part 3, Friends in Low Places

"Who-" I began.

"Shhh," she said as she placed her hand against my mouth, her bosom against my body. She smelled of lavender, "Don't make a sound."

I could hear the clowns as they ran by the door and down the alleyway.  After a moment of hurried squeaks as they searched for me, we heard them retreat back to their tiny car, more squeaks as they piled in and then drove away.  As my new found friend leaned against me, I grimaced in pain as she inadvertently brushed against my wound.

"Sorry," she said as she looked down apologetically at my side as she removed her hand from my face, "Come on, we need to take care of that."

"Who are you? Where did you come from?" I finished asking.

"You can call me Lyla.  We have to get moving.  I promise I'll answer all of your questions once we get to where its safe," she said as she walked past me a slowly opened the door, carefully checking to make sure the area was clear. She walked out the door and up the nearby fire escape.

"This way," she said. "It's not far, just up here. Clowns have trouble climbing.  Their big feet make it difficult to navigate a ladder."

With a roll of my eyes, I followed her up the ladder, "Well, duh!" I muttered to no one.  I then followed her across the rooftops to the next block over.

"Down there," she said, pointing to the subway entrance across the street and started down the next fire escape.  Sticking to the shadows, she ran across the street and slowly started down the stairway to beneath the city.  I followed her lead. When we reached the platform, she jumped down onto the track and headed down the tunnel.

She said "Don't worry," as if reading my mind, "This area is clear. We sweep it regularly.  Our base of operations is just up here."

"We?" I asked as I followed her into darkness.

She stopped next to a maintenance door.  As she opened it, she turned with a smile and said, "Mr. 'Clown-Hunter', welcome to the Resistance!"

The room we entered was impressive.  The back wall had been knocked out, opening up into an abandoned train station.  A small gathering of tents surrounded a fire barrel, a small group of people warming in front of it.  I recognize the family I rescued earlier among them.  A couple of sentries patrolled the blocked entrances to the platform.  The room was dimly lit in areas by emergency back up lights, powered by generators.  Power cords snaked across the ground, connecting them all together.  I counted maybe 10 to 15 people in the make shift camp, mostly refugees.

"You know me?" I asked, clutching my side as she lead me to a larger tent filled with cots.

"We've been watching you for a while." she replied, motioning me to take a seat.  "I have to say, you do nice work.  You've probably helped half of the people here."  A man wearing a white coat and surgical gloves rolled over on a stool and started to tend to my wound.

"You got lucky," he said. "It's deep, but just a flesh wound." and he pressed gauze to my side and applied pressure.

"That's Charlie," Lyla said. "A man of few words but a genius with a needle and thread!"

"Nice to meet you Chuck. Now can someone please tell me who the holy hell you people are?" I quipped.

"I told you," replied Lyla. "We are the Resistance.  The resistance against the Coalition Leading the One World Nation. And we need your help."