AFTER TWENTY MINUTES of nothing, I pulled myself up from the table and took the small red King James Bible from the shelf.
I thumbed through it. It reminded me of the one my grandfather had carried with him everywhere. In the last few years of his life, it had become an extension of his body. He read it constantly, retreating into it whenever he was lost or confused as if it was some kind of map. And the tiny little text—full of its irrational and outdated stories, its lessons handed down from an all-knowing leader, its psalms and chants and quotables—took over and became his memory.
There was no inscription in the front of the Bible. I shook it, but there was nothing tucked into the pages. I turned it over, moving on to the next set of shelves, but before I could feel for anything else, a drone of sirens came pouring in from outside the library walls.
I pulled a chair to the room’s only window, smashing my face to the circular glass. On the street below, there were police cars gathering, throwing red and blue around the neighborhood. Loud footsteps and shouting voices came from outside the room as the officers took over the building.
I sat in the stillness of the back room for ten seconds. No one knew I was here, other than Mara and Suzy, but neither had reason to call the police. Even if my father did know I was here, he couldn’t have called this kind of siege on me. Some other criminal must have led a police chase here, thinking the library was the last place they’d expect. Still, I tucked the Bible into my pocket and rushed to—
“I’m learning now that the world is a circle. And what I thought was behind me . . . was actually ahead.”
Jack slammed the wooden door shut behind him, and the voices outside disappeared. His white scarf seemed to glow, perfectly visible in the low light. He paced slowly around the table. “I was hoping I was going to find you here. Or rather, you were going to find us.”
I shook with nervous anger, but he didn’t notice.
“It’s cool, right? I mean, they had it built for Great Purpose, specifically. Meetings, recruiting for protests, all of it. Thompson and Pullman—Duke and Arty—heading the room, leading the revolutionaries into battle.
“Here’s what’s funny, though: when the organization disappeared, they kept the room secret. Still here, obviously, and still gets maintenance, but nobody uses it. Forty-five years. Why do you think they would do that?”
He wanted me to answer, but I didn’t.
“The library says it’s for historical purposes, but don’t people usually like to show off their history?” He examined the banner. “Not lock it up and keep it a secret? And sure, they let us use it now—I can be very convincing—but what about the forty years before that? Why were they keeping it here . . . if there wasn’t something—someone—they were waiting for?”
I took three deep breaths, glaring into his grin. “You stole from me.”
His smile didn’t break. “Well, that’s based on a narrow understanding of possession, Arthur.”
My face twisted further.
“Look . . . I don’t want you to have any bad feelings about this, so let me explain as best I can: we’re the closest thing there’s ever been to a new Great Purpose. We’ve got the same buildings, the same ideas . . .” He motioned to himself. “The same leader. And that’s exactly what our fathers—grandfathers—wanted.”
He stopped, ten feet and an oak table between us. “Isn’t it? I mean, during his final week, he went to all the Great Purpose spots . . . wrote for the first time in forty years.” He spun the journal on the table around. “‘My eyes are open, and I can see that I’m coming up on it again. And I feel Great . . . Purpose.’” He looked up. “He was writing to restart the movement. And it’s not stealing if you’re taking what’s already yours. I’m sorry you were put off by our way of doing things, but sometimes revolution requires . . . greater measures. For the greater good, right? The greater truth, isn’t that what she said?” He glanced quickly left to right, like he thought Mara might be in the room. “I’m sure you can understand that. Either way”—I watched from the corner of my eye as he studied me—“who did you think he was writing to?”
My fists clenched at my sides, desperate to lash out at him, but the more he talked, the fewer reasons I could find. Even my anger was fading. “You’re full of shit,” I said.
“I’m full of shit? Why would I lie to you?” He shrugged. “You’re talking like I’ve got some kind of self-interest here. What do you think I’m doing this for, anyway? Money? I don’t get paid for this. I’m here because the world is crying out for new leaders. And I was chosen to answer that call.”
He smiled up at the banner, lightly touching the bottom. “They built so much. All these libraries, and secret meeting places, and . . . diversions. And for what? Just to give up? Walk away and let the whole country fall back into ruin? I mean . . . there’s gotta be more to it than that, right? That can’t be it.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I said, convincing myself.
He turned slowly back to me. “Good.” He shrugged again, reaching his right arm behind his back. “Don’t be.” He pulled the gun from his pants and slid it onto the table. “We need your help, Arthur.”
I stared at it, resting between the two of us. “What?”
“We’ve got all of the resources, we know the history of this thing inside and out, but we don’t know your grandfather like you do. And when we can find him . . . then that’s it. That’s the ball game. He comes back, and this is a true revolution. We could lead armies.” Jack spoke so confidently, it was difficult to find reasons to doubt him. But as I fumed, focusing on the in-and-out of my breathing, I realized I had just as few reasons to believe him. With every time he said we, I became more and more aware that it was just him in the library with me.
“You don’t wanna be on the wrong side of this, Arthur,” he said.
“No.”
Jack blinked deliberately. “No, you don’t want to help us? Or no, you don’t know your grandfather?”
“No.” I stood as tall as possible. “Fuck you, you stole from me.”
“Arthur. Can you really not see past that? There’s a hell of a lot more at stake here than your delicate little sensibilities.”
I glared back. “I’ve got an idea—why don’t you just try to remember all of the things you learned from your father?”
A streak of anger ran across his face, but before he could act on it, it disappeared back into his calm. “This isn’t a negotiation, Arthur. I’m not asking you. This?” He motioned outside. “These cops? You wanna take a guess who they’re looking for?”
I swallowed. “You’re lying.”
He gave me just enough silence to consider that he might be right. “I’m sure it’s a coincidence. I’m sure they’re not looking for you. There’s no way someone tipped them off that there might be a fugitive in possession of stolen property here. I mean, how would I even know you were here? Other than Suzy, of course.”
A wave of consequence washed over me and I swayed, suddenly woozy from the movement of the Earth. I felt the axis begin to shift, heard the footsteps and shouts louder through the wall.
“They don’t know about this room,” Jack said, moving dangerously close to me. “Unless I tell them about it.” His eyes roamed the high ceilings. Every few seconds, I glanced at the gun on the table, but Jack hadn’t looked once. “Come with us, Arthur. Let’s go find your grandfather.”
The thought flickered for a single second before I responded, with all the volume and resolve I could find. “No.”
“No?”
“No, absolutely, fuck no.” I looked down. I was closer to the gun than he was. If I made a lunge, I could grab it before he knew what was happening, but I had no plan after that. I’d never fired a gun before, and shooting someone with the police ten feet away would effectively end my life as well.
“You don’t understand.” I could feel Jack’s temperature rising, spiking and then cooling back to his confident default setting. “This is happening with or without you.” He got louder as he spoke. “We knew this was coming, and now that we’ve found it . . .”
“Good luck without me.” I barely felt conscious as I spoke. “Looks like it’s working out so far.”
“You know, it may not mean anything to you, but you’ve got a name that means something,” he said, steering into his rage, winding around the table back toward me. “You were chosen for this. Your grandfather was an extraordinary man, and you owe it to him to continue that. I’m giving you a chance, and I’d recommend you take it, because you do anything short of changing the world, and people are gonna start to wonder if you’re actually an Arthur Louis Pullman.” He stopped, his face hovering three feet in front of mine. “I guess maybe that’s not a problem for you, though, is it? Nobody doubts your relation.”
“Because my grandpa is actually my grandpa.”
“Don’t you—” Jack’s evenness slipped, and his right arm shot up toward my neck. Before I could move either arm, he’d thrown me against a chair by the collar. “Trust me. You do not wanna fuck with us.”
“Who’s us?” I asked. “You’re the only—”
He drove his hand farther into the base of my throat and I felt the air escape me. “You don’t know shit!” he shouted into my face, and with one final twist of his knuckle, he let go.
He stumbled back a few steps, shaking his head, a smile returning to his face. I clung to the ground and Jack stared down over me with manufactured pity. “I’m sure you think it’s cute, and safe,” he said. “Being all cynical like that. But you’re not doing shit. All you’re contributing to the world is . . . nothing. The people who matter, who actually deserve their names . . .” He grabbed the gun from the table and dropped it back into his belt without finishing the thought, instead nodding to the clue. “Keep that. You deserve a souvenir. I’ll tell your grandpa you say hi.”
He propped the door open on his way out.
As soon as his figure disappeared, I threw my backpack over my shoulder and followed, inching around the frame and into the small hallway.
The library was chaos. Everyone else on the second floor looked terrified, huddled together out of the way of the officers. Two of them sprinted past at different intervals and I hugged myself to the wall. Lying or not, whatever the police had come to search for, they hadn’t found it.
“Officers, there’s a back room in that corner.” The voice was Jack’s. “I think I might have seen him go in there.”
A pair of hands grabbed me from behind and pulled me backward into the closet.
“Idiot,” Mara whispered, her breath warm against my ear.
I shook her off me, clattering over a mop bucket. “What—what are you doing? How long have you been waiting?”
We both held our breath as three officers charged past us and into the Great Purpose room.
“We don’t have a whole lot of options here,” she said. “Either we try to muscle out the front . . .”
“Or?”
“If we can get them out of that room, I can get them out.”
I watched the officers through the open door of the meeting room, rifling through cupboards. “Why are you doing this?” I asked.
A flashlight running past threw a single streak of light across her face. She was smiling, the same terrible and impossible smile. “I told you already. This belongs to you, not them.”
I watched several more officers run past, felt Mara’s body against mine, considering the world in front of me and the world behind me. “Okay.” I nodded.
“Are you sure that you’re up for this?” she breathed.
I nodded again.
“Because you can go home, if you want. You can turn yourself in, and—”
“No. I’m not going home.”
Mara swallowed. “I need you to follow me,” she whispered. “And not turn around. Okay?”
Before I could move, she sprang upward and out the door, grabbing the edge of the display case as she ran, forcing it to come crashing down, glass shattering. I took off after her.
The colors around me blurred. My eyes focused on the back of Mara’s head, her beanie like a blackened orb guiding me through the maze of books, diving right when she dove right, swimming in and out of displays and shelves. Behind us, there were shouts, and soon, they weren’t just behind us.
All around, officers lunged for her. As we came flying around one corner, someone managed to grab ahold of her jacket, pulling her backward and slowing her forward momentum, his face focused on where she was attempting to run. Without thinking, I threw my right arm in the air, yanking a hardcover book off a display and slamming it into the back of his head. The pain forced him to recoil. He dropped the back of her jacket. Onward we flew.
Somewhere in the chaos behind me, I heard Kaitlin shouting, “You’re running from the police! Who even are you anymore?”
But I was running too fast for her words to catch up. All the chaos was in our wake; the uncontrollable difficulty of the world stayed a step behind me. All that was inside of me was adrenaline and all that was ahead of me was Mara. I felt a near smile creep onto my face.
Mara led the chase expertly. She wound us up a far staircase to the third floor, then back down two flights into the enormous main room of the library. She ducked us through the giant mass of library patrons, shedding her hat and exploding out the other end where no officers expected her to be.
There were moments when I thought they had given up, that no one was chasing us anymore, but every time, another officer would leap out in front of us, out of the vast openness of the library, forcing us down aisle after aisle of books.
Mara wound our way back around to the “Great Surplus” door, the exact spot where the chase had begun, and froze. There were no officers in sight. Leaping over the glass, she dove into the meeting room, and I turned, searching for officers in pursuit. I couldn’t see any, but I could hear them, everywhere.
“Anybody have a visual?”
“He’s gotta be around here somewhere.”
“Both of them, some girl was running, too.”
Mara was kneeling in front of the door of the stove, her hands inside of it, and I stayed at the door.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I shouted across the room. “A fire?”
“You think she’s some sort of accomplice?”
“Gotta be. You know how these people work.”
I tried to sink into the door frame, away from where two officers went sprinting past, their boots crunching against the glass. The case—my grandfather’s display—had shattered in front of where I was standing, and his Tribune obituary had slid toward me. The logo caught my eye, a crescent moon cupping the T, the same one that had been at the top of the article that led me to Omaha. My eyes fell to the bottom—Lou Thurman, political writer and contributor to this newspaper—
“Holy shit. Mara—”
I turned to her as she yanked the door off the stove. “In,” she barked, gesturing to the invisibly black interior.
“What?”
She jumped in front of me, clutching a bar above the door and lowering her legs slowly into the open front grate. I watched her legs, her torso, and finally her head disappear.
“Did we get everybody evacuated yet?”
“Yep, the place is clear. Just be careful with your shot; this kid’s not worth wounding an officer.”
My stomach flipped—your shot? Wounding an officer? Who did they think I was?
I pulled myself up and lowered my legs into the hatch. Sure enough, there was a solid concrete step a foot below where the bottom of the stove should have been. Past it, another step, leading down into complete darkness. I lay there for ten seconds, stunned. It was an escape hatch. Great Purpose had built themselves stairs.
“Where’d that noise come from?”
“I think they went back in here!”
It was all I needed. I edged myself down the stairs, feeling with my heel for each next step, the top of Mara’s head in front of me.
I counted steps as we went . . . five, six, seven . . . the world was now in total darkness; the only sound was Mara breathing behind me.
“I know where we’re going,” I whispered to her. “Chicago. I know where to go.”
“We can’t take the Zephyr tomorrow,” she whispered. “Jack will know we’re going east, and we’ll be sitting ducks all the way to Chicago.”
“We have to,” I whispered back, twelve, thirteen, fourteen stairs deep, feeling upward, my hand slamming into mildew-covered concrete two feet above our heads. There was no room to stand up, only to slide. “That was the train my grandfather would have—”
“They know that!” she spat back.
Up the stairwell, we heard shouting. “There are stairs in here!”
“Then what?” I asked, and my heel connected with solid ground.
I put my hand on her waist as she felt her way through the dark. The ceiling overhead must have been five feet, just tall enough for us to rush through, heads down, hands outstretched to keep us from running into anything ahead of us.
“Then we leave tonight,” she said. “A different train. One he wouldn’t have taken.” She stopped abruptly in front of me. “Tell me that’s okay.”
Before I could respond, my hand slammed into something wooden. There were boards, up and down the hatch, preventing us from moving forward. We could hear the police sliding down behind us.
“Does Jack know about this escape?” I asked.
“Yes.”
My head pulsed with every amplified heartbeat. “So why wouldn’t he be here waiting for us?”
“Because he doesn’t know you know about it.” She threw open the hatch, and crisp, fresh air from the outside world rushed in. Behind the library was a wide patch of grass, flowing directly into the backyards of neighboring houses. Over all of it, the sun was beginning to set burnt yellow. The horizon burned orange in front of us. “He doesn’t know about me.”
She blew past me, and I followed, away from the library, away from the police, away from Great Purpose, and back to the train.