Ship of Souls

pipes up all of a sudden. “We should hurry,” he says in an anxious voice.
    “Why? What’s the rush?” asks Keem.
    “We should go— now ,” Billy says, ignoring Keem and looking straight at me.
    “What’s wrong, Billy?” asks Nyla.
    “I can feel them,” he replies with a shudder. “They’re coming for me.”

14.
    “T RAITOR!”
    All of us freeze as the hissing voices echo down the dark tunnel.
    Billy turns to me, a look of terror on his pale face. “Go—run!”
    “You’re coming with us,” I say. “We’ll find a way to get across the river—you’ll be safe with us.”
    “No—I’ll only slow you down. Get above ground—get into the light. They can’t follow you up there.”
    Nyla tugs at my arm. “He’s right, D—let’s go.”
    “There’s some kind of ladder over there,” says Keem. “It must lead up to a manhole or grate.”
    I don’t look to see where Keem’s pointing. I look into Billy’s eyes and see the pain that time hasn’t healed. He wasn’t much older than me when he went off to war and died a horrible death while his fellow soldiers fled to safety. “I’m not leaving you, Billy.”
    “D—”
    I stop Nyla before she can try to change my mind. “You two take the ladder. Come on, Billy—we can outrun them.”
    Billy steps away from my outstretched arm. “No, we can’t—they’ll just follow us until they wear us down. But I can distract them—I’ll lead them away from you!”
    “What will they do once they find you?” asks Nyla.
    Billy shrugs, but it’s clear he’s terrified. “What can they do? I’m already dead.”
    “Listen,” I say, and we all grow silent as a soft rumbling moves the water at our feet.
    “It’s a train,” says Keem.
    “It’s our train,” I tell him, getting ready to break into a run. “Don’t give up, Billy. We can win this battle—just trust me!”
    With one last glance over his shoulder, Billy nods at me and together we race down the tunnel in search of the oncoming train. We don’t stop until we come to a sort of intersection. Our tunnel ends and we have to jump down into a knee-deep pool of water. I look up and am surprised to see an arched brick ceiling overhead. If I didn’t know we were in a sewer, I’d think we were in an old church or even a castle. Then a heap of trash on a wide ledge above us catches my eye. I see stacks of plaid shopping bags stuffed to their limit, and two metal grocery carts brimming with equally full plastic bags. Who could have brought so much stuff down here?
    Keem nudges me. “Which way?”
    I’m about to say, “I don’t know,” when a woman’s voice booms in the cavernous space.
    “HEY!”
    I jump and grab hold of Nyla’s arm. She doesn’t look scared, but I can feel how tense her arm is.
    “Who’s there?” Nyla asks in a defiant voice.
    We all scan the damp, dim space, knowing we have to be ready to fight or flee. Billy silently points to a white candle burning on the far ledge. The flame flickers as the pile of trash starts moving—and then talks to us!
    “What you kids doin’ down here? This ain’t for you—this is my world, my world!”
    The angry voice belongs to a woman—at least it sounds like a woman. She’s wearing a wool cap and square black sunglasses like the ones Mrs. Martin wears for her cataracts.
    “Is that a—bag lady?” Keem keeps his voice down, but the woman still hears him and takes offense.
    “I heard that!” she cries, standing up. “You think you can come down here and disrespect me? I’ll show you. I’ll teach you to show respect.” Agitated, the woman starts rifling through her heap of bags.
    I’ve seen homeless people before, and I know that some of them band together, forming communities in hidden corners of the city. But I never expected to meet a homeless woman down here. I want to ask how she eats and bathes and lives without light—is she really down here alone? But then I decide I better try to do some damage control instead, otherwise we may end up fighting ghost soldiers and an army of homeless people. I step forward and let my home training lead the way. “Uh—we’re sorry to bother you…ma’am. We’re just trying to find the train.”
    The woman stops rummaging through her bags and glares at me. “Train? This look like Grand Central Station to you?”
    “No, ma’am, but—well…”
    Nyla gives an exasperated sigh. “We’re in trouble—can you help us?”
    The woman adjusts her sunglasses and sniffs the