It’s been three days since we started sleeping in the tunnel, and Bethy’s cough has only gotten worse.
    “It’s okay,” I say, placing a hand on her back.
    But it’s not. She needs rest and food, and maybe medicine, too. We have to clear out of the tunnels at sunrise every morning. That’s an unwritten rule of sleeping down there. If we get busted, we’ll all lose out, so we only stay there when it’s dark.
    “I hear there’s a free clinic downtown,” Bean says.
    “No.”
    His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t press me. Bean doesn’t know why I refuse to go anywhere that requires ID, but