Sneak by Evan Angler Read Free Book Online

if you want it to be.”
    She brought Logan to a pillar at the edge of the huddle’s space in the underpass. At its base was a row of boxes, each labeled with something along the lines of “Fiction A–F,” or “History O–Z.” The flaps of each box hung open invitingly.
    “Books?” Logan asked. “Printed books?” Outside of museums,
    this was only the second time in his life that Logan had seen so many.
    “You bet,” Bridget said. “Gotta keep the mind sharp somehow.
    And we Markless sure ain’t gonna be reading off tablets and plastiscreens anytime soon.”
    “But where’d you get them?” Logan asked. “ How’d you get them?”
    “There’s been a book circulation for years now among the
    Markless in New Chicago. Who knows what the source was. There’s rumors it was this kid Peck . . . but people say a lot of things about that guy.” Bridget shrugged, looking over the collection. “Anyway, this is what’s left after all the raids. We all took what was most valuable to us and ran.” Bridget smiled. “Usually, that was our huddle’s stash of books.”
    Logan flipped through some of the yellowing pages in front of
    him. “Any recommendations?” he asked.
    “Oh, lots,” Bridget said. She passed a thick one his way. “This one here’ll keep you busy for a while.”
    “Wait a second,” Logan said. “Is this—”
    “A Bible. Yeah,” Bridget said.
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    Logan stared at it.
    “We have all kinds of religious texts here, if you’re interested.
    Not to mention philosophy, politics . . . any of that sort o’ stuff. It’s all banned, so naturally it’s pretty popular among the Markless.”
    Bridget winked. “If it’ll get you arrested, we probably have a copy somewhere.”
    Logan looked through the book, scanning the columns of
    tiny type on each page. The pages were so thin they were almost translucent, and they made a soft crinkling sound as he flipped through them.
    “Just don’t get caught with that,” Bridget warned.
    Logan looked up at her. “Thanks.”
    And Bridget walked on. “Over here’s our clothing station. You
    ever need dry socks, a new sweater . . . this is where you’ll come.”
    “You mean I can just take anything?”
    “Well, we certainly don’t expect you to be able to pay for it.”
    Bridget laughed.
    As they walked, Logan began to appreciate what the huddle
    had done. The surrounding streets were crumbling. The buildings were falling down, and the sidewalks were charred and split from long-ago gunfire and explosions. But the underpass was different.
    The underpass was bright and warm, like a home. All around it, there was art . . . finished paintings just lying on the concrete, sculptures scattered about, a shortwave radio chattering in the corner, tapestries hanging by string, poems graffitied onto each rusting pillar . . . all of it as if out of another era entirely.
    “We still have time on our hands,” Bridget said. “In fact, it’s pretty much all we have. So we draw, or we write . . . we do whatever we can to contribute to the huddle.”
    Logan stopped for a moment and listened to an older woman
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    strumming a battered guitar and singing a song to a small circle of Markless surrounding her.
    “Michael, row the boat ashore,” she sang. “Hallelujah . . .”
    “We sing a lot around here too,” Bridget said. “It keeps our
    spirits up.”
    Logan looked at her, silent for some time. “Where’d you go
    last night?” he asked finally.
    “Nowhere.” Bridget frowned. She wouldn’t look at him as she
    said it.
    “I know you snuck off. I watched you come back.”
    “I didn’t sneak off. Maybe you dreamed it—”
    “I didn’t dream it,” Logan interrupted. “You’re hiding some-
    thing from me.”
    “ I’m hiding something? From you ? You won’t even tell me your name!”
    Logan clenched his teeth and swallowed hard. In the back-
    ground, the woman sang her