The Professor (Tentative Title) Chapter Six

CHAPTER 6

The night had closed in again with its cool comfort. Both of them felt more at ease with the many shadows the night provided. This night was different, however. For Monroe, this tense and anxious sort of night. As soon as she had finished the tea and was able to move with ease, the Professor told her they had to move. He was listening and looking skyward for any tell-tale signs of air craft, anything that could be fitted with a heat sensor. With the end so close, he wasn't about to go down by a Zelda bullet to the brain. Monroe understood this and kept pace with him and his long strides as he searched for a place to hole up. She noted a cave much bigger then the once from that afternoon. He strode right past it, not giving it a second glance. Silently she thanked him.

She became edgy as they neared a farm, complete with barking dogs. The Professor was heading for it. Was he insane? People? Their custom was to avoid people at any and all cost. The very rare exception was a fellow rebel, but he always told her if they were going pop in. He finally stopped at the split rail fence surrounding the property.

"Sir," she asked, "what are we doing here?"

He grinned in the half-moonlight, he said, "visiting friends." Then he slid off again, making a bee line for the back door of a large farm house. A dog in the yard growled at him until he was given a chunk of jerky. That definitely won the Professor a friend. The back door sprang open, splashing warm light into the yard and cutting the night. The silhouette was pointing a twelve gauge right at the Professor's chest.

"Who's there?!" the large man barked. The Professor stepped into the light. "Who are you?" the man asked again, lowering his weapon slightly.

"I am Nobody. That is my name," the Professor announced.

Monroe stayed in the shadows, keeping hidden from the man with the gun. She understood the quote from Odysseus. He says it after blinding the Cyclops to keep himself safe from reprisal. Many of the Resistance would use code like that from old stories to identify themselves. It worked because the man lowered the gun and nodded.

"Long time, no see, Professor."

"Amos, was that thing really necessary?" He took the other man's hand in hearty shake.

Amos shrugged, "Lot's of undesirables lately. Who's that by the dog house?"

"Monroe, you can come out now. Amos is really quite harmless."

"'Harmless'? Yeah, right." She muttered, crawling into the light, gazing up a large black man. The door was held open for her as she walked into the warmly lit kitchen. It smelled deliciously of good food and better coffee. Monroe gratefully sat at the table, allowing herself to rest for a few moments.

"So what brings you to this neck of the woods?" Amos asked, placing left over fried chicken on the table.

Monroe glanced at the Professor, asking with her eyes if it was all right. He nodded, almost without moving at all. She smiled broadly then tucked in, grabbing a hefty thigh and chewing away.

Amos smiled, "Good gracious! When was the last time this child ate a real meal?"

"Come on, Amos, she's been with me," the Professor said defensively, taking a sip of black coffee.

"Exactly. I remember how you cook, if one can call that cooking." He placed a tall glass of milk in front of Monroe. "You go on, have your fill, girl."

Grateful, she took a swallow and was mid-way through another when a thought hit her so hard she nearly choked.

"Where?" she coughed, "Where did you get all of this food? And pasteurized milk? No way a farmer could afford that."

She was pushing the plate away from her and looked around wildly for clues, for a way out, for the Professor to give her guidance. All he did was sit calmly and drink his coffee.

"Very good, Monroe, but you made one mistake." He smiled in a way that said she needed to answer the unasked question.

"I should have realized sooner, before I ate anything."

He nodded, "Its all right, though, these are gifts I had sent up from a supply depot." He took another long swallow of his coffee before asking another question. "As I'm sure you're aware, Amos here is a Resistance man. You have one chance to tell me what he loves."

This was a game they'd played often, testing observation and perception skills. Survival could depend on what details you remembered so she was taught to notice everything and leave nothing undone. She took a quick glance around the room, the walls, floor. The measurements of the room itself compared to the dimensions outside. Finally, she took notice of Amos himself. He was a large man with dark skin, partly from the sun, partly from his heritage. All the clues lined up, she had her answer and asked a single question.

"Where is your music, sir? I'd wager behind that cabinet there," she pointed to the corner where the room seemed to be smaller than it should be. "Jazz man or blues," she smiled.

"How on earth--" Amos started.

"Training," the Professor smiled, "explain your guess, Monroe."

"I didn't guess, I know. Houses have a basic floor plan. The square footage seems smaller then it should be when compared to the outside. The only place in this room to hid anything would be that wall. Only looks big enough for a CD case."

"Why did you pick jazz? I could like rap or hip hop."

"True, but incorrect. You have a tattoo on the underside of your arm, easy to hide when you need to. Its a saxophone, the quintessential jazz instrument. You couldn't have been more obvious if you had B.B. King tattooed there."

Amos looked down at his arm, the tattoo that she'd seen was barely an inch in diameter and that little thing had noticed it from across the kitchen.

"You're good, Miss Monroe, very good," he praised her.

She nodded stiffly, "I had a good teacher."

Amos laughed, it was a good sound to hear, and none people heard much any more. Monroe smiled in spite of everything. She already good observation skills, even before the Professor's help, he'd helped her hone the skills though, like a fine blade. He taught her how to observe then act, seeing her options before jumping ahead. With a sill like that, she'd be able to help others see the outcome before they started the journey. It also would enable her to be a fair judge, at least that's what the Professor hoped for. There was time coming soon in which he'd be gone and a new world with new leaders would take over. A world where people like Monroe would take charge because they would be needed. He wouldn't be around to lead nor teach for much longer. Those thoughts plagued him, what Monroe would do after he was gone.

He shook himself from his thoughts and said, "Amos, its time we got moving, don't you think?"

Amos stood, stretched and washed the dishes before putting them away, just in case any unwanted visitors stopped by. "Follow me, the party's out back."

Monroe followed the Professor outside and into the barn. It was a simple ramshackle barn, nothing fancy, of course. The floors were covered with dust and straw, a few stalls had animals in them. A pick up was tucked away, rusting in a corner. Bales of hay were stacked neatly almost to the ceiling. Amos went over to the bales and shoved one out of the way, revealing a trap door.

"All right, down the hatch," he said grinning.

"Since when have you had a hole in the floor, Amos?"

"Since Zelda troupes are been watching more closely. Come on."

The Professor passed a look to Monroe, only his eyes had any meaning, concern and a question boiling just behind the colour. Going underground was a claustrophobic's worst nightmare and he knew it. Monroe just wined and led the way down the ladder.

Author's Note

My spelling is English, not American.