Hazel shrugged and jotted into a notebook. “Let’s go below.”
“I told you, fans don’t go there.”
“And I’m telling you, I have to check out the whole ballpark for my report for Commissioner Kenuda. Unless you want the damn fans sitting on laps.” He gestured angrily at the blue seats flanked by faded rust.
Frecklie edged around the debris in the basement, glancing uneasily at the holes in the ceiling spitting grainy half-light. Hazel moved quickly until they were in gray darkness, doors on both sides.
“The clubhouses are back there,” Frecklie said, irritated.
“What’s in there?” Hazel pointed.
Frecklie shrugged.
“Probably electricity rooms,” John mused aloud, running his hand on the walls as if reading. He tried a door, but it wouldn’t budge.
“I don’t have the keys,” Frecklie said defensively.
Hazel grunted, muttering.
“We should go back.”
John yanked on a door; it gave slightly. He pulled a screwdriver out of his inside pocket and twisted between the door and the frame. The knob shattered onto the floor.
Frecklie liked none of this, but couldn’t help following into the room. Hazy dust twisted into thick clouds.
Hazel cursed and fell to his bad knee. He held up a skull, then a bone. He got on all fours and scurried forward, moaning as he stepped between the skeletons. Frecklie lit a match. The weak flame flickered over rows of skeletons in army fatigues holding rifles, orange wigs glittering on their skulls. It was a circle, Frecklie realized. Huddled together against some enemy.
“See any shells?”
Frecklie shook his head and dropped the spent match, which Hazel quickly pocketed.
“Show some fucking respect. Know who they are?”
Frecklie hesitated. “Miners?”
“Miners,” Hazel rasped. “Know why they were called that?”
Hazel viciously mocked Frecklie’s shrug.
“Because Grandma thought they belonged in a cave. Cavemen. Primitive views. Miners, in a cave, get it?”
Frecklie knelt by a skull. “DVs, right?”
“Yeah, kid. All the Miners were DVs.”
“Weren’t they also…”
Hazel’s forearm pressed against his throat. “What?”
He barely swallowed. “Traitors.”
Hazel sighed. “No. The traitors were in the government. Still are.” Hazel shone the light onto the air vents just below the ceiling. “They must’ve gassed them. The freedom fighters retreated here, a last ditch stand, hiding with the kids.” The flashlight darted onto the small skeletons. “Helping them.”
“Or using them as hostages.”
“What?”
“They took hostages. That’s what the plaques and the HGs say. I looked it up in the library.”
Hazel was disgusted. “Then the Black Tops killed the children instead of rescuing them.”
Frecklie couldn’t answer. He tripped over a rifle, earning a string of curses to be careful. He held the weapon, imagining. Miners had hidden all over Amazon Stadium that day. Under the stands, behind the bullpen, in the bathrooms. Posing as groundskeepers and concession stands workers, selling food at the seats. They’d taken over the scoreboard, public address system and much of the security guards. How could they have done that without the players knowing? When Mooshie Lopez, the most famous athlete in America, had shown some sympathies afterwards, saying she couldn’t tell who was innocent anymore, that only fueled the connection between baseball and the Miners.
That’s what he’d been told his whole life. What they’d all been told.
Frecklie pointed the gun at the air vent and blithely pulled the trigger. The gunshot startled them and the skeletons shook. Once Hazel stopped shouting and his own heartbeat slowed, Frecklie returned the rifle to its unseeing owner, patting the orange wig.
“Make sure no one sees this.”
“I should tell Puppy.”
“No one.” Hazel jabbed his chest. “Otherwise they’ll turn this into another exhibit. Do you really want that?”
His mother was angry enough at what he was doing, calling him a brain-washed boob and throwing the Stadiums book at him. At least she hadn’t spoken to him for more than a day. Frecklie shook his head.
Hazel grunted, satisfied. “Let’s see what other wonders Grandma left her children.”
The starless night managed a few dribbles of light onto the deck. Grandma’s candles, Tomas thought, sitting beside the nice looking kid with the terrified eyes drooping over the side of the boat.
“Sorry, sir,” Diego leaped up.
“Relax.” Tomas shook out a ‘bacco. The boy declined with excessive gratitude. “I developed the taste in Italy. Figured, how much worse could things be?” He tapped his knee. “What’re you most worried over?”
Diego’s throat bobbed nervously. “Nothing, really.”
“Maybe being hauled out in the middle of the Atlantic by some strange guy.”
“I trust Captain Lee.” Diego nodded at the Captain behind the wheel, gaze locked ahead as if a long chain held his eyelids.
Tomas smiled faintly. “Why?”
The kid frowned for just a second, probably to make sure he had all the grammar right. Tomas tapped his throat. Just speak. Diego grinned and tapped his temples. Thinking. Tomas gave him a moment, looking starboard into the darkness.
“He’s my friend,” Diego suddenly said.
It took Tomas a second to come back to the conversation; his mind was on the ship out there, waiting.
“Friends are good, Diego. I’ve lost some.” He pushed the anger aside, glancing over his shoulder as if Grandma were hovering. She’s here, somehow. “You have a more serious friend?”
Diego blushed. “Think so. She’s worried I’ll never be anything because I’m a DV. But she was and she’s something, so why the worry?”
The boy waited for some brilliant response. Stilton couldn’t afford to waste anything too wise on the perpetually erect pecker of this horny sailor.
“She’ll come around.” He patted Diego’s shoulder. “Either they do or they don’t.”
“Thank you, sir,” Diego said, a little disappointed.
“Thirty-five degrees,” Captain Lee said softly; the lapping waves quieted from the intensity of his voice.
Tomas peered. Damn eyes are going now, too, he scowled at the ocean until he saw a light twinkling. He nodded; Lee returned the signal and they picked up steam. Diego occupied himself by fussing with the ropes.
Even half a klick away, the ship dwarfed theirs. Two more blinks and Diego helped Tomas into the small rubber dinghy. The boy’s eyes shone with fear. Tomas gave him a confident smile he didn’t feel and paddled to the unmarked vessel, where he awkwardly climbed up the rope
