His mind fell into sudden obscurity. He knew in a matter of seconds his life would be over. But then again what reason was there to live anymore? His mother was probably dead. She was all he had. A lump welled up in his throat. He swallowed hard.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Pounds on the door jolted Brixton back into the living room and to the front door pulsing with rage. The door handle jiggled in frenzy. Too afraid to open it, he squinted and looked through the peephole.
Chapter Two: The Figure at the Door
Like this helps. I can’t see a thing. Mom, why did you make me color the glass with marker? Mom? Mom!
BANG!
“MOM!”
“Brixton! I told you to watch for me!”
BANG!
“Open the door, quick!”
Brixton fumbled to unbolt the locks. Once he unlatched the first, his hands moved faster than he ever thought they could. In almost one swoop, they all unlocked and he flung open the door. It opened with such force, pictures fell off their rusted nails and onto the floor with a shatter. Glass shards bounced then slid across the cement floor. Alarmed, Brixton sprang to the crash site to pick up the broken pieces.
“What are you doing?! Leave that and help me! Run and grab the rest of the load I dropped all over the place.”
He looked over her shoulder at the books scattered along the hallway then headed toward them. That must have been the bombs dropping sound.
“Don’t walk…run!”
Sonu’s forceful demands brought back the anxiety he had just gotten over once he saw her blurry figure through the peephole. Never had he been so afraid, startled, excited, and confused in all his life. He sprinted down the hallway and grabbed all the stragglers. Sonu already threw her load over the broken pieces of glass. She waited for him; one hand on the handle the other on the largest of the bolts. Brixton raced through the door and plopped the remainders on the table. A few slid off and landed with more bomb bangs on the floor.
“What took you so long? You’ve been gone for hours!” he gasped.
“Just a minute…let me catch my breath...are the blinds shut?"
“Yeh, you pinned them shut,” Brixton lied.
“Okay good. Don’t touch um.”
“What was that? Mom, what happened out there? Why do you have so many books?” he asked while fumbling to pin the curtains back up without being noticed.
“They’re going to burn it down.”
“Burn what down?”
“The…the library.”
“Who is?”
“Who do you think? The…Fatalities,” she said still trying to catch her breath. “A week from tomorrow. I had to go the long way around so they wouldn’t see me.”
“So who wouldn’t see you?”
“The Fatalities. I just told you.”
“How did you find that out?”
“I had to do this, Brix. You can-NOT tell anybody that we have these. Anybody. Do you understand?”
“How did you find out so far ahead of time? Who told you?”
“Anybody, Brix.”
“Yes, don’t tell anybody. How did you hear about this?”
His patience grew weary. Sonu had hardly answered any of his questions. He felt concerned for his mother and started to question her sanity. Had she gone mad? Was she making this up? How could she have possibly heard about something like this?
“I’m going again tonight. I’ll go before the spotlights turn on. Please be on a better lookout next time.”
“This is absurd! We can’t keep all these books!”
“You would rather see them turned to ash?”
“No. But we’ll get caught. They’ll kill us on the spot.”
“They’re already killing us, Brix. Without these.” She picked up a book that slid onto the floor and placed it back on the table. Her gentle touch soothed the books as if they were living things. The room felt calm again. “Our minds will surly turn to mush.”
“How did you find out about this?”
“Never mind that. Just remember this, Brixton Bex.” Sonu’s voice was calm now as well. “There is a small door on the side of the library where no cameras reach. It’s in the alleyway. A door opens up to the basement. Go up the winding stairs until the main lobby opens up on to the second floor. That’s how you get to the books from here on out.”
“They’re going to burn down the library in a week?” It had finally sunk in and became clear to Brixton what she had just said. He felt as if a part of him had died.
“Yes. They’re calling it The Burning Ceremony. Real original, I know. Like it’s some big celebration; a “cleansing of the mind”.” A tear streamed down her already glowing face from sweat.
“Why would they do that?”
“Because they can. They feel threatened. That’s what they do.”
“Feel threatened? By who?”
“By us. All of us who go to that library. All of us who still know how to read. All of us who have an opinion and who care about that place. They’re trying to stop us.”
“From doing what though? We aren’t doing anything.”
“Not yet we aren’t, Brix. But someday we will and that’s what scares them.”
“What, like rebellion to go against them?”
“Exactly.”
Brixton looked around the designated dining room. Books lie scattered across the floor and table. They were everywhere. And she was going to get more?
“What are we going to do with all of these?”
“We’ve got one week and a lot of rearranging to do. I’m going to need your help.”
“Where do we start?”
Brixton could tell that she was in fact telling the truth. She hadn’t lost her mind. Somehow, someway, Sonu found out what the Fatalities planned to do to the library books. She was creative, but there was no way she would have gone this far with a made-up story. To risk getting caught stealing books? She would never do that just for fun.
In a way, he was kind of happy she didn’t tell him the whole story. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to learn how she found out. It had to be from someone on the inside and the thought of his mother in close contact with someone like that scared him. Maybe it was best he didn’t know.
That night, Brixton could hardly sleep. The thrill of going against a Fatal had his stomach churning for hours. If they could sneak in unnoticed with the library and take the books, what else could they do? Would it be possible to do the same with the store? He hadn’t had a decent dessert in years and the cupcakes he saw citizens with when they walked down the streets looked heavenly. His mouth watered every time he saw the swirled frosting and the moist, crumbling cake. Or possibly a glazed ham oozing with juices would be divine.
Of course, his mother would never allow for them to sneak into the store. They were stealing the books for a good reason. They weren’t stealing for the sake of stealing.
Robin Hood and his merry men, he thought. Except my merry men consists of just my mother. Or