Between the Roots Read online

  "So how will we know which one's worth five or ten?" John asked.

  "Easy, like this." Sammy reached into the bag, pulled out a three-section pretzel, and bit off one of the curves. "There, this one is worth five." Just as quickly he pulled out another pretzel and ate two of its curves. "This one's worth one." He reached inside the bag again.

  "Hey, eat your own, wise-guy," said John.

  "I'm just helping out. I'll prepare the chips. I don't mind doing the job." Sammy rolled his eyes and smirked at Walt.

  Walt grabbed the bag and began counting the loot, equal piles to each player. "Whole ones are tens, and everybody bites off his own ones and fives," he said. "But we all have to start with the same amount."

  As the rain slashed against the boxcar outside, they snuggled closer to their light and meager heat source, dealing, betting, and cursing, and eating their pretzels down to equal wagers.

  "So what about your folks?" Sammy directed the question toward Walt as he dealt another hand. "Do you live with them, or what?"

  "They're still out on Severee. I've been living with AnLillie ever since I can remember. Soon I may be taking care of her though."

  "Severee?"

  Walt slapped two pairs down and claimed the pretzel pile. "That's when we can go outside the Colony to live. My folks were married in the Colony and then went on Severee. They have to move about every five years, so I'm guessing in a couple moves they'll be back to the Colony."

  John asked, "Why all the moving?"

  Sammy answered the question for him. "They started looking younger. People would get suspicious, right?"

  "Right."

  "How did you know that?" John snapped at Sammy.

  "Stands to reason. They leave old, and, if they meet people, they're gonna be suspect once they start showing signs of reversed aging."

  "I saw my mother once," Walt went on. "During one of their moves, Mother came back to the germinal forest to deposit me. Then she rejoined my father on Severee. She did that again, about six months ago. That's when I met her."

  "You have a sibling?" Sammy looked surprised.

  "Soon. She's still in the germinal forest. After her germ-day, she'll live in the big house. That's where we all go until we're steady enough to join our grandparents."

  "So it's really your grandparents who raise you guys?"

  "Yeah."

  "Don't you miss not being with your parents?" Sammy pressed on, curious.

  When he didn't answer, Sammy figured he didn't want to talk about it. John shuffled the cards; Walt cut the deck; John dealt. Sammy asked, "Don't you wonder about your folks?"

  "Don't you wonder about your grandparents?" Walt cut him short. "This is normal. Maybe your way is all goofed up. My grandma has seen lots of life, had lots of experience before raising me. Besides, everyone in the Colony helps out. It takes a lot of people to raise a healthy human."

  "What about your other grandparents? You do have two sets, don't you?" John asked.

  "Sure. They'll probably raise my sister, since AnLillie is getting smaller."

  "That's just weird. We're like root mirrors; you grow down, I grow up," John said.

  "Let's hope so," Sammy added.

  "I'll tell you what I think is sad," Walt retorted. "It's seeing people talking disrespectful to each other just because one of them has been on this earth longer than the other. Like being here longer means they're more important."

  "Well, it does, doesn't it?" Sammy argued.

  "Call!" Walt laid down his cards. "We're just told to treat everyone the same. Heck, some of the newest germ-pods have really young-looking humans. They were given a short time clock. Just from looking, you really never know who's been on earth the longest. So, the solution? Treat everyone with respect."

  "Full house! My pot!" John shouted.

  "It's kind of weird to think that maybe some of those toddlers and preschoolers around town could really be old people in disguise," Sammy said.

  "Well, they are. Some day it will be AnLillie. But you won't hear her screaming and crying for a toy, or having a tantrum in a candy store."

  "She'll probably be crawling around in the library," John joked.

  Sammy leaned in close to Walt, speaking louder against the noise outside. "Walt, who are these links you were talking about the other day? Are they another colony?"

  Walt scooped in his win of pretzels, and then said, "They don't even know who they are; heck, I don't even know who they are. But they're powerful." The image of an oversized, grotesque being flashed across Sammy's mind. A violent blast of wind rocked the car and startled the boys. Some rain had found a path through the car roof and sprayed down on them.

  John's voice brought the game back to life. "Come on, you guys, ante up. I've got to win me some more loot. I'm hungry."

  The candles grew dim in their own melting puddles as the game and weather raged. All three of them tried to be oblivious to the storm's rising intensity. And then it happened. The first jolt rocked the car and tilted the floor off level.

  "What's that?" John cried. He grabbed his pile of dwindling pretzels as if a real treasure were being threatened.

  "Sh, sh, listen." Walt leaned his head against the wall. The car gave a subtle shift to the right.

  Sammy got to his feet and was headed toward the door, when the car listed dramatically to the left. "It's water, Walt. That sounds like water hitting the wheels."

  The others staggered up and rushed toward the door with him—cards, candles, chips all forgotten. Sammy knew they must open the door. But it held tight against the rough frame, resisting their pulling, pushing, and kicking.

  "How close did you say we were to the river?" Sammy yelled at Walt, his voice half drowned by the thundering of rushing waters.

  "Not, far. Geez, that's it, isn't it? We're surrounded by the river!"

  Chapter Twenty: Rescued

  THE CAR SETTLED momentarily on the tracks before it tilted to the right and slammed the boys against the heavy door.

  "Quick, get over to the other side!" Sammy yelled. They wobbled across the car, and fell against the wall as the car see-sawed under their weight. "We need to stay low in the middle of the car."

  Walt shook his head. "We gotta get that door open!"

  "But not all of us at once. We'll have to try the door between the wind gusts," Sammy said.

  "Is it wind or water that's moving us?" John asked.

  "Both! But we're surrounded by the river!" Sammy yelled above another blast of wind.

  "It can't be the river; it hasn't rained that much!" John yelled.

  "Snowmelt. The rain in the mountains has been melting all the snow," Sammy said.

  "How do you know that?" John asked.

  "I don't know, I just do." How many times had Sammy said that? It was his line, day after day.

  When the car stilled, John signaled Sammy to help him force the door open. While one of them pulled, the other leaned his shoulder against the door and pushed. It budged about four inches on its rusty track. They tried again, but it remained frozen. Again and again they threw themselves against it. Still, it refused to budge. A gray sky unleashed another blast of heavy rain into the dark car.

  Their situation had worsened. The partially opened door exposed them to the cold and wet. Their shelter was now their prison. It threatened them with its rocking motion as the water continued to rise against the huge wheels. Soon they would no longer be held fast to the track. If the river continued to rise, the boxcar would float downstream.

  It was growing dark, from both the storm and failing daylight. Fear stabbed through Sammy's belly. "Is this what my end is supposed to be like?"

  "Listen!" Walt threw his hands outward as if that movement could calm the whole situation. "Do you hear that?"

  "What is it?" Sammy asked.

  "It's distant. I can't tell which direction it's coming from." Walt was now standing in the center of the car, legs spread far apart, absorbing the rolling motion of the water agains
t the large wheels. "I can't tell if it's the river or something else."

  John flattened his face against the small opening in the door. "Look, just beyond the bend!"

  Sammy came up and took his place. With one eye turned toward the opening, he could see the tracks that allowed cars to be moved in and out of storage. A rotating light appeared in the distance and illuminated the fence's wire web, flashing against the bluff, and then returned to light the yard.

  "What's there?" All three of them were now trying to look out the partially opened door. The car rebelled, listing under their weight.

  "It's a train. No, it's two engines, one behind another." Walt maneuvered his head to see oncoming locomotives. "They're bearing down on the outside track together."

  A switch on the main track guided the powerful steel beasts onto the side track leading to the yard. The screech of metal on metal competed with the moaning wind and lashing rain. They could hear the train headed in their direction.

  The set of powerful engines stopped. Two men jumped to the ground. The bright engine lights silhouetted the men; water circled them knee-high. They waded in halting movements against the river's current. When the moving spotlight caught the men, Sammy could see their faces contort, yelling directions, none of which could be heard inside the boxcar. They reached a large metal security box on the gate. Working together, they freed the lock and, pushing with the current, forced the gate open. Then they returned to the lead locomotive.

  "Are they coming into the yard?" John asked.

  "We're the first car. Geez, if that engine hits us!" Sammy yelled, trying to be heard above the noise.

  "Get down, flat!" Walt said as he forced his body to the floor. "We're going to . . . "

  Thud, screech, clang, clang! The impact of the engine's nose against the boxcar sent Sammy and John slamming down. Cards, pretzels, and the two forgotten candle stubs rolled around with them. The boxcar lurched backward, then remained still, anchored in a strong hold.

  "We're hooked onto the engine," Walt said.

  "Do they know we're here?" asked John.

  "Of course not, but I'm dang glad they are. Quick, let's tell them." Sammy fumbled around in the dark, trying to find the flashlight.

  They were all on their hands and knees, patting the floor, bumping into one another. Again the car moved as the engines pushed it further down the track.

  "What are they doing?" John yelled. As if in answer to his question, they felt a heavy impact on the other side of the car that dropped them off their knees, flat to the floor.

  Sammy said, "They're picking up the next car behind us. Did you hear the coupling connect?"

  "How did they do that?" John asked.

  "The impact forced the connection." Sammy had a strange feeling, déjà vu. He kept explaining. "They'll only take the two cars before they make another switch to get the ones on those parallel tracks."

  Another jolting movement told them that the engines had reversed and were backing up, pulling the two boxcars with them. Light from the engine filtered through a freshly cracked board on the back wall of the car. Sammy dug at the splinters, opening a peek hole to the stormy outside scene.

  "I found the bag!" Walt cried. "Darn, the flashlight isn't in it. I must have set it on the cloth."

  Sammy groped in the darkness for the cool feel of plastic, fingers and arms spread wide. "Got it!" Walt cried out again. Immediately he turned the flashlight on.

  Sammy grabbed the flashlight to wave it across the newly formed opening. Even as he did, the light grew dimmer. "Darn, the batteries are shot."

  "It's no use." John sounded discouraged.

  "The tablecloth! John, get off the tablecloth!" Sammy hollered.

  "Geez, man, what's wrong with the tablecloth?"

  "We can use it like a flag. Look, I'll push part of it through the door. They ought to see that."

  "Good thinking, Sammy," Walt said. Sammy yanked the cloth off the floor. Cards flew into the air as the tablecloth whipped free. He stuffed it into the narrow opening. The wind caught and flopped it against the outside of the door. The engine lights shone on its glossy wet surface.

  Sammy could barely make out the animated shapes of three men inside the locomotive. When the flapping signal appeared in the lights, all three engineers stared in disbelief, pressing themselves against the window inside the roaring engine. Sammy could tell they were yelling at each other, surprised by the signal flag.

  A man leaned out the side window of the giant cab catching rain as he shielded his face. Even above all the noise Sammy could hear one accusing word: "squatters!"

  The massive power horses continued pulling the two boxcars toward higher ground.

  "Hold on!" yelled Sammy. "They're taking us through the gate."

  They cleared the security gate, continued up the incline toward the main track, then stopped. Sammy watched two men jump to the ground. They hurried to the car. One grabbed hold of the cloth and yelled at the intruders. "Who's in there?"

  "We are," John yelled back. "We want out!"

  "Cripes, it's a couple kids." He turned away from his partner. "What are you kids doing in there?"

  "We're stuck; the door won't open," Sammy yelled. Walt shrank toward the back of the car. In the light of the crew's powerful flashlights, Sammy saw a guilty look on Walt's face. He was a boy at heart and his look spelled misery.

  "I know those guys, Sammy. The tall guy is Dave, the other one's Craig. They're from the Colony. Man! Am I in big trouble again!" He scooted himself deeper into the shadows.

  Both men tried to move the massive door, but it remained frozen.

  "Hold on, we'll have to get a crowbar. We'll have you out of there in no time." The taller one's voice sounded reassuring. Craig returned to the engine, while Dave shone the light up and down the narrow opening at them.

  "So how long have you boys been in there?"

  "I don't know. Since around noon, I guess," Sammy replied. "We were just having some fun, playing a little cards."

  "Having a little fun on private property. You know, you're not supposed to be here." This was the lecture Sammy knew was bound to come.

  "We didn't mean any harm, just wanted a little adventure."

  "Yeah, sure. But this better be the last time you do it. You're just lucky we came along."

  Craig returned and immediately inserted the bar under the door, forcing it upward. As he worked, Dave pushed the door inward. "You kids push towards us and we'll get this thing to loosen up." With the men working on the outside, and the boys pushing on the inside, the door moved. In seconds, it was opened, filling the car with light from the powerful engine.

  "So, you're not alone. What are you doing in there, old man?" Dave's voice lost its friendly tone as soon as he saw the third stowaway. "Walt? Is that you? What in heaven's name are you doing down here, Walt?"

  Walt didn't speak. His eyes raced over Sammy's face, waiting for him to take the lead. Sammy hesitated as questions surfaced.

  "What's going on here? Walt, have you been up to no good again?" Dave's voice was firm. "Do you know these boys, Walt?"

  "'Course he knows us," John responded. "He's our . . ."

  Sammy interrupted, "We're friends. We just wanted to give an old man one more adventure."

  "I'll be darned. What were you thinking?" Dave pulled Walt from the car and led him away from the boys.

  "Thanks for all the help," Sammy called from the open door. He was already gathering the remains of their card game, stuffing everything into the backpack. Craig helped them from the boxcar onto solid muddy ground.

  Craig said, "So where are you fellows headed in this weather?" He sounded more sympathetic than his partner, who was returning a dejected Walt to the group.

  "We've got a car up on the bluff just beyond that trail." Walt pointed in the direction of their earlier descent. Both men shook their heads, obviously disgusted.

  Sammy reasoned that their rescuer had no idea he and John knew their secret. To them tw
o boys from town were on an outing with someone they thought was a regular old man.

  "Get yourselves home," Dave demanded above a renewed blast of wind. "We have to get these cars out before the river crests around midnight." He gave Walt a final scowl.

  Ascending the bluff was more difficult than the descent a few hours earlier. They used the vine maples growing along the trail as guide ropes and found footholds on stray grass tufts. The rain had abated, but the heavy, water-filled branches overhead soaked them. At the top of the trail they could see the old car waiting.

  Now that the danger had passed, Sammy realized how late it was. "Yeah, man, let's get home. I'm going to be in big trouble."

  "You think you got troubles; what's AnLillie going to say when she finds the car missing? I'll probably be stuck at the Colony for a month."

  "Heck, I'll probably have to babysit my little brothers and sister for the rest of the year. Maybe for life," John said. He jumped into the back and slammed the door.

  "Look in the glove box. There should be a cell phone in there. All our vehicles have to carry them."

  Sammy dialed his number. Better to let his mother know he was safe than to keep her worrying. The phone rang, again, again, and then the answering machine responded. Sammy's message was brief: "Hi, Mom, I'm on my way home. See you."

  John leaned over the backseat and said, "No matter what happens next, it was worth it. Walt, you did a good job."

  First, Walt dropped off John. When he approached Sammy's house, everything was dark. It wasn't the welcome Sammy had expected; yet he felt relieved. He wouldn't need to use the story he had been practicing. He would hurry in and erase his phone message.

  "So, I'll see you when you get out of prison," Sammy said when Walt stopped the car in the driveway. He wadded up the poncho and stuffed it on the seat.

  "Funny. Maybe AnLillie was too busy to notice the car was missing."

  "And maybe frogs can fly," Sammy replied. "Thanks for the adventure."

  As Walt drove away, sadness flooded Sammy. So many days he had come home, and waited for his mother's return from work or from one of her meetings. When he opened the door, the familiar loneliness greeted him. The house was cold. He knew his mother had not been home all day. She would have turned up the heat and left at least one light. But it was pitch dark and chilly. There were no tempting smells coming from the kitchen promising dinner. He turned on the kitchen light and scanned the counters. There wasn't even a note telling him where she was. The recorder was blinking, reminding him to erase his message. There were two messages flashing on the lighted pad. Sammy listened to the first one. A hauntingly familiar male voice spoke in an agitated tone. "Jane, come quickly. There's trouble. You need to be here. Bring Sammy." As Sammy absorbed this second message, his own voice spoke: "Hi, Mom, I'm on my way home. See you."