Grinning like a fool, she slapped him in the chest, cursing Jack for his childish behavior. Will, who had been close to an anxiety induced asthma attack minutes before burst into laughter, clapping one hand over his mouth and the other around his mid-section as he doubled over in a fit of giggles. Sam wasn’t about to take such abuse and so she tackled Will to the floor and began tickling him as Jack stood in the doorway laughing at both of them.
Not wanting to push Will too hard, Sam relented in her tickle attack as both she and Will turned their attention back to the door. There Jack stood with a small jar in each hand. Though a year ago she would have turned her nose up at the pickled eggs, something she had tried and detested exactly one time. Now, they strangely looked delicious. She couldn’t wait to bite into one. It was strange wanting to eat the eggs, but stranger that she knew she didn’t like them and still really wanted to eat them.
After the three of them devoured an entire jar of pickled eggs, they packed up their bags and each of them shouldered their stuff before walking out of the shed. The sky was clear and the cold northern wind had ended. Sam couldn’t help but feel that this day would be better than those behind them.
* * * * *
Will, although having to spend another whole day walking, was rather enjoying the mood of the day now that they had full bellies, and both Jack and Sam seemed happier. He walked or skipped between them, beneath the trees above, just enjoying their company and the scenery as they passed. He had started the morning by counting squirrels, something that he hadn’t seen until now. There were birds too, and once he was certain he had heard a dog bark in the distance, but didn’t hear it again.
After tiring of counting squirrels he looked to the trees, admiring the leaves that were turning multitudes of colors, something he had only witnessed in his box of crayons for months while they were locked in the vault. Now, color was all around him, a swirl the like of which he couldn’t remember aside from cartoons. He sure missed cartoons. Robots and talking sea creatures and animals sharing bodies. Not having cartoons was a bummer.
It was shortly after noon when his stomach began growling, but not in a hungry way. Feeling the pressure build, his tummy really starting to hurt, he picked up his pace, moving ahead of both Jack and Sam by several steps before giving into his body’s urge and releasing the pressure in his tummy. It took only a couple seconds to see the devastating effects of his biological attack.
Sam and Jack had been talking about what they might find over the days to come when, turning around, Will watched as Sam’s face scrunched up and Jack raised his sleeve to cover his face. Sam tried to say something but her breath got stuck, and she gagged. Twice. Will couldn’t help himself. He began laughing hysterically, watching as Sam tried and failed to recover several more times before her rendering of speechlessness was overcome by her stubbornness. He was still laughing when she tackled him again.
Tickling and pinching, Sam climbed atop him, pinning him to the ground as he struggled and thrashed against her attack.
“Stop, Sam,” Will laughed as he tried to dislodge her with his legs.
“Never, you stinky little monster,” Sam replied, redoubling her effort.
“You asked for it,” Will warned, and tightened down his tummy, releasing another blast.
Back Sam rocked, tipping off of him, but now it was a joint attack. Rolling to his side so he could regain his feet, Will watched as Jack grabbed Sam’s arms, pinning her down.
“Come and get her back, buddy. Tickle her till she turns purple.”
Will didn’t delay. Half walking, half lunging, he climbed atop Sam’s legs and began tickling her ribs as she took a turn at thrashing and kicking amongst her laughs, screams, and giggles. He didn’t know how long they played, but it felt great. Before the vault they hardly ever found time to play with him. It seemed his pickled egg ammunition had run out, and like all things, it couldn’t last forever, and soon enough, or perhaps too soon, they were back on their way in search of Grandma’s road.
They found it only three hours later, stepping out of the forest onto a narrow paved road that wound both east and west away from them through the trees. Nearly straight across from them a mailbox thrust up out of the ground beside the road, declaring the address as one twenty one, Sherwood Lane. Grandma’s house was only a short way away, being the only address in the two hundred range. Turning left, Jack led them down the street, each of them falling silent. Will worried that Grandma’s house would be gone like the one they stayed at last night. He watched as they passed two more mail boxes. They were getting closer.
Remembering Grandma’s hardwood floors and green curtains, Will walked head down as they followed the quiet road. Nearly every memory he had of Grandma’s was a good memory. There wasn’t any computers or internet at Grandma’s, so Jack and Sam always played with him there. They always had holidays at Grandma’s, and holidays not only meant that he didn’t have to go to school, but he also got spoiled and Grandma kept a dish of candy on the coffee table. It couldn’t be gone. It just couldn’t.
It took them only twenty minutes to reach the drive at the end of which was a mailbox with the flag upon it still in the up position. Turning down the driveway they all moved slower than they had before, but in the end it was inevitable. Rounding the bend in the driveway, the trees parted revealing their first view of the house they had spent countless holidays in.
Chapter Fourteen
Stepping into the clearing that had once been Grandma’s and Grandpa’s yard, Jack surveyed the scene with knots in his stomach. Though he had imagined himself prepared for the worst, expecting another pile of cinders, ash, and rubble, in truth no one could prepare for what they found. Reaching to Sam, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as Will clung to their legs and together all three of them took it in.
It was not the total loss that Jack had expected, but neither was the house untouched. Though the whole of the front porch remained, and much of the façade to the right of the front door still stood, the second floor had collapsed entirely and the whole left side of the building was gone. It, like everything they had seen so far, had burned, though the trees around it seemed untouched.
Here and there charred pieces of furniture and blackened lumber protruded out of the rubble, some of it still clinging to bits of colored paint. The house was gone and with the discovery their memories would always be tainted. Jack wished he could have protected Sam and Will from this, especially after seeing the devastation of their own apartment. Now it felt as if there were no more safe havens for them to run to. Everything they had known had been taken. It was literally all gone. But even though both Will and Sam were crying, Jack didn’t let himself have that luxury. He had to focus. It was his job to look after them and keep them all safe, and he reminded himself of why they had come.
Sure they had hoped to stay at Grandma’s, in a familiar place, and wait for news of rescue crews, or whatever, but that was not what had brought them here. It was the cellar that had brought them. The promise of food. Not to mention the well out near the garden that had a hand pump. Food and water. The only essentials they needed to keep going. If they could load up on supplies they had a chance to find out what had happened. They had the means to keep moving and find someplace safe where they could stay, at least for a while. He reached down and hugged both Sam and Will into him tightly.
“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 was
n’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 looked 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. Gra
ndpa 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.
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