Between the Roots Read online

  Chapter One: The Walled Forest

  SAMMY'S YOUNG, LEAN body easily maneuvered the wall as if lifted by the invisible energy threads that summoned him to this place. He pulled himself to a squatting position. Without hesitation he made one generous leap forward, landing out-stretched on the spongy earth. His backpack bounced painfully against his spine. He wished he'd thrown it over first. The pounding in his chest diminished as he calmed himself, hearing early morning mill sounds of the nearby town and the rumble of a distant train. His focus was sharp as he tried to detect closer noises. Soon he felt satisfied he was alone.

  Sammy took off his backpack and placed it against the wall to mark the spot. It was the easiest place to climb over, he thought, and he wanted to be able to find it in a hurry if he had to get away. He unfastened the back buckles and removed a water bottle, took a long drink, then tucked it in the pack.

  He stepped next to a tree and scanned the slope. Still confident that no one was watching, he headed downhill quickly through the woods. Further away from the wall, the trees grew larger with no undergrowth. A powerful smell of decaying needles and leaves permeated the air. An unusual number of birds — crows, jays, and higher up what looked like hawks or buzzards — flew overhead. It reminded him of the frantic pace of ants scurrying to fix their broken hill. It was then that he noticed the movement beneath his feet. He jumped. A blur of crickets, beetles, worms, centipedes, and other bugs, prey for the scanning birds, crawled everywhere. The array of life amazed him, so many creatures in one area, all disturbed by his presence.

  Sammy ran deeper into the trees. Ahead twigs cracked. Two deer ambled into view unaware of his company. He stopped and watched from behind a large tree.

  His hesitation saved him. A flash appeared in a clearing some fifty yards below. Several low forms that he took for stumps encircled the clearing. One of them moved. They were people.

  Slowly he edged his way around the tree, seeking a better vantage. The figures wore hooded cloaks that hid their faces. One of them held a shovel that reflected light where it touched the ground. The people began to sway back and forth, while a deep humming vibrated the air.

  He was electrified with fear, yet the same tension that drew him to these woods now urged him to get closer. He coaxed himself from one tree to the next until he was near enough to see them well. Still apparently undetected, he watched.

  Again, light from the shovel disturbed the shadows. For one frightening moment, as the hooded people raised their heads in unison, he thought he had been detected. He froze, ready to bolt the hill to freedom. But they turned in the opposite direction. Four more people in robes had approached, struggling to carry a long heavy tub into the semicircle. Upon reaching the others, they lowered their burden. Liquid spilled over its sides as a swirl of vapor rose and then dissipated.

  The person holding the shovel pushed back his hood and directed the other three watchers to help. Simultaneously, they flipped open their robes. Each of them held a shiny shovel exactly like the first.

  Sammy stared as the strangers scraped away the crusted soil one careful pass after another. Crumbling earth gradually mounded at one side of a growing hole. At last the group stepped back from their work. The humming stopped and they began to speak.

  "So like her." "Oh, this one's not for long, too bad." "I'm always amazed." "It's a miracle."

  One of the cloaked figures bent over the hole and lifted a long, thin arm, encrusted with dirt. A flood of excitement emanated from the diggers as they continued their work, which took on speed and intensity. Within minutes an entire body, cocooned in dirty onion-like skin, was lifted from its grave.

  The grave robbers peeled away the matted layers that surrounded an old woman. Her gray hair was caked and crusted with more of the skin. One of the onlookers swirled his hand in the tub as he motioned the others to guide the body toward him. Now, fully exposed, the aged body lay perfectly rigid above the steaming water.

  Tightness in Sammy's chest reminded him to breathe. He saw movement. Just as the body was lowered into the bath, the dangling hand rose on its own, pleadingly.

  Another wave of fear weakened his knees. Sammy slumped to the base of the tree. He looked over his shoulder. There, peering at him, was an old man.

  "It's not what you think," the old man whispered.

  A stabbing panic ignited Sammy's thoughts: I'm trapped, below me is craziness, behind me, a stranger, perhaps more dangerous than the ghouls. A kaleidoscope plan raced through his mind. The old man I can fight off. The group I can outrun. Maybe. Yeah, I have a head start. But what if one does catch me? What will they do? No one knows where I am. I'd just be missing. Mom would be really upset, losing me after losing Dad, too much, too much.

  Sammy turned and studied the old man. He thought, He's different, something strange about him. He's afraid. He's scared, almost like a kid. I'm safer here.

  So Sammy remained fixed to the ground.

  The old man, lean and slightly bent, struggled to squat next to him. His smoky eyes behind thick glasses met Sammy's. "Honest, it's not what you think. It's really okay." Sammy could only stare as he continued, "I was surprised too. Don't be afraid."

  "What are you talking about?" Sammy said.

  He motioned Sammy to remain still. Sammy ignored him as he pushed himself up.

  "No," the old man warned. "Get down! They'll see both of us." Together they squatted close to the ground, watching.

  In unison, the group below them resumed their humming as they arranged themselves around the tub. Two of the attendants began cupping water over the body while two others each took a limb, raising it and lowering it in the bath. Another attendant helped with the head, carefully rocking it back and forth. And still another scooped handfuls of gunk floating on the surface and flung it to the ground. The apparent leader held out a large blanket just as the circle opened, allowing Sammy to see the old body being lifted from the tub. It jerked violently as it was wrapped inside the blanket. After discarding the water, the people returned the old woman to the empty tub and carried it, like pallbearers, down the path, deeper into the woods.

  "Do you want to go look at the hole?" There was excitement in the old man's voice.

  "No, I have to get back." Was the old man trying to trap him? "I really have to leave." This time he rose, determined to bolt uphill to the wall.

  "Wait, let's talk."

  But Sammy was running.

  "Wait, you can't get out that way! Honest, kid, I won't tell. Wait up."

  Sammy had no intention of stopping. He reached the wall, tried to climb, slipped. He tried again, slipped even sooner. Climbing the steep shelf from the inside was impossible.

  Shuffling footsteps and heavy breathing grew closer. He was trapped.

  Frantically he scrambled up several feet, almost out of reach, but his left hand grasped a loose rock that tumbled away, leaving him to hang by one arm. He felt a thud against his heel. It came from his backpack held firmly in his pursuer's hand.

  "You forgot this."

  Defeated, Sammy dropped to the ground. "I won't say a thing, I promise. I didn't see anything, honest."

  "It's okay. Really. But you're right; you'd better not say anything. There'd be bad consequences for both of us." The old man handed him the pack and leaned against the wall to catch his breath.

  Sammy took it and put it on. "What do you mean?" Sammy wondered if the old man was threatening him.

  "You're a part of this now. The authorities would love to get hold of you."

  "I was only watching."

  "You were trespassing."

  "How did you know I was here?"

  "I saw you from the gate when you hid your bike across the road."

  "You were watching me all along
?" Sammy eyed the old man closely. He looked old enough to be a great grandfather, yet his clothes looked out of place. He wore a sweatshirt and jeans much like Sammy. Even his baseball cap was worn backwards; his sparse, gray hair poked from underneath it. His face was roughly shaven; he'd missed a few spots.

  "I've seen you ride past here several times. So why aren't you in school? It's nearly time for it to start."

  Sammy felt nervous and trapped. He stood silent.

  "Look, what you said about not saying anything bothers me. We could get into trouble if anyone knew we were here. But worse than that, we don't need any more rumors about us in town."

  He wondered again: was the old man threatening him? "I won't say anything."

  The old man turned and began walking along the wall toward the gate. "This is the best way out. I have my own key now, so I can come and go when I want." He sounded calm, even amused, and yet hadn't he just made a threat?

  What is this place? Sammy thought as he followed. At the gate, the old man paused and extended his hand. "I'm Walt. And you?" Sammy hesitated. The old man reached out further and repeated, "My name's Walt. What's yours?"

  "Sammy." The old man's hand felt rough in his as he held Sammy's hand a little too tight.

  "What's your full name, Sammy?" Walt increased his grip.

  "O'Doul," Sammy replied, hoping that Walt would leave him alone.

  He looked pleased, as if the name held special meaning. "O'Doul," Walt repeated. "Your mother works at City Hall, right?"

  "Why?" Sammy blurted, wishing he had not given his real name.

  Walt released Sammy's hand and ignored the question. "Remember, it's our secret. Don't tell anyone. Promise me, Sammy O'Doul."

  "I promise," Sammy replied, afraid his voice showed the fear he felt. He wanted desperately to run.

  Walt once more extended his hand. "Promise and shake on it, Sammy. And we don't want this to reach City Hall. Right, Sammy? The Colony needs your promise."

  It was a threat and now Sammy's mother was held hostage too. What would this old man do?

  Their hands locked. "I promise, Walt. It's our secret. Now let me go."

  Sammy shifted from side to side watching him fumble with the key, wobbling it into the lock, then cranking it slowly to release the bolt. Walt pushed the gate open. Sammy darted out and across the road and ran along the shoulder until he found the scuffs in the gravel that marked where he'd hid his bike. A car slowed down, then passed. He didn't look back to see if Walt was following. He had made a promise he knew he had to keep.

  * * *

  The return trip to town was warmer than when Sammy had left his house. But a chill remained from Walt's words: "We don't want this to reach City Hall. The Colony needs your promise." He actually called the place "Colony," separate from town. Now this place meant more to him than rumors circulating about town.

  When he rounded the empty schoolyard, he felt safe. Relief washed over him but tempered with chagrin when he realized he would have to report to the office before class. He hadn't planned his return and didn't expect to see the principal walking toward him. Mr. Sawyer waved.

  "Good to see you, Sammy," he called as Sammy headed toward the bike racks. "Did you sleep in this morning?"

  "Something like that, Mr. Sawyer." He forced his voice to be calm.

  "Well don't worry about going to the office. I'll let them know you're here."

  "Thanks, Mr. Sawyer."

  "There's an assembly for upper grades going on in the gym. You can catch the ending if you hurry." They turned away from each other as Mr. Sawyer continued, "The secretary said your mother called just before the bell. She thought you'd already gotten here." The discrepancy hung in the air, but Mr. Sawyer let it pass. "She left a message for you to meet her at City Hall after school." That was it. No further questions. He knew why he liked Mr. Sawyer; he intruded just enough to make a kid feel guided and gave a kid enough freedom to feel respected.

  Sammy entered the upper building. The presenter's voice filtered into the wide empty hallway. The assembly was no surprise. Yesterday Sammy had predicted much of it to his friend, John. He told him they'd talk about a lot of gory stuff like how razor-sharp metal straps would come loose from freight cars and cut you apart if you got close to the tracks, and about how, if you laid pennies on the rails, they'd flip out at the speed of a bullet and hit someone's house. They both agreed that was baloney. Still, John had said he figured it would be a break from history even if it was intended more for younger kids.

  Sammy could hear the applause, signaling that the assembly had ended. He'd missed it. He slipped into second-period class. His thoughts began to fill the quiet of the room and brought him back to the forest and the troubling feelings of the morning. Somehow he would maneuver through this day, through school, and on to City Hall. Somehow things would start making sense.

  Going to City Hall today was something he dreaded. Seeing his mother there would only remind him of the dangerous position in which he had inadvertently placed her. Recently she seemed overly concerned about the Colony. Now there was real reason and he was the cause of the concern.

  Chapter Two: Searching for Walt

  GOING WITHOUT SLEEP for two nights was taking its toll. Every time he tried to sleep, he recalled the image of the old woman's body covered in muck. If it weren't for his promise, he would definitely tell his mother. She thought the Colony was harmless and unfairly picked on, and he would have agreed with her until now.

  He wondered whether the newly organized citizens group called The Proper Land Use Committee wasn't right, after all. They'd suggested the Colony was behind recent trouble in town. Park benches had been vandalized, houses burglarized. The Committee had openly questioned why the Colony people led secret lives apart from the town. The Colony had their own school, medical facility, and churches, and mingled with townspeople only to buy necessities. The Committee had posted fliers all over the place, even in the small city hall: "Groups of Teens Threaten Our Streets," "Store Owner Plagued by Unschooled Youth," "Teens Plotting Harm," "Lawless Colony to Overtake Our Civil Town," "Colony Built on Public Waterway." The Committee also fueled the town with suspicion through newsletters and gossip.

  Political pot-stirring was nothing new, but now its effects went beyond City Hall, where Sammy's mother had worked since their arrival eight years ago. Recently, accusations churned like a rumor-mill in City Hall. People sympathetic to the "Old Colony" were fewer. Hungry developers and curious, narrow-minded power seekers openly questioned the validity of the old community.

  Sammy wondered through two sleepless nights about these stories and the event in the forest. Eventually, he returned again and again to the same thought: Maybe Walt will tell me what was happening in the woods. I have to go back and find him.

  One powerful image dominated his imagination, the sight of the hand lifting, begging. Why didn't I do something? Why haven't I told anyone?

  Sammy knew the answer to both questions. He was scared and confused. The old man was so convincing. He said he, too, "would be in trouble" if he were discovered. It hadn't occurred to Sammy before that even old people had problems. Young and old, both affected by rules. He couldn't break his promise to the old man. He would remain quiet for now, but he needed answers.

  * * *

  During breakfast Sammy drooped over his plate.

  "You look tired, Sammy. Didn't you sleep well last night?"

  "Not really." He watched his mother clear her coffee cup. "Mom, I've been thinking about what you asked me the other day about the Colony."

  "Is that what's bothering you?"

  "Folks in town are beginning to harass kids in school for just walking around. They think they're from the Colony."

  "Sammy, there are some very ignorant people out there, and land-hungry, dirty connivers who would do anything to get that prime riverfront property."

  "So, what is the Colony about?" Sammy asked.

  His mother said, "According to the records at
City Hall, it's been here far longer than the town. It needs to be left alone. Enough said." She turned her back as if to say, "Discussion closed."

  The tension between them was a new thing.

  Changing the subject, she said, "Sammy, did you pick up the mail?"

  "It was junk mail. Are you expecting something?"

  "I wouldn't want to leave mail in the box." Awkward silence filled the room, and both of them ate for a while. She hesitated then added, "How would you like to go to the mountain and take a hike into Bear Lake?" Her suggestion seemed like she was offering a truce; she knew how much he loved the high country. He really wished they could go snowboarding, but it was too early for snow.

  "A hike might do us good," she said.

  Today he needed to contact Walt. The mountains would have to wait. "Could we go another time? I had some plans."

  "Of course," she replied but looked a little upset. Sammy knew she tried to make up for his not having a dad. Sammy's dad had died in a car accident eight years ago, so he and his mom found entertainment together: skiing, a movie, even the arcades. But lately she'd been so busy.

  "Are you okay with that, Mom?"

  "Sammy, it's fine. See—" she pointed at the laundry piled on the kitchen table—"the mountain has come to me. I'll plan ahead when we're both free."

  He flashed her a thankful smile.

  * * *

  The ride into the country seemed shorter this morning. The closer he got to his destination, the more anxious he became. All of his self-talk, trying to convince himself that the hooded people were nothing to be afraid of, wasn't working. Too soon the gray wall appeared ahead. What if Walt is nowhere around? What if no one is by the gate to tell Walt that he has a visitor? What if the group of strangers come after me?

  The absurdity of his ride struck him. What were the chances that the old man would be waiting here for him to come back?

  Sammy halted outside the gate, a foot still on a pedal so he could make a getaway. He kicked his foot against the gate, imagining it would swing freely open, inviting him to enter. But it held firm. No one was in sight. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, up his neck, beating on his eardrum. He leaned his forehead against the gate.