“Guys, I know it sucks. But we can’t stay here like we hoped. Maybe a day or two, but that’s it.”
“Where are we going to go?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know,” Jack admitted. “But if we can fill up our water bottles again, and maybe find some food, we can keep going, and as long as we keep going I know that we will find someplace safe.”
“OK, Jack,” Sam said, wiping away her tears and smearing her makeup further.
Poor little Will tried to steel his resolve too, but Jack could see he was struggling. He needed something to get his mind off of all this negativity. It wasn’t good for him.
“Hey, Will. Everything looks so different with the lawn all grown up and stuff. Think you could help me find the doors to the cellar?”
The small boy nodded, and wiping away his tears with the back of his sleeves, he released their legs, turning to look out past the remains of the house. Then he was off, half running, half bounding through the tall grass that for him was nearly chest level. The cellar had been an old creation, made of field stone and mortar, separate from the actual house and underground. Will hoped it had survived whatever had happened.
As they worked their way past the house and into what would have been the back yard, Jack followed Will, knowing full well where the old root cellar was, but letting his brother guide them. Looking back, Sam followed behind, letting him blaze a trail for her through the weeds, her face a mask of emotionlessness that made her look older for some reason. Turning back, he watched as Will vanished into the weeds ahead.
“Found it!” Will yelled as Jack approached.
“Good job, buddy,” Jack complimented.
“Very good,” Sam added, coming up beside them.
The double doors to the cellar were old and wooden, hinged from either side of the structure and meeting in the middle of the entryway. Vines and weeds had begun to creep across their surface, partially camouflaging the entrance, but it was there, and it was whole. Kicking away the weeds, Jack cleared away any debris from the handles and found much to his disappointment, a hindrance to his plan. There, across the handles of the cellar, looped a short length of chain with a padlock securing it in place. The cellar was still there, but they were going to have to work to get it open. Reaching down he tugged on the lock and then the chain, before bracing one foot against the door and pulling as hard as he was able. But even against his best efforts, the doors remained secured.
“Looks like we’re gonna need something to pry these open,” Jack said.
“Like a crowbar or something?” Will asked.
“That would work,” Jack replied. “But anything like a shovel or metal pipe would probably work,” he added, remembering some such pipes jutting out of the remains of the house.
“I saw some pipe!” Sam exclaimed.
“Me too,” Will said.
It didn’t take any urging. Both Sam and Will turned and rushed off towards what was left of Grandma’s house, and Jack followed to lend them a hand if needed. Rounding the house, they reached the corner where once would have been the bathroom. Though the old cast iron tub could be seen down in the crawl space filled with bits of burned wood and ash, the pipes that had fed it still thrust out of the jumble below within easy reach from the outside of the foundation.
Reaching the pipes, both Sam and Will each grabbed one and Jack watched as they pulled and yanked, trying to twist the pipes this way and that to no avail. They were going to have to work together if they wanted to succeed.
* * * * *
Sam pushed and pulled the slick piece of once grey pipe that was now coated in ash and some slimy substance she didn’t care to think about. Though it refused to come free from whatever held it, each time she pushed or pulled she could feel it shift slightly. If only she were stronger.
“Hey, guys, mind helping your weak girly sister over here?” she asked sarcastically, playing her best damsel in distress. “It moves if you pull on it.”
That was all it took for both boys to lend their hands and muscles to the task. At first they all three tried pulling on the pipe, and it did move, but only slightly. Then working together, they pushed the pipe and watched as it leaned away from them by several inches. With what Sam felt was proof that they were making progress, she and her brothers worked the pipe back and forth as it moved more and more in each direction. Before long they were moving it rapidly and then, with a snapping sound from somewhere down in the mound of burnt memories, it broke free as they all three tumbled over backwards in a tangled mess of arms and legs that had them all laughing at themselves.
Working to disentangle themselves they each regained their feet, and Sam grasped the pipe and pulled it up and out of the mess below. It wasn’t overly long, perhaps a foot taller than she. And with satisfaction in her heart she carried it back to the cellar where her older brother accepted it, before wedging it into the chain and beginning to pry.
For several long minutes he tried this angle and that, moving the pipe about in search of a better point to leverage the chain, but no matter what he tried he couldn’t manage to get it to work. The chain kept sliding down the pipe, or the wood of the doors bowed, it seemed as if they were destined to fail. Until Sam remembered an old movie she had seen where prisoners used their shirts to bend the bars of their cells and escape.
“Hang on, Jack. What if you put the bar through the chain like this?“ she said, taking the pipe from him and demonstrating. “Then we twist it round and round until it breaks?”
“You’re a genius!” Jack said, smacking his forehead.
Jack took the free end of the pipe and together they began twisting it until the chain became tight. Bending over, it was uncomfortable to manage, let alone get any leverage, so Sam got down on her hands and knees, waiting as Jack followed her lead and again they began to push round and round as Will stood a safe distance away to avoid being hurt should something go flying when the chain broke. But it didn’t break. Instead, the handles on either door began to bend closer and closer together as the pipe became harder and harder to twist and before they knew it, both Sam and Jack were panting, having come to a complete stop, unable to twist it further.
Just when Sam was about to give up, Will jumped down beside her and wrapped his little hands around the pipe and together all three gave a great shove as the wood of the door began to rip. Shoving again, the bolts for the handles began to tear free from the doors and with a final heave one handle came free entirely with a loud crack, like the sound of a gun that echoed through the trees around them. The door was open. Sam collapsed to her back panting as Will stood up to look down at her with a big smile on his face.
“I knew I wasn’t too little to help.”
“No, you sure weren’t,” she smiled back at him.
Sitting up again, she watched as Jack removed the pipe and tossed it aside before looking at her somewhat impatiently. Rising, she grasped one door while he reached for the other and together they pulled the doors open, letting them fall back to rest upon their hinges. Looking down into the small stone and mortar room, Sam could not help but smile, her eyes beginning to water slightly at the sight. There, down in the cellar, was the first place they had seen that was completely unchanged. Shelf upon shelf sat stocked with canned food in mason jars, and all of Grandpa’s yard tools were hung nicely upon another wall. It was exactly as she remembered it the last time she had been down here.
Looking across the shelves she could see the product of that last visit. Sam let the tears flow as she witnessed the jars of jam she and her grandma had made with help from Mom. There, down in the small confines of an old root cellar, were the clearest memories she could recall in that moment of her mother, the context of all her other memories having been destroyed by fire and ashes. But this… This remained untainted, unaffected, and unchanged by whatever had happened. Not only did they have plenty of food, but here were shelves and shelves of stored memories. Sam sobbed loudly as Will came to hug at her waist. Jack just l
ooked at her with a sad smile, his own eyes blurry with moisture.
* * * * *
Food glorious food. Will’s tummy growled. He had spent a lot of time helping Grandpa in the garden when he visited, and as such he had been down here lots of times. Climbing down the wide wooden steps, he ran his fingers across the edge of the shelves, eyeing all the jars of yummy goodness the womenfolk had made for them. That’s what Grandpa called Mom and Grandma. Womenfolk. It was kind of a funny name, but Will liked it. Grandpa was funny like that. He had told Will lots of funny things, and showed him how to do stuff that Mom had said he was too little for. Grandpa always argued, and taught him how to do it anyway. He missed Grandpa.
Looking at all the food, he remembered when he had asked his grandfather why they bothered to make all this food to save in the cellar. To which he was told that it was in case there was an emergency, or if the stores ran out of food. Will had thought the idea of stores with no food ridiculous, but now he saw just how smart Grandpa was. Old people might not know much about computers or driving fast like everyone else, but they knew stuff other people didn’t. Will was sure of that.
Shelf after shelf, Will inspected the stores of food, from candied yams to raspberry jam and pickled venison. Not his favorite foods, he would admit, but they looked darn good right now. Here there were beans and there was a shelf of strawberry preserves. So far as Will could tell they could live her for a long time. And maybe, just maybe, what Jack and Sam said was wrong, and Mom and Dad would come back and find them right here. Jack might have given up, maybe Samantha too, but not Will. No way. No how. Dad went and saved Mom, and they would be coming back. He just knew it.
Looking up to both Jack and Sam who both stood there watching him like some sort of manikins, Will picked up a jar of jelly and waited to see if they would protest. No negativity forthcoming, he twisted the top with all his might until it made a loud popping sound, and the ring and lid both came free. Victory was his.
Without a care, Will dug his fingers down into the jar of jelly, scooping out the yummy sweetness and scraping it off his fingers and into his mouth. Swishing it around with his tongue, he swallowed lump after gooey lump, unable to fight the smile that came with every single bite.
It was hours later when, with all their bellies filled, they sought out the pump in the yard that produced water for the garden. Finding it in working order, Will had watched as Jack pumped and pumped until finally a trickle of rusty water began to flow. Only a few minutes later, a gush of clear and clean water came out with every motion of the pump’s handle, and together they worked to refill and close all of their bottles of water.
Visiting Grandpa’s pee-pee tree before going back down to the cellar, Will heard both Sam and Jack discussing leaving, an idea he really didn’t like.
“A day or two maybe,” Jack said. “But we can’t just stay here, we need to go see what else is out there. Find out what happened.”
“Jack, we can’t take all of this with us. If we leave it behind, who knows what we’ll find out there. We can’t just think that we’ll keep finding everything we need. This could be it. We don’t know,” Sam argued.
“This can’t be it, Sam. We know there are other people. We’ve seen other people.”
“Yeah, people that wanted to drag you off and do God knows what to you,” Sam interrupted.
“Yes, they obviously weren’t what we had hoped for. But if other people are alive, that means that out there somewhere are good people, and a good place for us to live with Will.”
“I’m not arguing that, Jack. I’m just saying. We have it pretty good right now. Why leave that, when we don’t know where to even go? Why not stay and see if we can figure out what happened?”
“Find out how?” This time it was Jack to interrupt.
“Grandma’s house. Neighbor’s houses. There has to be something. I don’t know. The whole world can’t just blow up without some evidence as to why.”
Will wanted to tell them that he wanted to stay, but he couldn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know. He didn’t like their tones. He didn’t like that they didn’t agree, but he kept quiet, listening to see where the conversation was going. There was a few moments of silence as a whole range of emotions played across Jack’s face, but finally, with a deep sigh, he turned his eyes back to Sam and nodded.
“OK, Sam. You’re right. We can stay. At least for a little while. By day we’ll go out and see what we can scavenge and what we can learn, and by night we’ll stay right here, but we are leaving. We have to leave while there are enough supplies for us to leave with and get us away from here. We can’t wait until we run out again.”
“OK, Jack,” Sam said.
Watching as Sam stood up, Will saw her cross the few feet separating her from his big brother and she hugged him.
“I think that this is best. Let’s get some sleep tonight, and tomorrow we can see what we can find out about what happened,” Sam half whispered.
They were staying. Good.
Chapter Fifteen
The morning had gone better than any over the last few days, and Jack was thankful for it. Waking up, they had all eaten their fill of whatever enticed them, knowing that the day would likely be long and laborious. Once finished, they emerged from the cellar, closing the doors behind them, and approached the ruined remains of Grandma and Grandpa’s house.
Though the building was more or less destroyed, the front porch and part of the front wall of the house remained, and this is where Jack knew they would find some clues to what had happened, if any existed here. The rest of the house had burned, and anything that had any answers had likely burned with it.
Leading his siblings up to the storm door upon the home’s front porch, Jack pried it open, swinging the door wide, its bottom edge dragging the surface of the top step. The whole room had shifted, he supposed, and as he let go of the door it remained open. Cautiously stepping inside the small room, he looked around, seeing what it was and recalling what it had been the last time he had visited.
Both ends of the small porch held a rocking chair that his parents had bought his grandparents at the Amish flea market in Shipshewana. Though their color had changed, probably due to the heat of the fire, they looked rather well preserved. Indoor outdoor carpet stretched across the small space, the far end having shriveled and darkened to a sickly shade of blackish green. Here and there shards of glass littered the floor, but to Jack, all of this was unimportant. What he had hoped he would find, he did find, and here, in the small enclosed porch, were a collection of newspapers in various states of ruin. Most were all but destroyed by the rain that had come through the windows over months and the sun beating down on them, looking like little more than giant spitballs, but others were better preserved.
Looking under the rocking chair to his left, he saw a rolled paper, that although faded, looked dry and protected beneath the chair’s seat. Next to the chair’s rocker, another paper laid, still inside the plastic bag it had been delivered in. Leaving the doorway he approached the two papers that appeared in the best shape, allowing both Sam and Will to enter behind him.
Picking up the newspaper that remained in its plastic, he slid it from the semi-transparent sleeve into his lap. Removing the rubber band that secured it in a roll, he unwound the paper, scanning the top of the front page. The headlines were useless, one article dealing with problems in the Senate, and another about asteroids passing near to earth. Moving on, he scanned further across the page in search of the date. No good. It was printed months before they had been locked in the vault by Dad. Ugh.
Discarding the first newspaper, he looked across the small room to Sam and Will who both carefully worked through papers in far worse shape than those he had chosen. Refocusing himself, he took a deep breath and lifted the other paper, the one that had been under the chair. Unrolling it upon his lap, he found that it was not a whole paper as he had presumed, but just the first few pages of a paper loosely rolled, making it
appear bigger than it actually was. Opening it and spreading it across his lap, he found that its condition was much worse than he had hoped as well. Though some of the ink remained, the majority of the page had been a photo that now was too ruined to make out. The text of the articles had all smeared together, proof that although under the chair, water had saturated it on multiple occasions. None of that was what caught his attention though.
With all the small print gone and the large image destroyed, the paper would provide him almost nothing, except for the headline that stretched all the way across the top of the page. It was smeared, and the ink had run, but the print was so large he could still easily distinguish the letters, and a knot formed in his stomach. IS THIS AN INVASION?
Over and over he scanned the words, looking all about the page for anything else he could read but nothing else was legible. Flipping the page over and scanning through the next page, the result was the same. All but the main headline on the first page had been washed away. Lost. The answers might have been there months, or maybe even just a few short weeks ago, but they were gone now. Frustrated, he looked up and Sam was staring at him intently, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other, a questioning look upon her face. Turning the paper over, he held it up for her to read for herself as her expression fell, a deep frown taking its place.
* * * * *
An invasion? Sam couldn’t believe it. Who would have invaded the United States? Sure, they had no shortage of enemies, she supposed, but none that would dare invade. Nuke maybe, but invade… No way. Unless they nuked first, and then invaded. That would explain a lot, like why the city was destroyed, or why the monkey thing didn’t have hair. A nuclear bomb could destroy a city, and the radiation could make an animal’s hair fall out. Things were starting to make sense, but not all of it. Where were the people? Or at least their bodies? Who had invaded? Why?
Children of the AFTER: AWAKENING Page 11