Greenhouse

by Stephanie Mylchreest

  It is surprising to see a large fire burning in the clearing. It casts eerie moving shadows in my periphery that cause me to jump. I’m as close as I dare and crouch behind a highbush blueberry plant to scrutinize the area. Fifteen cubits from the fire is a wooden, bolted door—it’s the entrance to the pit.

  There seems to be no one guarding the door which puzzles me. I weigh up running to the door now, but decide to wait. I’m glad I did. A few moments later the wooden door swings open silently and a man exits. He appears to be alone. He places his shotgun on the ground and takes a seat beside the fire. He pulls a flask from his tunic and takes a long drink. I lick my dry lips, suddenly thirsty.

  I was expecting a more significant contingent guarding the pit, but it occurs to me that they are probably worried about people breaking out, not in. Now I am actually here, with the guard as the only obstacle, I am not sure how to proceed. I pull out the knife. I run my finger down the blade and stare at the man again. I try to imagine myself plunging the knife into his chest, his eyes open wide from the pain and shock. Killing up close like that would be hard.

  I remember shooting the dog that belonged to Yanx’s army. The shotgun pellet caused its body to explode violently. The distance made the act more bearable, perhaps because I didn’t face the actual moment of death. If it came down to it, I think I could shoot the man, although the noise from the shotgun would be a problem.

  I am startled from my thoughts by the man opening the entrance to the pit. His back disappears through the doorway as the door swings shut. I have nothing to lose at this point. I close my eyes for a moment and then run. As I sprint the distance between the trees and the door I am acutely exposed. I half expect a knife or a bullet in my back but I make it to the door without incident. I’m running on instinct now. There is no plan. I grab the wooden handle and pull the door open.

  I step inside and close the door behind me softly, waiting a few moments to allow my eyes to adjust. Thick candles rest in wall cavities and the flames cast enough light for me to see the entrance curving down and to the right. The construction seems to be like that used in Delphine’s tunnel and there are timber risers and beams along the walls and ceiling. I force myself forward into the depths of the pit.

  I walk swiftly and silently for about a chain down the dimly lit tunnel before I reach a fork. I pause at the junction and think I hear the echo of voices coming from the left-hand tunnel. I say a prayer and turn to my right. Soon I reach a heavy oaken door that stares back at me ominously. I approach it cautiously and try to turn the handle. It’s locked.

  I run my hands around the edges of the door but it’s constructed tightly, with no gaps around the frame. In the dim light I notice what looks like a small sliding panel at eye level. It runs flush with the rest of the door but when I press my palm to the panel, I’m able to slide it open. I press my face to the rectangular hole and look inside. The room is pitch black so I move my head to the side to allow light to fall into the room. I think there are two figures leaning against the far wall. One of them shifts as the shaft of light enters the room.

  I listen for the guard. There is no sign, so I whisper: “Who’s in there?”

  Someone inside groans softly.

  “Delphine, is that you?”

  “Chris?” comes back the gravelly and faint but unmistakable voice of my brother. “Is that really you?” My brother pushes himself heavily to his feet and staggers towards me. He moves agonizingly slowly. I turn to look over my shoulder but there is still no sign of the guard.

  “Rich! I am so glad to see you. Are you okay? I’m here to get you all out of here. Have you seen Mother or Delphine?” I whisper urgently.

  Rich reaches the door and his brown eyes appear on the other side of the small window, flashing in the candlelight. I want to touch his face, be sure it’s really him, to check him over for injuries and tend to him, but a great slab of wood lies between us.

  “You came for us,” he says. His voice is strained.

  “Who is that?” I say, referring to the figure lying against the back wall.

  “That’s Ada.”

  “Where are Mother and Delphine?”

  “I’m not sure, I didn’t know they were down here. Is Mother okay?”

  “I don’t know, Rich. I hope so.” I shake the door.

  “It’s locked.”

  “Get Ada, I’ll try to break the lock.”

  “I don’t think she’s in any shape to move.”

  “Let’s leave her here then. We’ll get Mother and Delphine and come back for her later.”

  “We can’t leave her, Chris. She’s too important.” We speak in rapid, urgent whispers.

  “Well, try to help her up then. Whatever you do, hurry! We don’t have time for this.” I’m frantic now. I take out my knife and push the point into the keyhole. Through the hole in the door I have a narrow view of Rich helping Ada to her feet. The young woman cries out in pain.

  “Keep her quiet!” I demand.

  I glance back down the darkened tunnel, the candle-lit walls flickering threateningly. I think I hear something.

  Then there is the merciful sound of the lock popping and the large oaken door swings open. Rich is waiting on the other side, a grin on his gaunt and dirty face. He holds up a thin, pale woman who is slumped over with her eyes closed, one swollen horribly. I squeeze Rich’s hand so hard he winces. I want to throw my arms around him but I know we must not stop. Instead, I take Ada’s other arm and she stumbles between us, her feet dragging awkwardly on the floor as we leave the pit.

  The three of us are loud—too loud, as we make our way up the tunnel. I’m desperately worried about alerting the guard of their escape. I’m still holding my knife but I had to juggle it into my weaker hand when I took Ada’s weight on my shoulder. I am unprepared should the man surprise us in the tunnel. I try to lift Ada higher so her feet don’t drag with every labored step.

  We’ve almost reached the fork when I stop and motion Rich to stand against the wall behind me. A man’s voice is echoing from the other tunnel. I think there is a woman’s voice too.

  “Does that sound like Mother?” I whisper to Rich. He shrugs, concern etched deeply on his face.

  Gingerly, I slide out from under Ada and Rich shifts to take the full burden of her weight. I pass him the shotgun. Ada moans pitifully. I want to yell at her to be quiet. Instead, I clench the knife in my good hand and leave Rich and Ada behind me as I creep towards the place where the two tunnels converge.

  The man is whistling softly to himself. I can make out the tune. It’s familiar but I can’t place it. He’s still whistling when he gets to the fork in the tunnel. We suddenly come face to face. His eyes widen as my fist, tightly clenching the knife, connects with the bridge of his nose. Something cracks with the impact of my punch and I don’t know if it is my hand or his face. The man stumbles backwards and falls to the ground.

  “Go Rich, go,” I yell over my shoulder. “I will find Mother and Delphine.” I don’t turn back.

  I run down the other tunnel. It is longer than the first but I cover the distance quickly, stumbling once but recovering my footing. At the end of the tunnel I find another wooden door identical to the first. I try the handle, knowing it will be locked. Feeling around in the dim light I find the wood panel and slide it sideways.

  “Mother, Delphine,” I say loudly. “Are you in here?”

  Delphine’s face appears almost instantly. She smiles, seemingly unsurprised that I am here. Her fingers snake through the small hole and find my own. She steps to the side, still touching my fingers, and my mother’s face appears.

  “Chris, what are you doing here?” She sounds scared.

  “I came to get you out,” I say.

  “What about the guard? He could be back any minute. You need to leave.”

  “I’ve taken care of him.”

  “What do you mean you’ve ‘taken care of him’? Chris, please tell me you haven’t hurt anyone!” Delphine is watching
us and I wonder if she can read my lips in such dim light.

  “It’s not important right now. Let me try to open this lock.” I press my knife into the keyhole and push the blade back and forth. Nothing happens. I push deeper and lean my weight against the handle; still nothing. I shake the handle, frustrated.

  “Is it stuck? Can you open it? What’s happening?” asks my mother.

  “Let me try again,” I say.

  I’ve got the blade into the keyhole and begin to turn the knife slowly when my mother screams: “Behind you!”

  I turn in time to find the man looming over me. His face is blackened and I realize it is from blood all over his mouth and cheeks. One arm grabs me around the neck and throws me to the ground. My mother screams again. I wonder briefly why he hasn’t shot me. Perhaps he dropped his gun when I knocked him down earlier. I’m jolted back to the moment by a heavy kick to my side. The impact rolls me over and the next kick strikes my chest. I’m winded and struggling to breathe.

  My mother is yelling something. I think she’s telling me to get up. I can’t take a breath no matter how hard I try. I push myself up on my knees and the man is coming for me again. I roll out of the way just as he lines up for another kick and he stumbles as his leg swings against empty space. I’m still holding the knife and lurch forward, pushing the knife into his thigh. The man’s screams join my mother’s in a sickening crescendo.

  I pull out the knife from his flesh and stand over the man, who is now lying on his back, clutching his leg. I drop to my knees on his arm and hold the knife with the blade pointed to his chest. The man stops screaming and closes his eyes. The words of his whispered prayer drift through the darkness and I realize my mother is now quiet.

  “Don’t do this Chris,” says my mother softly. “We are healers, we must not inflict harm on others.” In the flickering light I notice a pool of blood forming underneath the man’s body. It forms a dark, ugly patch on the dirt floor. The knife suddenly seems heavy in my hand. I can’t meet my mother’s eyes. “Take a strip of your tunic and wrap it around the wound,” she urges me. “Tie it tightly. Do it, Chris, quickly.”

  I quickly cut a thick piece of material from the bottom of my tunic and search for the knife wound. I wrap the bandage twice around his leg and tie it together. The man stirs and we connect, eye to eye, for a brief, intense moment before he closes his eyes and falls still. The man has lost a lot of blood. But he is breathing and his pulse is steady.

  “He must have a key,” I say, still not looking at my mother. His pockets are empty and I curse loudly. I can’t find the keys anywhere on the ground. I leave the man where he is and try the lock on the cell door again. I soon realize it won’t budge. “I’m going to search for the key. Yell out if he moves.”

  As I step over the guard, his eyes open again. He watches me with a penetrating stare and moves his hand to his injured leg. He doesn’t get up and I back slowly down the tunnel, my gaze on him, sweeping the floor with my foot, until he is out of sight. The way back to the fork in the tunnel is frustratingly dark and my foot searches blindly in the unseeable cracks and crevices. I reach the fork and turn towards the outside door.

  “Rich, can you hear me?” I say the words in a loud whisper. There is no reply. “Rich!” I say more loudly. My voice falls away and I strain to listen for his reply. Nothing. I turn down the other tunnel, back to where Rich and Ada were imprisoned, and sweep the floor for the key. My foot kicks something large and hard where the floor meets the walls. It’s the guard’s gun! I pick it up and continue my search of the tunnel. I get to the door that held Rich and Ada, which now gapes open, but still haven’t found the key.

  I pause at the door and rest my head on the frame. I close my eyes and pray, imagining myself finding the key. When my eyes open, I’m facing the inside of the pit. The darkness is black as ink and the smell of urine and feces is strong enough to make me gag. I steady my hand on the doorframe.

  Running now, I reach the fork again and still haven’t found the key. It must be here somewhere! I cannot escape the sensation that time has just about run out. I am about to scan the other tunnel one more time when there is a loud gunshot from outside. The noise reverberates deafeningly through the long narrow chambers of the pit.

  “Rich!” I yell. There is no answer. I stand at the fork and do not know which way to turn. I’m paralyzed.

  “Run,” comes my mother’s voice, echoing up the tunnel. “Run! Get out now, Chris!”

  It’s the second time she’s urged me to run, and as before, I heed her advice.

  There’s another gunshot and I run to the door to the outside, holding the guard’s gun out in front of me. I push the door open slowly and the cool night air seeps into the tunnel, wrapping itself around me. I scan the clearing through the gap I’ve created. At first I can’t see any sign of the shooter but then I locate him on the far side of the large fire.

  He hasn’t seen me and I slip slowly out into the night. I circle around to the dark edge of the clearing and walk towards him, keeping in the shadows. The light of the fire silhouettes the man and I notice two others. It must be Rich and Ada. One of them is lying on the ground, the other kneeling. The man has his gun trained on them. Rich is talking to the man but I can’t yet make out the words. I’ve crossed halfway to them when I realize, shocked, who the shooter is.

  “Father!” I yell, raising the gun and training it on his back. My father turns his head, keeping his gun pointed at Rich and Ada. “What are you doing?” I ask. He doesn’t seem to hear me.

  “Chris? Is that you?”

  “It’s me. Let them go!”

  “You’ve got to come with me Chris. We need to put an end to this. They’ll kill you if they find you.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Chris,” my brother says. “They’ll kill you, anyway.”

  “Son, please listen. There are forces at work here that are beyond my control. I am trying to protect you and your brother.”

  “He shot me!” cries Rich. The pain of my father’s betrayal is obvious in Rich’s voice and my grip tightens on the gun.

  “Put your gun down on the ground and step back,” I yell. Never in a million years did I think I would ever speak such words to my father.

  “Chris, put your gun down and stop being stupid.”

  “You let them put Mother in the pit,” says Rich in a low voice. “How could you do that?”

  “She made her choices, son. My hands were tied. There was nothing I could do. I warned her.”

  “Yes, warned her not to side with her sons!”

  “Chris, please,” says my father, turning once again.

  “Father, just let us go.” There is desperation in my voice and my hold on the gun falters. Father is watching me closely and without warning he swings his gun towards me. We stand now, face to face; gun on gun.

  “There is no good way for this to end, Chris. You need to come with me and spare your brother. Think of your mother and Delphine. Come with me and this will all be over.”

  “Why are you doing this? Why won’t you hear us out? What are you trying to hide?” My words tumble over each other.

  Suddenly Rich is on his feet and he covers the ten cubits between himself and father with surprising speed. My father swings the gun back on to Rich and hesitates for just a moment. In that sliver of time, before my father has the chance to react, Rich slams into him. For the briefest moment my father resists Rich’s weight and they appear to be embracing. Then they both fall to the ground and a shot is discharged violently into the forest.

  I close the distance between us quickly. My father is struggling to push Rich off him and Rich is lying across my father’s chest with his arms wrapped around my father’s back. They roll side to side intensely, both grunting and cursing. My father swings the gun, and it smashes into Rich’s head. I dive forward and pin my father’s arm to the ground, prying the gun from his fingers. For a moment we lie there, our weight holding father down. My father’s ragged breathing is loud i
n my ear.

  I help Rich to his feet and pass him Father’s gun. He points it at Father’s head and steps closer until the end of the gun is grazing our father’s forehead. “I might just kill you,” says Rich, his voice full of menace. I place an arm over Rich’s back and he recoils, shrugging my hand off.

  “Come on, Rich,” I whisper. “We have to get out of here. I’m sure there will be more of them here soon.” I help Ada to her feet and pull her arm over my shoulder. She’s much lighter than I expected and her skin is hot and feverish.

  “Rich! We need to leave!”

  Rich steps backwards, the gun still on our father. “What about Mother?”

  “I couldn’t get the door open. I tried Rich, I tried.”

  “We’ll come back for her,” he says. He spits on the ground next to our father’s head: “If you move I will shoot you. Go on, make my day.”

  Rich takes Ada’s other arm and we run, stumbling, through the forest.

  I notice Rich is limping. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, I think Father’s bullet just grazed me.”

  “Ada doesn’t seem well. We need to get her somewhere safe. Do you think our place will be safe overnight?”

  “It should be fine until morning but it won’t be long before the elders have people searching the forest for us,” he replies.

  With no other good options we agree to head back to the willow tree to wait until first light. We walk the rest of the way in silence and I wonder what dark thoughts are haunting Rich.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I have become a wretched creature of the night, seeking shelter in darkness and hidden places. Stepping out from the shelter of the willow tree, I’m mocked by the distant stars that decorate the sky. I wonder about Ada’s people as I gaze upwards. Before I met Ada, I could never imagine that hundreds of people could live amongst the stars. It’s remarkable how quickly your perspective can change when confronted with a different reality.