The Underground Railroad: A Novel Novels & Stories

Time for ghosts again. Nestore extended his hand. "Come." I took it. Nevio fell into step on my other side. We walked down the rail yard together between rows of opened cages and rescued children, past the last remains of Hale's trade, into a world already changing around us. Behind us lay ash and broken chains. Ahead — something new.

She assisted The Union in several battles with her older brother, but they were both caught before The Union could reach them. In the notes, Phuture finally discovered where Celie was born and raised. The Union, short for The Union Greenland. A country that was built by slaves, slaves who were originally kidnapped from another land. Kidnapped migration. Great, now I finally know where the hell I am at least. I'm still unsure what city... There was so much to read in such small amount of time, there had to been at least a decade worth of information written in the bible. There's no way they read what was inside... they certainly would've taken the book.

"Listen to me, Ruby. There’s no time left for psychological games. If they catch you, they won't kill you—they’ll turn you into a human key to unlock that bunker and then discard you like trash. I’m not letting that happen." "Where are we going? We’re underground!" I cried out as the sound of shattering glass and screams of agony reached the ground floor. Nevan didn't answer. He shoved a heavy bookshelf that appeared to be bolted to the wall. With a metallic screech, the wood slid aside to reveal a narrow, dark tunnel reinforced with steel beams. "The O’Shea escape route. My grandfather built this for whenever the government or the competition came knocking." He handed me a small flashlight

" The day I was sentenced, Zoey publicly announced her support for Ronald as the heir to the Goldman family. From that moment on, I had nothing left. For three years in prison, I slept beside the toilets. They shoved my head into toilet water and forced me to drink it. The inmates beat me, humiliated me, treated me worse than an animal. To survive, I fought my way through with my fists. The only thing keeping me alive was the hope that one day I could leave prison and buy back my parents' old mansion. The day I got out, I hid myself in an underground fighting ring like a rat crawling out of the gutter, living numbingly from match to match. That one million dollars would have brought me one s