Between the Roots

by A. N. McDermott

  "She got away with it!" John cried in astonishment. "You're lucky all you lost was your goody bag, Walt."

  "Did you hear what he told her to do?" Sammy asked.

  "I pity the next town," John said. Then he realized what that meant. "We're the next town."

  "Why would they want her to turn a wild dog loose in town?" Walt mused out loud. "I think I can answer my own question. Come on, guys, we need to get back home. I've got to warn security to lock up Fritz."

  The ride back was slower and more challenging. It was raining heavily. Water jetted from their wheels, and the windshield wipers rocked full force. Walt skirted their town, taking the second exit closer to the Colony. He headed toward the school, turned left at the market, and continued along the long stretch that eventually led to the dirt road behind the walled forest. The potholes were difficult to negotiate. Walt parked near the dam.

  "You stay put. I'll check on the dog." For having an old body, he moved quickly, slogging through the fresh mud. Sammy watched him unlock the gate and limp onto the path. His frame swayed back and forth, propelling his long, thin legs toward the guardhouse. The boys waited. Walt soon reappeared on the path. "It's okay. Fritz is safe. The guys are going to keep him inside, guard the guard dog."

  "Did it take much convincing?" Sammy asked.

  "Not a bit. They knew something was going to happen sooner or later. It's tense around here, no doubt about it."

  "It's the trial, isn't it?" Sammy asked.

  "We stand to lose so much. And the guys . . . " Walt fell silent. Sammy knew what the guys had to lose as well, time that they didn't have.

  Sammy felt a surge of pride. This day of adventure might just pay off for the Colony. There would be a lively discussion at home tonight. He had the scoop over City Hall, knowing what the newest allegations against the Colony were going to be before they even came out.

  Chapter Seventeen: Attack

  SHE ACTED QUICKLY. Monday morning, school was abuzz about the mad dog in town. How a fiery lady from Rule managed to engage the mutt in so many hurtful, disgusting schemes was the real mystery. A small dog was attacked right in front of its young owner. Its injuries sent the pup to the vet. A young boy was mauled, a half-eaten hamburger snatched from his hand. A man waiting for a bus lost his briefcase to the canine thief, while two teens were knocked off their bikes, their pant cuffs ripped to shreds. One of the teens needed twelve stitches on his ankle. Garbage dumping and newspaper shredding were attributed to the same ferocious mutt. Pulling wet laundry off clotheslines, killing seven chickens, digging holes under a fence, leaving doggy-dos next to building corners, ransacking a woodshed, stealing bicycles, losing car keys—you name it. The dog had a reputation that grew by the minute.

  Its undoing was the savage attack on a lady wearing a long, green slicker coat. Two gentlemen in a car watched the dog attack the woman as she crossed the street. Their fast action saved her. After the dog knocked her down, the men said the dog snarled fiercely, ready to lunge at her again. The man perched in the driver's seat deliberately aimed his car at the dog and stepped on the gas. In an instant the ordeal was over. The dead dog was taken to the jail, where both men insisted it was the Colony's guard dog. As for the woman, she left town.

  A bystander recounted another version of the story. He saw the woman jerk toward the animal as if she were holding a leash. She exchanged heated words with the two men. One of the men pulled out a wallet and slapped money in her outstretched hand. But a day later, rumor had it that she had thanked them and offered them cash for saving her life.

  Once again panic cries spread throughout town: The Colony's ferocious pet was killed to save a bystander. How could they be allowed to keep such a vicious animal! What other dangerous animals were kept behind their walls? The Colony was a terrible threat to the community!

  Chapter Eighteen: Painting

  THE BOYS HELD PHONE conversations with Walt. What could they do to save Fritz? What could they do to save the Colony? This latest episode had stretched public opinion against the Colony. What would happen if the authorities insisted on searching the Colony, freely roaming its woods? Were the maturing pods deep enough to go undetected? This was the worst time for the pending trial. Its outcome could prove the fatal blow to Walt's home.

  Early the next week, the rains turned to occasional showers. Sammy and John arranged to meet Walt and pedaled the same wooded side road that skirted the river, finding it much easier to maneuver by day.

  As they crossed the main road, Sammy noticed two small boys playing in the full drainage ditch. Are they kids having fun, or are they old men cleaning the culverts? Ever since Walt had told the boys the secret of the Colony, Sammy looked at everyone in a different way. Even his young English teacher was suspect. Was she really who he thought, and did it even matter? He guessed it didn't. He still liked her, no matter who she was.

  Standing puddles made riding more difficult. They braked and bounced along the unpaved road in full view of the dam. When they reached the gate, Walt was there, holding it open. "Do you want to have a look around in the daylight?"

  "Seriously? You won't get in trouble?"

  "Not if we stay close to the river." They left the road before it swung behind a line of riverfront cottages nestled under fir trees. Beyond the homes was an open area filled with raised vegetable beds ready for the new spring planting. Walt pointed out the medical building and the adjacent warehouse. Sammy recognized a larger two-story building, its back door facing a parking lot, and beside it the kennel where Fritz was now imprisoned.

  Walt directed them to the first cottage near the dam. "There's someone who wants to see you." He climbed the porch stairs and motioned the boys to follow. After peering through the front door, he opened it and walked in. Sammy and John waited outside. A young girl rounded the corner of the nearby shed. A light raincoat hung loosely over her frame. She carried a long stick whose large arrowhead tip was dotted with small holes. When she noticed them, she waved. "Let me get rid of this thing, boys." AnLillie seemed even more pixie-like than ever.

  As she stomped the mud from her boots, she said, "It's so good to see you. Come on inside." They followed her in, neither boy knowing what to say.

  "So, Grandma, what did you find in the woods?" Walt asked. Sammy wondered if they were totally ignoring the fact that he and John now knew about their reversed relationship. Just hearing the word "Grandma" made Sammy uneasy.

  "I tested the ground in the lower section. It's getting pretty saturated with all this rain. I'm sure the diggers are keeping a close eye on it, though," she answered, and then turned to Sammy and John. "This must seem strange to you boys." She pointed to Walt and then back to herself.

  What could they say? It rocked their world to the core and now another person was confirming the truth.

  "In all my years I've never talked to an 'aging' who knew I wasn't one. I can tell you, it feels unreal knowing that you boys know about the Colony." Those few words put him at ease.

  After she took her coat off, it was difficult to keep up with her. She began flitting from room to room, sharing her life's little treasures, telling a short story about each one. The living room was small, freshly painted but bearing the warmth of a home long lived in. Cherry-wood molding trimmed every room, top and bottom, and set off the lighter oak floor. Leaded-glass doors covered bookshelves that bracketed a stone fireplace. AnLillie took a poker from a rack and prodded the flames, which added to the welcoming feel of the cottage.

  Sammy noticed a painting over the mantel. It depicted two ancient trees reflecting one another, one growing upward toward the sky, its autumn leaves filling the empty spaces of a bright background. The second tree was reversed, its lush new green leaves showing through flowing water, while its own roots spread out handsomely, touching the roots of the first tree.

  AnLillie watched him study her painting. He seemed captivated by it. After letting the moment soak into minutes, she said, "Thank goodness for the others."


  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "I spoke out of turn," she answered, and then walked off toward the kitchen. "I'll go get us some fresh cookies."

  Are there more genetically different people? Are Walt and AnLillie going to introduce us to others? Others whose bodies keep me guessing: Are you old? Are you young? What does she mean, she spoke out of turn?

  When she returned with a tray of chocolate-chip cookies, Sammy said, "AnLillie, all I seem to get are questions and not many answers. Tell me about the 'others.'"

  "Sammy, you'll know soon enough. It's nothing to trouble your mind." She set the cookies on a low table and turned away. But he pressed on.

  "Not knowing who or what they are is a little scary," he confessed. "I still feel uncomfortable knowing what I know, but I want to know more. All this secrecy doesn't help, especially since the Colony is in trouble."

  "Oh, I'm aware of it. We all are. The trial and the rain are all we speak of." Slipping by John, who was helping himself to the cookies, she motioned toward the front of the house.

  "Have you noticed the river?" She opened the front door and walked to the edge of the porch. "It's rising, pretty muddy from the rains, almost close enough to fish from right here. It's been years since it was this high."

  That was the first and last time Sammy ever stood on AnLillie's porch.

  Chapter Nineteen: Adventure

  SATURDAY BROUGHT ANOTHER storm. The boys met Walt at the end of the street near John's house. The old car coasted along the curb. Walt impatiently motioned for Sammy to jump in the front seat. John struggled to pile into the back seat as they inched to a halt. Walt confessed to Sammy that he hadn't asked AnLillie for the car, but he knew he'd be back before AnLillie realized it was missing.

  "So where are we headed?" John asked.

  "You'll see."

  Walt edged the car into traffic, turned left onto Main Street, and continued the ten blocks to the other end of town. The windshield wipers thrashed back and forth to fight the steady rain.

  "So where are we going in this torrent?" John asked again.

  Walt continued down a narrow, paved road heading west into the park. He eased the car into a puddle-free space at the far end of the parking lot. Sammy was impressed. "You're improving. I won't know how to find your car in traffic anymore."

  "Darn, I kinda liked that jack-rabbit style of yours," John said.

  Walt ignored them both. He reached over the front seat and lifted up a backpack. From it, he pulled three plastic bags stuffed with what looked like more plastic bags. "Here, take one of these. You'll be glad for it."

  Sammy ripped a hole in the bag. "A poncho! You really planned ahead, didn't you?"

  "So where are you taking us, old man?" John asked for the third time.

  "Have you ever been to the railroad yard over the bluff?" Walt pointed ahead and waited for Sammy's reaction.

  "Not really, but I've seen part of it from the road."

  "Well, that's where we're headed. I always wanted to go in one of those abandoned boxcars." Walt waited for a response; none came. "Come on, guys, this is gonna be fun, a real adventure. I brought some food and junk. Whatta ya say?"

  Sammy heaved a sigh. "It's fenced off, Walt. We can't get in there."

  "That's what I thought, too. That day I walked to the Arcade I took a side trip and checked it out. There's a narrow opening in the yard where the fence crosses back on itself. It looks closed, but it's really not. It's open."

  "The railroad frowns on trespassers, you know," Sammy said.

  "How do you know, Sammy?" Walt asked.

  "I don't know, I just do. And this place is especially off limits, because it's where two of the busiest lines store their extra cars. There's more train traffic here than anywhere along their eastern boundary."

  "How do you know that, Sammy, have you been here before?" Walt watched Sammy's expression.

  "No, I said I haven't, and I can't remember where I heard it; but it makes sense."

  "I'm game to go in," John said as he tugged at the poncho, freeing the sticky hood from itself.

  "If you're worried about getting caught, no one is going to watch for trespassers in this weather," Walt said.

  "We'd have to cross all the tracks," Sammy said. A strange feeling enveloped him. He knew what it was like to be on the tracks, yet he had never been there. He had an eerie sense of repeating himself.

  "No problem. Consider it a challenge. This'll be a great adventure." John grinned. Sammy knew John's enthusiasm was uncrushable.

  "First we need to get in the mood, Sammy. Lighten up. I guarantee you, we'll have some good ideas after a little fun," Walt said.

  Sammy swiped the foggy car windows with his sleeve. Off to the left a trail led from the parking lot over the bluff, and disappeared into the jungle of vine maples that bordered the tracks below. He grabbed for the tightly folded poncho, peeled it open, and then wrestled its hood over his head. Both Walt and John did the same. Without talking, they opened the doors and were buffeted by the wind. Walt hoisted the backpack under his poncho and over his shoulders. His posture reminded Sammy of a hunchback's.

  The trail was easy to follow, but slippery. The threesome eased their way down the bluff wall to the nearest set of tracks. Their lightweight ponchos billowed like angry kites. Sammy figured that to any watchers, they'd look mysterious in their gear, inching along the gravel bed of the tracks.

  Beyond them was another steep descent to the fence that bordered the yard. They crossed the first set of tracks along the bluff. Strong wind gusts forced them to hunker low. They checked both directions, and then ventured across the second set of dangerously exposed tracks, all the time Sammy being fully aware they were breaking the law. Reminders were posted on the fence ahead of them. There was no easy escape route, since the railroad tracks were flanked by the bluff wall, a sharp curve, and the yard surrounded by cyclone fence. If a train happened by, they were at a deadly disadvantage.

  They soon reached the lower level of the yard, where the flat land extended to the river. Now Sammy knew why the fence was altered: fishermen used it. The shortest distance was through the railroad yard.

  The rain intensified, which made it difficult to see. John shook free the water dripping from his hood. "Where did you say the break in the fence was?" he shouted above the noise of whipping plastic.

  "There, go down about twenty yards on your left!" Walt yelled back.

  John led the group. Just beyond the narrow break in the fence he noticed a huge gate that crossed the side set of tracks to open into the yard. This was how the cars were rolled into storage. When he reached the narrow opening, he held tight to his flapping garment and twisted himself through. Walt slipped from his backpack and handed it to John before entering the curve of the fence. Sammy followed.

  Inside the yard it felt austere. Nothing was moving; the large wooden boxes were somber ships on giant wheels, going nowhere. Their sliding doors were closed tight, save that of one that Sammy found just inside the large gate.

  The door was slightly gapped open. Before he entered the boxcar, Walt retrieved his backpack from John, unfastened the top, and withdrew a flashlight. He fanned the light inside the empty car, and then helped Sammy boost John through the open door. Next, John pulled Walt, while Sammy pushed him from below. Sammy had not realized how far from the ground boxcar floors extended. Using all of his strength, he hoisted himself up and onto the floor. Sammy felt a flood of relief pass through his tired muscles.

  "I'm glad to be out of that wind," Sammy said. He joined Walt and John at the back of the car; clumps of mud now covered the floor.

  "Help me undo this flap." Walt handed John the flashlight. "Shine it on top of the pack." Walt found the treasures he had packed. The first item out of the bag was a sack containing three oranges, a bag of pretzels, and three large Snickers bars.

  "Way to go, Walt!" Sammy called as he helped unload the loot.

  "Here, let's have a little more light," Walt ordered
as he continued to pull a pair of stocky red and white striped candles from the pack. "Matches anyone?"

  "Heck, I don't carry them around. Do you Sammy?" John said.

  "Well, would you look at this," Walt said as he waved a new box of wooden matches in front of their faces. "And, of course, we need a table." He tugged on the next item until it came free of the pack, a red-checkered plastic tablecloth to cover the muddy boxcar floor.

  "I'm impressed!" Sammy said. "So now we eat, right?"

  "You haven't seen the last of it." Walt's broad smirk showed in the flickering candle flames. "There are some sandwiches and a deck of cards in here somewhere." The contents of the backpack were now spilled on the rough floor. They arranged the tablecloth, sat on it, and huddled near the dancing light, the atmosphere now cozy against the wailing storm outside. As they ate and talked, the wind whipped furiously at the open car door.

  John crept to the door. "Listen, can you hear that rushing sound?"

  "It's the river on the other side of the yard," Walt answered.

  "Sounds close."

  "While you're up, see if you can close that door a little," Sammy said.

  John grabbed the open edge, and pulled and rocked the door. It held fast. He leaned his shoulder against the inside and pushed harder. "It's not going anywhere. Help me budge it, Sammy." With their combined effort, it began to slide on its track. Suddenly, it released its rusty hold and slid forward, slamming tight shut.

  "There, that ought to keep out the wind." Both boys returned to the back of the car.

  "It's warmer already." Walt was pleased. "Let's play some cards. What do you guys know?"

  "How about poker? We can use pretzels for chips." Sammy tried to sound naïve. He'd played hours of poker with his mother. From the beginning, he was a natural to the game, as if he had played it for years. He planned to take advantage of his hidden talent; he was hungry and pretzels were good spoils today. He could eat the whole bag. Maybe now he would.