Several days had passed since Izzy last saw her stately grandfather. Since the military coup Alfred had become one of the dozens of homeless who lived under a deserted highway overpass. Few people noticed or cared about him with the exception of a startled rat or two.

Like a shadow Izzy would slink through the deserted city streets and alleyways moving silently through the greasy night air. Greasy air, greasy rats, greasy people... How did everything get so greasy when there was so little food to eat? However it was this very murkiness which allowed her to blend in with the surroundings and to live out of sight of the authorities. The night air smelled like a stew of cooked cabbage and dirty socks but she barely noticed. She was focused on seeing his face the joy of bringing him small packages of food. He too found more nutrition in the glimmer of her smile than in the sustenance. Still he was grateful . After she was gone he would always share the treasures with the Rat Children. He would speak of a time when everyone had plenty and people shared even less. "Abundance makes people selfish," he would recite.

Izzy's heart began to melt like M & M's in the hand of a toddler as she encountered children in filthy rags, shivering as the wind blew yellowy rain into their crude shelters. She begged Ella to allow some of the weaker ones into their apartment but her mother always said, "No," and added, "We have our own sick child to contend with. Would you like it if Bell caught the flu and died even sooner?" Of course, Izzy didn't but seeing the dying children day after day only made her more compassionate. Soon portions of her own food went to the starving babies as well until she was practically as thin as her sister.

For days she searched everywhere for Alfred. In desperation and as a last resort she opted to search the prohibited subway tunnels. When the subway trains stopped running, the derelicts, the mutated and the desperately poor moved underground. This was not merely for shelter but for their own protection. Every so often military policy in ancient tanks would do a C.S. (Clean Sweep) of the city blocks. Any vagrants found lying around were picked up and if no one claimed them within thirty days (and paid the exorbitant fine) they were "recycled".

The threat of diseases protected the mutants from an UCS (Underground Clean Sweep.) From time to time, the new regime would throw down tear gas grenades to keep gangs of people from thriving below. It never stopped the homeless for long. Mobs of people would ascend the stairs wheezing, drooling, and spitting. As soon as lungs their lungs cleared and their eyes stopped burning back down into the deep they would descend.

As Izzy descended the stairs the smell of urine, feces and vomit nearly made her turn back. (Envisioning she was crawling inside a giant bedpan didn't help matters.) Before she snuck out she had rummaged through her secret junk drawer and managed to find a small working lighter. She was terrified to use it though. Tommy Thompson told her, 'Lights are targets for the Flesh Eaters.' No one knew for certain if the people hiding out in the tunnels actually ate human flesh but these rumors were enough to keep most safe and sane people away.

As Izzy shuffled her way along a darkened passageway she could barely she her hand in front of her face. The lack of sight made her other senses only stronger--especially the sense of smell. She heard a low growl and muffled cries.

After stumbling two or three times over garbage and a decaying rat Izzy decided, "I could just as easily die falling off a platform as by flesh eating monster," so she flicked her bic. What she saw was not hoards of "flesh eaters" but a community of people far worse off then Alfred's companions under the bridge. It was a society of poor unlike the world had ever known. What astonished Izzy most was the dozens of babies and toddlers.

Hollow eyes stared at her while empty, dirty hands and stubby limbs stretched towards her. One filthy child with missing legs crawled on his belly and clung to her leg. Izzy couldn't move. The fear of becoming like them paralyzed her. She looked away in horror only to see a little girl with only a half of a face holding out a hand without fingers.

The deformed children and sickly mothers sung out in unison, "Where have you been? We've missed you. Did you bring us anything to eat? I'm cold... My baby needs medicine... Why did you cut your long, pretty hair Bell?"

It was all too much for Izzy. She was bewildered and nauseous from the interrogation, the odor and the guilt. Their gauntness reminded her of the children hiding under the cloak of, "The Ghost of Christmas Present."

Everywhere she looked people were laying on concrete platforms, some with blankets or pieces of cloth but most lay on nothing more than oily rags. The stench was more than human waste it was humans wasting away. The smell of death was so overpowering it made her dry heave. She could touch a doorknob one hundred times and it still wouldn't undo what had been done.

Anxious to once again breathe the stale city air, Izzy bolted for the stairs. She hoped against all hope Alfred was not down in these miserable tunnels. Being mistaken for Bell haunted her. Of course, Bell had been in the Forbidden Tunnels! What dreadful diseases must these people have? She rushed towards the exit and heaved in rusty garbage can. Izzy ran home without so much as a backward glance.. Yet she had a sinking feeling destiny would lead her back into those tunnels.

—-

As of yet Bell had not shared her secret of about the King or the forbidden book with Izzy. Since her sickness made her delirious much of the time, she was fearful she had dreamed the whole incident. She was petrified to share what she knew, frightened her newfound truth would melt away like a snowball in the summer and all she would have left was the planning of her own funeral. I'd like daisies lots of daisies... However, in her heart of hearts she believed the conversation with her grandfather actually happened and this is what enabled her to take her next painful breath and the next...

On the morning Izzy was out looking for Alfred, Bell sat up in her bed. Although she was as pale as wax paper and as weak as a newborn, she spoke with conviction to the Author, "Hello... Is anyone there? It seems odd to speak to the invisible but I thought it was high time we'd met. My name is Bella Eloise Quest. You may call me Bell if you wish."

Realizing she and the Author had not been formerly introduced Bell added, "I beg your pardon sir, I realize we haven't met... Truthfully, I don't know if you can even hear me but my grandfather Alfred speaks very highly of you and if you are worthy of his respect then you are most certainly worthy of mine. He tells me, 'The word of the King is right and true; he is faithful in all he does'. I have never known someone who is faithful in all they do. Grandfather does come close however..."

Frightened Bell slowly drew her knees into her chest and hugged them as tightly as her weak arms could manage. "King Rophe... I believe grandfather has left because of my urging. I haven't seen him in days. I'm feeling much more poorly than the last time we spoke--quite miserable actually, although I've told no one. I promised my dear grandfather I wouldn't pass until he has read me," she whispered even softer, "your forbidden book... I'm so afraid I may not be able to hang on until he has located it. I know his journey is dangerous and he could end up in prison or worse. How could I've been so selfish? He's not only my grandfather but also a dear friend. I beg you to please keep him safe and if you would sir, bring him back to me with or without this book. I long to see his precious face before I die. Thank you kindly for your attention. Again, this has been Bella Eloise Quest reporting from Brooklyn Heights, NY. I do hope we might speak again in the future." Bell ended her speech as she would a reporter on assignment.

Toward the end of Bell's "report" to the king, Ella had entered the room and noticed her daughter whispering to the air.

"Bell who under the earth were you talking to?" Ella asked hoping her daughter was feigning delirium and not truly gone. Bell instead chose not to answer but pretended to be asleep.

"Do not feign sleep with me young lady. Dying or not you will answer your mother's questions when they are directed to you."

Bell thought the safest thing to do was to change the subject, "What when I'm dead? How will I answer your questions then mother?"

Ella snorted as she straightened Bell's bed covers, "Please do not speak of death this early in the morning. Now answer your mother, to whom were you speaking?"

"Perhaps I was dreaming and talking in my sleep?" Bell half smiled, hoping to fool her mother..

"Perhaps you were being foolish like your grandfather; for I've heard him speak to no one as well." Ella loved a good mental debate.

"Grandfather is no fool mother. He is the wisest, kindest man I have ever known," Bell retorted.

"Is he now?" Ella dripped with disdain. "Then why'd he suddenly run off and leave you alone? Hmm...?"

"Grandfather would never leave me unless it was important." Bell stated. So it was true. 'The Book' was not a dream! Alfred is in search of it!

"What could be of such importance that Alfred would leave you--especially now?" Ella asked reminding Bell of her death appointment 'next Tuesday'.

The game had begun.

Bell served. "Perhaps mother, he's in search of something to heal me."

Ella hit back. "Daughter I do not wish you to entertain false hopes."

Another hit. "What about true hopes then mother?" Bell held up Izzy's freshly cut braid. Nice retrieval!

Glancing towards the door Ella said, "Hoping at all is foolish." Ella missed.

Realizing her mother's emptiness, Bell picked up the ball. "You hope father will come home, do you not?"

Game over.

Angrily Ella replied, "You've proved my point indeed. For three long months, I hoped he'd return. Those hopes were also false. How does a person disappear without so much as a note to say goodbye?"

Trying to be hopeful but only torturing Ella further Bell suggested, "Maybe father is lost, or he was kidnapped, or perhaps he is hurt and in a hospital somewhere?..."

"You are dreaming daughter. He simply ran off is all. He could not bear the death of his son and his responsibility of being a husband and a father to a--"

Bell interrupted finishing Ella's sentence, "--To a sick child. Go on mother admit it!"

"Fine! I will!" Ella clenched her fists remembering, "Peter could not bare your illness. Try as he might he could hardly enter your room. It was as if his soul were dying along with yours." Ella twisted the rag in her hand.

"So it is my fault father left then?" Bell cried.

"I don't know... All I know is either way he's a coward." Ella spoke as she obsessively scrubbed the top of an already spotless dresser.

"Mother how can you say such a cruel thing? How does loving someone so much make them a coward?" Bell asked desperately trying to get her mother to look at her.

"Because Bell, true bravery is being afraid while still facing your fears--not running from them." Ella snatched a tiny crumb from the otherwise immaculate floor.

"Well I refuse to believe father left because he was afraid. Remember how he saved all those drowning refugees in the storm? He almost died himself that day." Bell pleaded with her mother's stiff back.

As she wiped imaginary dust from the footboard Ella continued to avoid eye contact with her daughter. "Believe what you will then Bell. Nevertheless, I tell you the truth and you may as well understand it. There is no trustworthy man. All men are heartless. Your father walked out on me, just as your just your grandfather walked out on you. Hear me plainly daughter. No man stays for long." Finally, with conviction she stared directly at Bell, "You should be grateful you will never marry." Spooning yet another dose of the acrid prescription she added, "Here, open up take your medicine."

Speechless, Bell obeyed; for she knew, Ella had a truly broken heart. And broken hearts
make even the noblest of people as bitter as the medicine she swallowed four times a day.

-End of Chapter 8-

Author's note: I hope you're enjoying the story so far! Please vote, comment, follow and add The Wasting  to your library. If you've got a book you'd like me to check out—I'd be delighted.