The Underground Library of The South New Order

The mission was simple: destroy. The savage men who stood, arm-in-arm, were locked, stone-faced and stoic, blocking the perimeter of the only standing hospital of the South New Order. Sweat beamed down their brown, marred foreheads, stinging the open wounds that marked their unreadable faces. They’re not men, they told us. Look at them! They aren’t human! I looked into one pair of eyes - golden, deep and mysertious, but vulnerably pleading with me, wordless. What could I do? These could be the men who butchered my brother. These could be the men who began the war by way of their brutal attacks. These could be the grandsons of the revolutionaries who destroyed the country my grandparents once knew. I had to remember this. I had to remember the mission: kill - finish - destroy. Seargent Frost announced one last time, “STAND DOWN AND RETREAT - OR FACE CERTAIN DEATH.” 

One savage got down on his knees and crawled forward with his hands balled together, shaking, under his chin; “please,” he pleaded both meekly and resolutely, “my child-“

His body hit the ground in an instant. A golf ball sized hole in spread in his cheek. A pin drop was heard before the savage men charged forward, armed only with knives, screaming violently in their native tongue. “FIRE,” called Frost.

In minutes, my fellow soldiers of the North New order had barraged them with bullets, taking them down with our impressive weaponry. They charged the hospital; I followed behind, hardly feigning dauntlessness. The barbarians were down but the shots continued. A nurse with covered hair and tattered shoes was blown to pieces and the child she carried rolled onto the floor, half alive; until the child was trampled over by boys and girls I had attended prom with. The cries and the shots compounded into what I had always imagined Hell to sound like. I knew what I had trained for. I knew my mission. I knew what I had always been taught. These people are savages. These people want you dead. Their children want you dead. And they will not hesitate to kill you. They will not hesitate to murder every citizen of the North New Order.

I ducked in a corner, unable to break eye contact with the child who had foot prints painted across her small, flattened skull. She looked like my sister. I couldn’t look at her anymore. I couldn’t breathe. I closed myself inside the closet behind me, bloodily fumbling with the loose door knob as shots rang out. I wouldn’t be able to kill anyone today. I wouldn’t be able to save anyone either. I pulled a beaded string hanging from the ceiling and collapsed to the floor. 

The closet was small and dank and stocked with towels and bed sheets. This is the base of the resistance? I frantically searched for clues, for some evidence that these people deserved to have their men, women, children, doctors, and nurses slaughtered in mass like cattle. I pulled down towels, ripped open pillows, banged on the wall with my fists to break through. Dejected, I sat back down, out of breath, on the tile floor, surrounded by my own weak excuse for destruction: on strewn feathers and fabric and dust. Numbed by fear and worthlessness, I moved to lay down, resolute to stay there until someone came to mistake me for a savage and take my life. My hand glided into one off-color tile, sliding it slightly forward. 

The pitch black hole in the floor silenced the terror on the other side of the door. Could I be someone to find something of significance? Hesitantly, I slid the tile all the way forward revealing a dark tunnel that went straight down. A metal ladder was visible until a few yards down when the tunnel was consumed in darkness. I pointed my flashlight down the hole, but nothing could be seen. Anything could be down there. Anyone could be waiting. It can’t be worse than waiting here. It can’t be worse than leaving this room and seeing the dead girl who looks like my sister. 

I reattached the flashlight to my belt, with the light shining downward, and I started climbing down. I climbed until the opening of the tile floor was only the size of my fist. I went to move down a rung when my foot couldn’t find anymore to stand on. Maybe this was all there was. Come on, why would I be the one to find anything of use? I looked down in despair. This was it. Until I noticed the light hitting something wrinkled and blue. It looked like the gym mats we practiced on during training. I won’t die - at least not from the fall. So I jumped. 

My breath left my body when I hit the ground in a swift thump. But I was right; it was a gym mat. And I wasn’t dead. How am I gonna get back up there? I stared back up at the fleck of light from the towel closet I destroyed minutes ago. When I hit the ground, the sensored lights came on. I turned my head to the right, my vision swirling into focus, illuminating golden spotlights shining on endless rows and stacks of books. 

I had never seen more than a few books at a time. Though I had read ads and media posts all my life, the only books I had ever read were NNO approved picture books, the Constitution of the New Order, the Constitution of the North New Order, and the threats written from the savages throughout our nation’s history. There was no more need for written word. There was no more need for literary art. We were entertained…

I crept slowly down a row, gliding my calloused fingertips across leather-bound books, imagining what could possibly be inside that they would need to protect them way down here. What could possibly be so important that they use this bunker space to hide stories, when we had raided nearly all of their military bases? In the distance, surrounded by dark space, and a single spotlight, was a thick book encased in glass. I could do a lot of things right now. I could start breaking shit and ripping up their stories. I could set off a grenade and kill myself inside a tomb of their information. I could forget I saw a thing and find my way back up. 

Or…I could break open the case. 

I grabbed a book from the shelf and held the pointed corner above the case like a blunt instrument and held position until my arms shook. All lies, they told us of their words. They wish to deceive you - make you one of them, they told us of their plans. Had I already been deceived? Did I ever know anything at all? Was this innocent blood on my hands? The book, bound in black leather, embossed with the image of a golden apple, whispered to me…why don’t you find out?