Escape to Canamith

by Richard Friedman

  “Rex, you don’t know everything. I’d never deny the young lady her wish,” answered Taft smartly. “You’re on, lady.”

  Sara flashed a big grin and said to her new acquaintance, “It’s not gambling if the odds are tipped heavily in favor of one side of the better.”

  Sara spotted their waitress. An older woman with creaky knees approached the table.

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” said Sara, “are you Mama Chambers?”

  “Dear, there isn’t a Mama Chambers. The boss made up a marketing slogan for the advertising campaign. I’m just old. My real name is Belinda.”

  “Oh. Can you tell me when this picture was taken?”

  “Which one, dear?” asked the waitress.

  “The ones on the table tops. The view is from way up high.”

  “Gosh, let me think. I started here twenty years ago and these tables weren’t here then. Let me see, I’d say fifteen years ago. Hold on a sec, it was fifteen years exactly because if you peer closely you can see my red car in the parking lot. I had purchased that old gas hog right before fuel prices shot through the roof.”

  “I guess lunch is on me,” said Taft. “That was quite a first impression, Sara. How’d you do it? Lucky guess?”

  “Not a guess, General Taft.”

  “Almost General,” he interrupted.

  “I wouldn’t gamble unless I was certain of the results. It was easy. You can tell by the clarity of the water. From our view in the Mountains, we have a view that resembles the ones taken by the airplanes. There’s a beach near us and when I look down at Sanderell I can tell that the water hasn’t been that clear in fifteen years. You may not notice the changes because you see the water every day. I observe the beach occasionally. Have you ever watched a child grow up? You don’t notice how your own child grows fractionally each day. When you see a cousin or a niece every few months, you tend to notice the changes. We don’t get those chances in Canamith; it’s such a small village. There are intervals when the children go unnoticed, and then you look up and realize how big they’ve grown.”

  Taft smiled at Rex, who was beaming with pride in regards to his wife’s ability to make such a strong first impression with his old friend.

  “That’s a real lady you’ve got there, Rex,” said Taft.

  “Don’t I know it,” answered Rex.

  Sara slapped her menu on the table.

  “Hey, boys, let’s order food. Food tastes better when I’m not paying for it!” Sara laughed at her own joke and scooted her chair closer to Rex. She draped her right arm over his shoulder and gave him a little squeeze.

  “Belinda! Two meat loaf specials for the men and…the lady will have?” Taft tapped his fingers on the table while Sara decided.

  “I’ll have the salad with diced chicken, your house dressing on the side please,” said Sara.

  “Sounds good for me and Allesandra too. Make that three salads please.” chipped in Elizabeth.

  Belinda limped through the swinging wooden doors and put the order into the new computer system that brought Chambers Café into the modern world of food service.

  Sara kept her eye on the gift.

  “I see you’re eyeing the gift wrapped item?” said Taft.

  “I am a little curious. May I be so bold as to ask what you bought your wife?”

  “It’s not for me,” declared Elizabeth. “Oh heavens, the general would never buy anything for me. That’s not his style. He gives me the money and I pick out what I want.”

  Taft didn’t care for his wife’s claim and turned to Lila. “It’s typically more expensive than a gift I would buy. This is for you, Sara. I was going to give it to you when lunch was over. Go ahead. Open it,” said the trim Army vet.

  “Thank you! That wasn’t necessary,” blushed Sara.

  “Come on, don’t be shy,” answered the General.

  Sara grabbed the package and gently tried to remove the olive- colored paper.

  “Sara, please, rip it open. We don’t have all day,” said Rex.

  “Rex, please don’t be rude. If the general and his wife went to the trouble to wrap it, I want to unwrap it nicely, thank you very much.” She started gently, and then ripped open the rest of the paper with the panache of a street brawler.

  “You call that gently?” said Taft with irony.

  Her face lit up when she saw the cover. It read: Living Off the Land by Ryan Gates.

  Sara skimmed the book, smiling as she thumbed the pages, from the first bright white one to the last of the 300-plus-page collection.

  “What is it?” asked Rex.

  “It’s a cookbook! The recipes are made with produce we grow in Canamith. Thank you both. That was thoughtful of you.”

  “Glad you like it! You know, your husband and I don’t see eye- to-eye on this whole ‘tunnel’ thing. I want him well-fed in case he’s right. I trust there’s a page or two in that book that he will enjoy. Rex says you can really make a mean dinner.”

  “That’s kind of him to say. I do rather well for a mountain girl!” She laughed out loud at her own joke and then continued, “Thank you, again, and I’ll treasure the gift.”

  Sara and Elizabeth chatted while they ate. Rex and Taft discussed what supplies Rex wanted to procure at their next rendezvous. Allesandra sat with her handheld device and headphones, focused on the latest top hits.

  When lunch ended, the five of them went for a walk down the boardwalk to stretch their legs and burn off some of the calories. Rex ignored the group of rowdy teens that could be heard, but not yet seen by anyone. The teens came down the east side of the boardwalk. As they made their way closer to the general and his guests, the tallest of the teenagers shouted,

  “Hey, fuckface, why aren’t you out killing somebody today?”

  Taft’s training taught him to ignore comments from civilians. This was different. An uneasy sensation developed in his stomach. Allesandra was scared. You could see that in her green eyes.

  Taft tried to calm her. “Easy, baby, daddy won’t let anything happen to you. These boys are trying to rile me up, that’s all.”

  Taft glanced at the teen and chose not to reply to his comments.

  Rex and Sara had never heard those vulgar words before, and although they didn’t know what a “fuckface” was, they did know how to interpret alarming intent when they heard it. Sara positioned herself slightly behind Rex, who placed his left arm in front of Sara as a measure of protection.

  Allesandra tucked in close to her mother.

  The teens came closer, and when they were within arm’s length of the general, the bulkiest teen removed a knife that had been hidden from view and attempted to stab the general.

  Taft spun to his left and avoided the sharp blade. The attacker turned to face the general. Taft grabbed his wife and daughter with his left hand and pushed them to the ground, while his right hand found his pistol and he fired a shot into the chest of his assailant. The boy stumbled backwards and hit the ground.

  Allesandra screamed and covered her face. The punk had hurled his last insult. His wound was terminal. While blood flowed from his wound, another gunshot rang out.

  The second gunshot wasn’t from Taft’s gun. One of the other teens had responded to the general’s shot with one of his own. The poor kid had no business holding such a powerful weapon in his small hands. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. The bullet struck Sara in the stomach. She doubled over in pain; dark red liquid spilled from her midsection and covered the book that Taft had given her minutes earlier. The white pages of the book absorbed the first few drops of blood and then the sand crystals turned red. Sara stared at Rex in disbelief. It took Rex years to forget the look in Sara’s face as she tumbled to the ground, blood flowing out of her. Rex rushed to her side and screamed for help.

  Taft had turned and fired a second shot, this one a direct hit in the middle of the back of Sara’s assassin. He fell forward, his face planting with a thud on the paved parking lot. He didn’t move ag
ain.

  “Elizabeth?” yelled the general.

  “We’re okay!” cried the general’s wife. She clutched her daughter and tried to stop her from shaking.

  Taft pressed several buttons on his mobile phone and within a minute the sound of sirens could be heard. The rescue team arrived on the scene and Rex feared the worst. Valiantly, they put pressure on Sara’s wound as blood continued to leak out. Rex held Sara’s hand as she was put in the ambulance. Taft followed them in his truck as the rescue vehicle and staff attempted to save Sara’s life. They whisked alongside the Boardwalk, past a collection of frightened on-lookers and then rushed to Sanderell Hospital, where she died later that day.

  CHAPTER 12

  Buck spent the next two weeks learning in greater detail how his descendants built the tunnels in Canamith. The Elders spent this time discussing his future role in the village. The books that Buck studied were written over 2,000 years ago. The Ancient Ones believed that terrible danger was ahead. They couldn’t predict the exact date. The Chief Elder would determine when world events dictated sealing the tunnel doors. It might happen in their children’s lifetime or in another ten subsequent generations. The Scriptures couldn’t predict what day or year the right time to seal the tunnels. To anyone paying attention, the world around them was making that point crystal clear. The time approached.

  Seven days before the closing of the tunnels, the Elders began their council meeting. This timetable was noted in the scriptures as “The Last Week of Man” and “The Beginning of the End.”

  Prior to this gathering, Buck had a mild suspicion of what was to come of the world. An Elder named Braham had come to his house early that morning. The sun was cracking over the peaks of the mountains in the east. Glistening streams of light danced on the tall trees that had been covered in snow until a few months ago. Fresh water ran from the mountaintops and entered the village at a slow, steady pace. The spring thaw had been heavier than usual this year and the water diverted into special overflow containers located on the eastern side of the village.

  Each container was meticulously hand-crafted directly into the walls of the tunnels. The main pipe that brought the water into the container was sealed within the solid rock. A series of aqueducts brought the water inside the tunnel. Once there, the water ran down the entire twenty-two foot shaft of the container. There was enough fresh water in these containers to last the village for two years. Underground reservoirs would supply additional water if needed.

  Waste removal was coordinated with special pipes that ran down underneath the tunnels to a geothermal stream that led away from Canamith towards the ocean. There was a back-up plan completed by Rex twenty-five years ago. It consisted of a series of pipes that ran the length of the tunnels to a vast waste receptacle. It wasn’t the perfect way to fix the problem, but at least it was a plan. Rex Templeton always had a back-up plan.

  Buck and Mathis scarfed down their breakfast of eggs and toast and were discussing the topics of the day when an older man approached from the southern end of the village.

  When Buck saw his dark blue robe he realized this wasn’t a social visit.

  “Good morning to two of the finest young men in the village,” said Elder Braham. He was given the task of teaching Buck the responsibilities that would be placed on his shoulders in the coming weeks. Braham had been handsome in his youth—many years ago. Too many second helpings of his wife’s stuffed chicken and cheese dinners, and his unfortunate battle with decaying teeth, made the once comely man look older than the sixty-three years.

  “Morning, Elder Braham,” replied the boys in unison.

  “Come with me, Buck. We have much to discuss.”

  “I understand,” said Buck.

  “I guess I should find somewhere else to be, huh?” said Mathis.

  “Don’t be downhearted. You will fulfill your future in Canamith someday. Be patient, your moment will come,” said Braham, as he watched a discouraged Mathis walk to the center of the village.

  The Elder Braham and his new apprentice headed to the holy site of the tunnels. Buck’s father was in charge of the village, but neither son had ever considered trespassing on this holy shrine. Buck was escorted into the building as if the entire place had been constructed for him. He hesitated at the entrance point and Braham ushered him onward.

  “Come, dear boy, there’s no use in pretending you don’t belong here. You’ve got as much right to stand here as I do, perhaps more. Come now, there are no evil monsters in there ready to attack. When the others see you, they should see you are secure in your forthcoming journey.”

  “Others?” Buck said, startled. “How come my first visit in here can’t be with just you? You’re adept at keeping me calm. Even my dad makes me a little nervous; sometimes he scares the living you-know- what out of me. His legacy is impossible to follow.”

  “You shouldn’t try following his legacy,” said Braham. “You must create your own. I’ve had many conversations with your father and I assure you he is confident that you can handle it. If the leader of the village says you are the one, than the rest of the Elders will believe it. Remember that nobody is expecting miracles from you. The true miracle of the village is the long and arduous task that brought us to this point. We’re close to achieving what our ancestors knew could be done. Comparing when this process started to the time when it will be completed can be measured in practically the blink of eye.” Braham gave Buck an exaggerated “blink” of his own to belabor the point.

  “I get it. Nice and easy. Any last minute words of wisdom?”

  “Yes, don’t speak unless spoken to. Funny, that’s what I used to say to my kids. Be yourself and you’ll be fine. Pretend you’ve done this every day of your life. Walk in and introduce yourself to everybody. They know you.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” said Buck. “I’ve been raised on meetings, secret chambers, you name it, and I’ve seen it.”

  Buck entered the holy site with his head held high. Buck and Braham came upon twelve men standing silently in a semicircle. The men were wearing ceremonial robes that flowed down to within two inches of the ground. A six-inch strip of white fur near their necks softened the bright blue of the robes. A purple flower adorned the fur and imparted a lovely fragrance.

  As Buck came closer, the smell of lilac filled his head with warm memories. His mother had pressed lilac flowers in her perfume jar. When Buck was a young boy and had a nightmare, he’d run to the bedroom where Rex and Sara slept and leap into the middle of the bed and hold his mother close. The scent of flowers helped calmed him. There was always a fresh bouquet of flowers in the corner of the room. He hadn’t thought of those flowers in years. In the time of bereavement following Sara’s murder, Rex cut fresh lilacs and placed them in his room. They stayed there for the seven-day mourning ritual that was customary for the village.

  Buck was unaware of such details when Sara died, and when he surprised his father with more flowers on the eighth day, Rex snarled at the boy, extracted the flowers from his grip and crushed them in one hand, saying, “No more flowers.”

  Filled with the images of the fractured pieces of flowers in his head, Buck forced himself to return to his current role of student and realized he had better stop daydreaming.

  If Buck appeared incapable of this new position in the village, doubts would be cast at Rex’s decision-making process. Buck was not going to let that happen.

  “Who dares enter this holy place?” said a voice from the crowd.

  “Good morning, Elders. I am Buck, son of Rex Templeton.” In unison the group gave him affirmation with a nod of their heads.

  Rex went to him. “Sit down next to me and prepare your mind for the first step in this long journey. You can’t accomplish the task we have put in front of you until you understand all that we know. Your knowledge of the history of our people is limited; that’s about to change.”

  Buck shifted his weight from side to side. He wasn’t too keen on hearing his knowledge was
“limited”. He tried not to show any displeasure and repeated the phrase “stay calm” to himself.

  His father continued, not noticing that Buck’s concentration had drifted.

  “Two-thousand years ago, our ancestors were given instructions in this room how to prepare the tunnels for our survival. Your grandfather stood in this exact spot and placed his hands on me, giving me the responsibility to become head of the village and continue the obligation we have to the rest of our people.”

  Buck nodded his head in agreement. He had heard this mantra throughout his youth. He wondered what other secrets of the village were shrouded from him.

  The Elders marched Buck over the green meadow that had crept up alongside the Crooked River. The road wound down a hill not much more than 75 feet until they stood next to a series of large buildings. Entrance to these buildings was prohibited to non-tunnel- building citizens in the village. Buck had walked past these structures a thousand times, but had never entered the hallowed area. The Elders and those chosen to work on the tunnels had full access. The tallest of the structures was a thirty-foot, two-story dwelling that housed the sacred texts of the ancestors. Adjacent to the tallest buildings were two shorter ones that maintained the village offices. The exterior of these buildings seemed ordinary enough, but each structure had a secret door that led to the special chamber where the Elders would meet and discuss philosophy or interpretations of the ancient texts. The original ancient scrolls of parchment had been copied many times. The first manuscripts were still housed there. If you didn’t live in the village, you wouldn’t know there was any life within these rocks. The stone surrounding the buildings hid the entire the structure.

  At the end of the pathway within the secret chamber of the tallest building there were three huge rocks. Each huge rock weighed at least sixty tons, and stood twelve to fifteen feet tall. Elder Braham led Buck to the front of the largest of the boulders.

  “Put your hands on the rock, Buck. Watch me,” said Braham, holding his hands in an out-stretched manner that made his fingers look frozen in one position.