by S. D. Stuart
“Why do they choose to live here?”
Munch laughed. “Nobody chooses to live here. The border is heavily guarded with most of the guns pointing in. Besides, there are not many places in OZ for someone to go to for a better life.”
She untied the other bundle and began dressing in the uniform.
Caleb tugged at his jumpsuit and shifted around uncomfortably. “How long do I need to wear this thing?”
“Just until nightfall. I got us a farming detail on the north side of the compound. After everyone retires to the campsite at sundown, we will sneak out and make our way …”
A large man in a different colored jumpsuit called over to them from a nearby horse-drawn carriage, interrupting Munch. “Hey you! With the fur cap!”
They all turned to look at him. The man’s eyes locked onto Caleb and his face registered surprise. “Whoa! Hey. Thought you were wearing a hat. Sorry.”
Munch stepped forward. “What do you want?”
The man jumped down from the carriage and strode over.
“We have stump removal in the southern fields. I saw this guy’s jumpsuit busting at the seams and knew we could use the muscle.”
Munch shook his head. “He’s already on a scheduled detail. You’ll have to look for your muscle somewhere else.”
The large man stepped closer and pointed to his own chest. “You see the color of my jumpsuit? That means I am a volunteer director. Furry face here comes with me.”
“We came here together …”
The director parroted Munch with a high-pitched whiny voice. “We came here together.”
He stabbed a finger at Munch’s chest. “Listen here shrimp, unless you want to work the mines I suggest you and your girlfriend run along.”
Caleb emitted a low growl.
Munch looked at him. “He’s right, Caleb. I was out of line. You go with the director here and we will catch up with you later. You can meet us at the North Camp at sundown.”
The director smiled; satisfied he had won the fight. He looked at Caleb, sticking out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “I’m afraid fuzzball here will have to stay in South Camp until morning.”
He stopped mocking Caleb and his face became serious. “When curfew is lifted at sunup, you can meet back up with your friends.”
The director jumped back up on top of the carriage and grabbed the reins. “Let’s go. We’re burning precious daylight.”
Caleb looked back at Dorothy as he climbed up into the waiting carriage. Before the door on the carriage was closed, the director yelled at the horses and they departed for the opposite end of the compound.
Munch took her arm and led her to another waiting carriage. “Come on, Dorothy.”
“What if …”
He gripped her arm tighter. “It is not safe to talk now. Just work the fields until sundown and I will come find you in the camp.”
Dorothy sat down between two other volunteers. When the door closed and the carriage jerked to a start, she realized that Munch had not gotten on with her.
A half hour later, the carriage stopped.
Volunteers scrambled out, sweeping Dorothy with them, as volunteer directors stepped out of the fields to greet them and bark imperceptible orders.
One of the more aggressive volunteer directors shoved Dorothy toward the field. She lost her footing and went down on all fours.
The volunteer director twisted fistfuls of her jumpsuit in his hands and lifted her to her feet. “You can rest at sundown.”
He shoved a sling bag into her hands and pointed to the ripening tomatoes in the field in front of her. “They’re not going to harvest themselves.”
Dorothy spent the afternoon hunched over, selecting ripened tomatoes, and shoving them in her bag. Any time she tried to stand up and stretch her aching back muscles a volunteer director hurled insults at her.
She was relieved when the sun dipped below the horizon and volunteers rushed past her to claim the precious few seats in the carriages back to the North Camp. By the time Dorothy made it to the pickup area, people were hanging out the windows and clinging to the sides of the three carriages.
The driver of the first carriage called down to her. “Hurry up and find a perch. We’re leaving.”
She shook her head. “I’ll wait for the next trip.”
The driver laughed along with a few of the volunteers in his carriage. “There ain’t no next trip. Get on.”
A volunteer hanging off the side of the carriage shuffled half an inch to her left and looked down at Dorothy. “You can fit right here.”
She hopped up and grabbed the railing with one hand since there was not enough room to grab it with both. “Thank you.”
The volunteer who had made room for her smiled. “We have to stick together.”
The driver whipped the horses and hollered, “Giddy up!”
It took every ounce of strength in her exhausted muscles not to fall off as the carriage lurched into motion.
By the time they made it to the camp, she had to force her fingers to let go of the railing. As soon as she dropped to the ground she wobbled unsteadily and her legs started to buckle.
The other volunteer grabbed her elbow and steadied her. “Are you new to the fields?”
Dorothy looked at her and nodded.
The woman smiled. “If you think you’re sore now, wait ‘til tomorrow when you have to do this all over again.”
Not if Munch finds me tonight, she thought to herself, but dared not speak it aloud.
The woman pointed to a line of volunteers that seemed to be getting longer with each passing second. “That line will get you some soup. I would not comment on what it looks like to the chef. That only seems to upset him.” Then she pointed in different directions around the camp. “Over there are the toilets. That way is the sleeping tents. Boys on the right; girls on the left. Breakfast is served half hour before sun up. Don’t miss it; it really is the most important meal of the day.”
And with that, the woman let go of Dorothy and ran to get her place in the soup line. In the time it took Dorothy to blink, twenty more people got in line behind her.
By the time she made it to the soup line, she lost count of how many people were between her and the young woman who helped her.
Despite the large number of volunteers, the line moved quickly. It did not take long to grab a plate with slop on it and move on to find somewhere to eat.
There was no designated dining area. No long tables with benches, like those in Chambers. Everybody was expected to grab his or her plate and find some unoccupied patch of dirt, an activity that proved far more difficult than she would have expected. Each time she approached a group, they eyed her suspiciously, forcing her to move along and find somewhere else to eat.
She was just about ready to give up and toss her cold slop into a garbage bin when a familiar voice called out to her. “Dorothy.”
She turned as Munch ran up to her.
She smiled; glad to have a friend for supper.
As soon as he caught up to her, he grabbed her plate, tossed it in the bushes and pulled her after him as he continued to walk quickly. “We have to get out of here before curfew is enforced.”
Dorothy dug in her heels trying to slow him down. “We can’t leave without Caleb.”
Munch pulled harder to keep them walking at a fast pace. “He’s stuck at the other camp. There is no way he can get to us. Nevertheless, we cannot stay here. When they do morning roll call, they will discover we don’t belong here. We will never get another chance to leave.”
“Is Caleb going to be okay?”
“If he is smart, and I think he is, he will get out of there before morning roll call. For now, all we can do is what we came here to do.”
They kept low as they ran through the bushes.
When they reached the edge of camp, Munch knelt on one knee and peered through the branches. He cursed silently under his breath and pointed to someone standing twenty yards aw
ay.
“The guard’s out early.”
He dug around in his pack and retrieved a long strap of leather that had been fashioned into a sling.
He selected a medium-sized rock from the ground and tucked it into the sling’s pouch.
He crooked his finger through the loop at one end and gripped the other end with his thumb. He waited until the guard turned away from them before he stood up, swinging the sling several times over his head. At the precise moment, he let go of the thumb strap so that the rock sailed directly at its target. The guard went down hard.
She couldn’t believe her eyes.
“Munch, all that talk back at your house about lacking courage and never venturing out of your walled city, yet you know all these people, you got us over the border, you made us uniforms and now you are taking out guards with a sling. Where did you learn to do all this?”
Munch gave her a knowing smile. “Things are not always what they seem in OZ.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her with him as he ran out of the camp.
They kept running until she was gulping for air, her muscles screaming for oxygen.
“We have to stop. Munch, please, I need to rest.”
He looked around them and slowed down. “I think we’ve gone far enough. You can rest for a couple of minutes, but we are almost there.”
Dorothy collapsed to the ground and sucked in as much air as she could in the shortest time possible. She breathed so heavily and so quickly, she thought she was going to hyperventilate. She forced herself to take slower and deeper breaths as the thumping of her heart lessened in her chest.
Munch unfolded a piece of paper and studied it in the dim moonlight. During the time they had been running, he had looked at this paper several times.
“What is that?”
Munch didn’t look at her but continued to alternate between studying the map and looking around him.
“It’s a map showing me where the land bridge is.”
“What land bridge?”
He continued to study the map and look around. “The West Marshal’s compound is surrounded by a lake that is a mile wide in every direction. Part of the lake has a land bridge we can use to walk across.”
“I know how to swim.”
Munch stopped looking at his map and made direct eye contact with her. “Do you want to swim through snake infested waters?”
She shook her head.
He returned his attention back to the map. “That’s what I thought.”
He looked up and squinted into the darkness. He referred back to his map and then broke into a large smile.
He folded the map up and tucked it back into the pocket of his jumpsuit.
“We are almost there. Are you ready to keep going?”
She stood up. “Lead the way.”
Ten minutes later Dorothy and Munch stood on the shore of a massive lake.
There had been no exaggeration on Munch’s part as it certainly looked to extend a mile in every direction around the compound that was dimly lit from within by torches and gaslights.
Everything was exactly as Munch had described it.
Except for one thing.
Even in the faint glow of the moon they could tell, there was no land bridge.
Chapter 23
Munch paced up and down the shore, alternating his gaze between the map and their surroundings.
“According to the map, the land bridge is right here.”
Dorothy placed a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe the map is wrong.”
He jerked his shoulder away from her hand and waved the map in her face. “I paid too much for it to be wrong!”
“Maybe the land bridge doesn’t exist.”
He crumpled the map up and threw it out into the water. “Ya think?”
The map bobbed around among the waves for a little bit before the parchment soaked up enough water to sink out of sight.
She looked out across the water. “There has to be another way to get across.”
“There isn’t.”
“We can swim across. Maybe the snakes won’t bother us.”
He shook his head. “It won’t work.”
“Sure it will. All we have to do is …”
He turned on her and screamed in frustration, “I can’t swim!”
He tore off his backpack and threw it out into the lake. It hit the water with a faint splash, but did not sink right away. He laughed sarcastically. “Even my backpack knows how to swim.”
He sat down abruptly and placed his head in his hands. “I am so sorry Dorothy. I have failed.”
She sat down beside him, placed an arm reassuringly around his shoulders and pulled him close. “No you haven’t. Look at where we are. You got us to the West Marshal’s compound.”
She pointed across the water at the massive multistory castle. “That is the finish line.”
He looked out over the water; a tear glistened on his cheek in the moonlight. “If you don’t pass the finish line, you might as well not have run the race.”
“Don’t talk like that Munch. We’ll find another way.”
He placed his head back in his hands and together they sat in silence.
She watched his backpack floating in the water. It floated very strangely. It did not bob up and down with the water. Instead, it stayed right where it was while tiny waves splashed up against it. That did not make sense. Unless …
“Munch, what were you carrying in your bag?”
He lifted his head. “Clothing and some cooking pots.”
“So, you would say your pack was heavy right?”
“It is very heavy. Why?”
She pointed at his pack that only sunk an inch into the water. “Why is it still floating?”
He turned his head and then stood up abruptly. “I don’t believe it.”
He looked at her with a massive grin. “It’s sitting on the land bridge. It’s just right under the water.
He stepped out into the water and walked up to his backpack. He went a few more feet off the shore, but the water never got deep enough to cover the top of his feet completely.
He walked back and picked up his backpack, slung it over one shoulder and looked back at her. “I bet this goes all the way to the castle.”
She stepped off the pebbled beach and out into the water. She walked all the way to Munch, each footfall making tiny little splashes, and glanced down at her feet. It looked like she was standing in a shallow puddle. “Do you think the whole lake is only one inch deep?”
Munch ran several feet to her left and stopped abruptly. Then he ran back, passed her and ran a few feet to her right.
He came back to stand next to her. “It looks like we’re on a shelf of land. It gets immediately deeper on either side.”
He looked at the West Marshal’s compound glowing faintly in the moonlight. “Let’s see how close we can get to the castle.”
They had only been walking for five minutes when Munch stopped short and put a hand up to stop her.
She looked around her, but could not see anything. “What is it?”
He was staring down at the water. She looked to where he directed his attention and saw that the water churned in a small two-foot diameter. Water seemed to rise and fall quickly in this small area. She leaned down next to Munch and spoke quietly, as if somebody on either shore might overhear anything above a whisper. “What is it?”
He peered down into the churning water. “I think it’s a vertical tunnel through the bridge down to the rest of the lake. I have noticed them every few dozen steps or so ever since we got into the deepest part of the lake and steered us around them. But this is the first one that seems to be disturbing the water.”
A sudden chill crawled up her spine as she looked around.
They were literally standing right in the middle of the lake.
They were completely exposed.
There was no place to hide.
There was nowhere they could run.
Munch shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
“Do you think it might be the snakes?”
He looked over at her. “I haven’t seen any.”
He stood up. “Let’s keep going and just steer clear of these holes.”
He took two steps when the hole behind him exploded upward like a geyser. He spun around as a group of snakes shot out with the water, wrapped themselves around him and knocked him to the ground.
Munch screamed as the snakes pulled him back toward the hole.
Dorothy shot forward and grabbed the snake that had wrapped itself around his neck. She tried to pull the snake off him but it held on with an iron grip. As she twisted the snake in her hands, she noticed the entire underbelly was covered in suckers. She looked at the other snakes. They all had the same jagged rows of suckers on their underbellies.
The realization hit her like a ton of bricks.
These were not snakes at all.
These were the arms of an octopus.
She interlocked arms with Munch as she tried to keep the octopus from pulling him into the hole.
He cried out. “I can’t feel my legs.”
She gripped his clothes with white knuckles and buried her heels in the loose sand of the land bridge. “I’ve got you!”
The octopus pulled him slowly but steadily through the sand toward the hole. His eyes glazed over and his speech was starting to slur. “Tell my brothers of my heroic deeds.”
She twisted her fingers into his clothes tighter, her hands aching from the strain. “I’m not letting you go.”
Another water geyser exploded to her left. The snaking tentacles of a second octopus groped the air for her. She kept one eye on the swinging tentacles of the second octopus while fighting with the first for control of Munch.
Munch let go of her arms and now she was the only one keeping the octopus from pulling him into the hole. “Don’t give up on me Munch!”