Years After Series | Book 1 | Nine Years After

by Clary, LeRoy

  My mind felt as sluggish as the water I stood in. I considered a dozen things to say, but none felt right. I tried placing myself in the same position at Deep Hole. I imagined a stranger suddenly speaking from above with tales of greenery and wildlife like stories from children’s books.

  Would I trust the person? No. Would I listen? Yes, but how much or how little would I believe?

  It wouldn’t matter. My job would be to tell those in authority in Deep Hole. Those same four that had exiled Mayfield and me.

  Thinking of her name put my brain on a different, familiar, track. What would she do in my situation?

  My finger jabbed the button.

  The little green light that said the circuit was active came on and cast a small eerie light in the confined space.

  I waited.

  Nothing happened.

  I waited some more.

  Only silence.

  “Anybody there?” I asked.

  More silence.

  The other end might not be manned. The circuit might not work. A hundred things.

  Or, they might be waiting for the correct words. I had memorized them days earlier. I drew a breath and spoke slowly, first the numbers. Seven of them, followed by a series of unconnected words, at least to my understanding.

  Silence.

  I waited. In the echoey chamber, the tiniest electric scratch was emitted from the speaker, as if a switch had been turned on.

  I repeated the numbers and random words.

  “Wait.”

  The word had come from the speaker as clearly as if the speaker was at my side. It stunned me. I said, “No. I need to talk to you. Now.”

  Nothing else was said. No response.

  I stood and shivered as I wondered if I’d heard the word. I believed I had.

  Tess splashed to the small door and said, “Any luck?”

  “I-I, think so. Someone said for me to wait.”

  “That’s it?”

  My mind kicked into gear. “Yes. But that’s alright.”

  “Why?” She sounded impatient and worried.

  I faced her. “What if that was me down there and I heard the codewords spoken? I was just learning to replace lights and run extension cords. I’d go find one of the leaders and explain. Let him or her decide what to do.”

  “The four that kicked you out? We can only hope those below here are more reasonable.”

  “Well, yes. Before they kicked us out, they were good to us, and everyone. They kept things organized, gave us all jobs to do. Settled disputes, that kind of thing.”

  She scowled in the dark. “So, until they ruined your lives, they were good to you and you’re grateful for that?”

  “I guess so.” It seemed easier to agree with her than argue.

  “What else have you told them?”

  “Just the passcodes. A voice that sounded male said, wait. Just that. I’m waiting.”

  Her hands were on her hips. She pointed to the speaker. “I suppose that green light means the communications are open and active. To talk, you don’t push any buttons or anything?”

  “Not after the first time.”

  “So, for all you know, they are down there listening to us argue?”

  I nodded, suddenly wishing to be quiet.

  She said in a whisper, “Bream and I will stay out there for as long as this takes. I’ll be beside the entrance here. Call out if you need me. Bream will guard the outside.”

  I nodded again, careful not to speak.

  She splashed for the stairs.

  The green light glowed the same. There was no place to sit. I was tired of standing.

  My anger was increasing. How long was I supposed to stand there?

  “Anyone there?” I asked.

  No answer.

  I leaned my shoulder against a wall. My legs were giving out. I ducked and went out in the larger part of the basement in search of something to sit on. Each submerged thing that might work was pulled up and examined.

  I finally found a chair with a busted arm and carried it into the elevator chamber. The seat was under the water, but that was all right. I’d seen a paint can sitting on a shelf, several of them. I went to the shelf and as I lifted the can, the contents moved.

  There were brushes inside.

  I shook a smaller can, the size food came in, and found liquid inside. A large can for me to sit on, a small one, and a brush went back with me. The large paint can was used as a booster seat to keep my butt out of the water. I pried open the lid of the smaller one, dipped the brush in, and began painting my gun with strong-smelling paint. I had no idea of the color, but the intent was to disguise it from being new.

  I was happily working on the area around the trigger when a different voice, one deep and commanding, said, “Identify yourself.”

  It had been a couple of hours and my temper is shorter than that. I said, “What the hell does that mean? I already repeated the passcode.”

  “Who are you?” It was more authoritarian, more demanding.

  I’d never done well with officious people like that. I drew a breath to calm myself and said, “My name is Danner and I’m here to rescue you.”

  “Rescue us from what?” the voice boomed hollow on the basement as if angry.

  Now, there was a question to ponder. Rescue them from their miserable lives below ground? Or from Sir Wilson? I said, “Listen, lower your voice. There are enemies near here.”

  “Son, you’d better start talking.”

  The threat was implied and clear, but the voice was lower. It still pissed me off. I didn’t need the attitude. “Or what? You’re living in a damn hole in the ground, probably running low on food, and people are dying all around you but few babies are being born, so you threaten me? I came to help you, not the other way around.”

  “Talk.”

  “I’ll talk, but you better listen and you can tone it down or I walk. Got it?”

  A new voice, one less demanding but still with an underlying hint of disrespect said, “Danner, we would like very much to hear what you have to say.”

  That was better, but I was wary. I began, “Listen, I don’t have a prepared speech or anything. What do you want to know first?”

  “Where are you from and how do you know our access-codes?”

  Reasonable questions, but they were not his access codes. They belonged to all sanctuaries. “I’m from a sanctuary about thirty miles away, I guess. We call it Deep Hole. My leaders sent two of us along with a map to help us find any sanctuaries that have not been destroyed.”

  “Destroyed?”

  “Broken into. The people up here hate us. They broke into a sanctuary about ten miles east of Everett, at a place I’m calling Three Hills because it is between three small mountains. They killed everyone and took all the weapons and ammo for their wars up here. Now that they know we have weapons and ammo below, they are searching for other sanctuaries. Even offering rewards for the locations.”

  “And you are here to warn us to remain and not become involved?”

  That was a question I hadn’t expected. I’d believed that when I told them of the forests and blue sky and the lack of monsters and mutants, they would welcome and thank me as they emerged. Their sense of wonder would be much like those of Mayfield and me.

  But that was not going to happen that way. I hadn’t yet told them of what the surface was like. They were also in danger with Sir Wilson’s compound only a half-mile away waiting to pounce. They couldn’t emerge without drawing the attention of the locals and being attacked.

  I needed to answer them, not consider what my next words would be.

  There was whispering from the speaker. It sounded like an argument. The calm voice came again, this time with a slight edge I didn’t like. “We want you to remain where you are for four hours while we meet and discuss our options. We will talk about what to do with your information and we will talk more then. Surely, you understand this is all a surprise to us and we are not prepared to make
difficult choices on the spur of the moment.”

  “I can’t wait. And you don’t know your options because I have not told you what I came to share.”

  “May I ask why you will not wait?” It sounded like my old teacher when I was seven or eight and she had caught me doing something other than her assignment.

  I sighed, “I’m in a cesspool of filthy water above my knees in the basement of this abandoned building. It’s late afternoon. I won’t stay in here after dark.”

  After a moment, “Reasonable, I suppose if you cannot make light. That is a small thing to accomplish, it would seem, but if you cannot make a light, things have deteriorated more than we hoped. Suppose we add twelve hours to that? Will sixteen be acceptable?”

  It was not that I couldn’t make a light, but that I dared not. Instead of explaining, I decided to count on my fingers and plan. While I didn’t want to spend another night in the shelter we’d made, I had to agree with the timetable.

  The rest of the afternoon and all night to think about how I was going to handle the situation. I’d be back in the morning. If they treated me the same way, I’d tell them they were on their own and walk away. “I do not have a timepiece but will return first thing after sunrise.”

  “Good,” the same voice said a little too smoothly, as if it was speaking to a child. “Very good. We will anticipate learning more from you then.”

  My BS indicator sounded its alarm with that one word, anticipate. If we were playing poker, I’d be wary of facing a full house or flush, and probably throw my cards in. Funny how the ear can make such subtle differentiations to change the meanings of words with a slight unintended inflection. There were layers to the conversation and I was not privy to them.

  I said smoothly, “What else can I tell you before I leave?”

  The same oiliness in the voice responded, “Nothing at all, Danner, if I may call you Danner. We will speak in sixteen hours when we will be better prepared to ask the right questions of you.”

  The little green light winked off as if telling me they had heard enough. The conversation had ended without them asking any relevant questions or allowing me to brief them on the local dangers or the situation on the surface. They hadn’t asked how I knew their supplies were running low or that there were no children. As I considered the brief conversation, I realized they hadn’t asked much of anything.

  I sat there, stupefied. The abrupt shutdown of the conversation didn’t sit well. Neither did the attitude of the first man who sounded as if nobody questioned anything he did. The second man had been a softer talker, but near the end had been hiding something.

  I gave them nicknames. Loud and Sly.

  What bothered me most were the questions not asked. Things that should have been. I’d found that those in charge often operate on their plane, expecting all around them to bend to their wishes.

  They had made demands of me yet shared nothing about themselves while ordering me to do as they wanted.

  I sat on my paint can, feet resting on the seat of the chair, and decided I didn’t like them very much. My attitude tomorrow would be far different than today. I’d have my say and leave. They would be warned, and I’d have completed my task. Perhaps those in the next sanctuary would be more reasonable.

  My hands were sticky from the drying paint, but I carried the small can and brush with me after closing the door to the panel containing the speaker, and then the small access door to the elevator area.

  Tess greeted me at the broken window while scowling at my hands. I looked at them in the fading sunlight. Pinkish/violet paint coated them, most of my gun, and much of my shirt and pants. When I tried handing her the paint and brush for disguising her weapon, she laughed and backed away as if the paint would hurt her.

  I said, “You wanted to hide that they are new.”

  “Have you considered what you’re going to have to do before firing that thing?”

  “No.”

  “Will the slide even move? If it will now, what about tomorrow when the paint dries?”

  Bream came around the corner. A smile grew as he looked at me. “Can I make mine pretty like yours?”

  “See?” I challenged Tess.

  She said, “His gun is older than me. We need to eat and maybe get a better night’s sleep if you can refrain from shooting the entire population of Everett.”

  It was my turn to disagree and explain. “They want to talk again first thing in the morning. Tonight, if you don’t mind, I want to sleep on the roof. Here.”

  “Why?” she asked, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

  “Safer. Nobody can climb those iron stairs without waking us. After last night, those same people might come back for revenge.”

  “People will see us going up the side of the building,” she said.

  “Not after dark. We’ve already been up there so we know what we’ll find. In the dark, we’ll be okay.”

  She said, ignoring her smells from the basement, “You stink from that slimy water. Your clothing is soaked. Maybe sleeping up there in the fresh air instead of our shed will be better for all of us.”

  Bream smirked. “That’s funny.”

  I turned to him. “Thank you for your support. For that, you can share my paint for your gun.”

  Tess hid her grin.

  Shortly after dark, we climbed to the roof and under the starlight, I disassembled my nine-millimeter and by the light of the stars and moon, removed semi-dry paint from all the working mechanisms with my fingernails and a small stick.

  Beside me, Bream happily painted his revolver but was careful not to get any on movable parts. However, the outside of his barrel and the handles looked beautiful in the moonlight. At least, that’s what I told him.

  Tess didn’t paint hers. No surprise.

  I spread my blankets near the metal ladders on the wall outside of the building where I’d hear anyone climbing up, pulled off my wet clothing, and crawled between two, to lay on my back. It had been a while since Mayfield, and I had looked up at the same moon and stars. My mind recounted our entire conversation, the wonders we saw up there, and the intimate thoughts we shared. It had been the time when we were the closest.

  I fell asleep thinking about that.

  I woke when the sun dimmed behind dense, gray clouds. The fog was rolling in. My clothes were still damp, but it didn’t matter. Once I’d managed to get them on, they’d warm a little from body heat, and soon they would be soaking in the water of the basement again.

  Tess said, “I hate to mention it, but we’re almost out of food. I’ll get us some water today, but we have to leave this afternoon or go hungry.”

  “We have bullets to trade,” I told her. “Even one will buy us enough food for a week.”

  “You’re right. And if Sir Wilson or any of his men see or hear that we have new ammo to trade or sell, there’ll be an army of his men searching for us. Even if they don’t, any thief, people down on their luck, or who want a better life will kill us for what we have.”

  Ouch. The worst was not that she was right, but that it was all true and I hadn’t considered it. That left us with the question of food. “We should inventory what we have.”

  “That won’t take long,” she said.

  There was an apple, a few strips of jerky, some of which had gathered lint and hair, but that could be cleaned off—well, most of it. And two MREs, both spaghetti. I felt down to the bottom of my bag and found two more MREs. One shredded beef barbecue, and one chili. That made four, which was far more than anticipated. It would hold us a couple of days.

  “I get food,” Bream said.

  We looked at him.

  I said, “How?”

  “Steal.”

  “No,” Tess said.

  “No,” I shouted along with her. The last thing we needed was to have him injured or shot because of getting caught. We’d do without for a couple of days if need be. Once out of the city, we could hunt for food or barter labor for meals. I always wanted to
learn to fish. Getting caught stealing would cost him his life.

  Tess interrupted my ideas with one of her own. “Why don’t you go talk to your friends down there early? We can maybe leave this evil place by late morning?”

  That sounded like a good plan—if it worked out like that. I had other concerns. First of all, I hadn’t liked the voice I thought of as Loud. It spoke to me or the way he seemed to disrespect me. Like the problems I’d had in Deep Hole when my attitude about authority while growing up got me in trouble, I saw the same thing happening again. The voice of Sly was worse. I believed he had already manipulated me in some manner.

  I was sixteen, a grown man, and not about to be pushed around. Not again. When I talked with him or them, it would be to relay the facts and make a few suggestions. They could listen or not. My duty was finished.

  I could walk away and probably make peace with myself in the future.

  The operative word was, probably. I’d talk with those below and inform them of the dangers, and the wonderful world waiting for them. What happens after that was their problem, not mine.

  “You’re worried,” Tess said.

  I asked innocently, “About what?”

  “I don’t know. But I can sense your worry and want to assure you things will work out. Listen, making plans is a good thing. Making too many is foolish. Something always goes wrong and you have to change them. Go with your gut.”

  She was right. I had never been a worrier but now seemed to be. I said, “Maybe it’s this city, or building, or having Sir Wilson sleeping a half-mile from me, I don’t know. Too many things can go wrong in a place like this.”

  Tess propped herself up on one elbow and faced me. “Okay, then one more plan. If we get separated, we all meet up at the Three Hills. The one closest to Everett. Remember to look out for the soldiers that will be there watching hill number two.”

  “Then, why not another place?”

  “It has to be somewhere all three of us know, and I don’t want anyone else involved. Just us three.”

  I said, “You don’t sound very trusting.”

  “Not since Cap died. There is only you. And Bream.”