Between the Roots Page 7

  Chapter Eleven: Inside

  THEY PEDALED FRANTICALLY up the side street behind the store, no looking back. Sammy pressed on, calling to John, insisting that he hang close. Fear was knotting his belly. All he wanted to do was put distance between them and Walt. When they neared the intersection, they could hear a vehicle slowing for the light behind them. It was Walt with AnLillie.

  The boys turned their bikes sharply and dodged into the corner laurel hedge. From their hiding place they could easily see them approaching. AnLillie seemed to be directing Walt.

  Sammy realized how pitiful this would appear to onlookers: two frightened boys, hiding in the bushes, making a desperate attempt to evade an old man and a petite young girl.

  The sinister pair drove unwittingly closer to their prey. They stopped at the stop sign, yards away from the boys' hiding place. Walt glanced both ways, to the right beyond the hedge and left across the road.

  Sammy and John froze, hoping to blend into the leafy shadows surrounding them. Walt and AnLillie appeared to notice nothing unusual, as if looking for cross traffic was their only concern. They were laughing: a happy, animated conversation bubbled from the car window. The car eased through the intersection and continued down the street.

  "They're not even looking for us," John whispered. "They're acting like nothing happened."

  "Maybe they're used to people running out on them," Sammy said.

  "Let's give it up, Sammy. It's not worth it."

  "No, wait." Sammy grabbed John's handlebars. "At the store, I saw that look in Walt's eyes, the same weird look he had the morning in the woods. Something isn't right, and I want to know what it is."

  After allowing several minutes to pass, the boys continued their ride home. John's house was the closest. They stopped for a cold drink and to tell John's mom they were going to Sammy's house. John's house was alive with young neighbor kids and siblings. They needed a quiet place to talk.

  When they reached the solitude of his bedroom, Sammy recalled the frightening scene in the forest. What a feeble explanation Walt had given. Neither boy had ever believed it.

  "We have to go back, John," Sammy insisted.

  "You mean back to the Colony?"

  "Yes." Sammy plopped himself onto the bed.

  They sat together, cross-legged, picking at the fuzz balls on the bedspread. "Geez, Sammy, I don't know. When would we go?"

  "Tonight," Sammy announced firmly.

  "But, how would we go? How can we get away?"

  "You could stay for dinner. After dinner I'll go back to your house; only instead, we'll go to the Colony. With two bikes we can make the ride in about twenty minutes." Sammy's plan sounded more plausible as he outlined it to his friend. "We'll take the cutoff that follows the river below the forest and sneak into the Colony from the back."

  "How do you know about that?"

  Sammy explained the dilemma Walt and the other seniors had encountered after coming to town on arcade night. "I know the road Walt was talking about. I bet I passed it a dozen times when I used to ride out there alone. Heck, we passed it about the time you were getting tired of pedaling me."

  "Then we passed it several times."

  Sammy leaned toward John and punched him. "We can do this, John. Are you with me?"

  John agreed, under one condition: they would explore for only an hour. John wanted to stay on his dad's good side, especially after his latest screwup. He'd left on the water in the garage utility sink all night. He'd cleaned up the mess, including hauling away three boxes of one-hundred-pound soaked newspapers, even leaving the garage neater than ever. If it hadn't been for that, he'd be sitting home all spring.

  Dinner came first. Both boys kept the table conversation light, concealing their plan. John maintained his predictable chatter. He exhausted the topic of exploding mashed potatoes, vegetables that float versus those that sink, especially in milk, and ways of disposing of unwanted food.

  "You know, the first line of disposal is the dog sitting under your chair. My little sister gave a whole chicken leg away once, nearly killed the dog."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah, but the soft gooey stuff is real easy for the dog to lick up."

  Sammy started laughing. "What about the time your little brother dropped a mound of creamed corn on the dog's back?"

  John slurped his milk. "Dad found that mess. We didn't get to have Lucy in the kitchen for a whole week!"

  When the conversation shifted to dissecting frozen slugs, Sammy changed the subject. "Is it all right if I go to John's for a while after dinner?"

  "That's fine," his mom said.

  It was early; they had plenty of time to explore. Soon they reached the river that bordered the Colony. The sun had set in the late-winter sky, silhouetting the hills and casting a black shadow over the slow-moving waters. The dirt road had been easy to find. The entire ride was near effortless compared to their piggyback trip last fall.

  They stopped to get their bearings. Behind them, a full moon was breaking the eastern horizon, giving the promise of evening light. A narrow dam intersected the river's bend, as it turned toward buildings, barely visible, along its bank. The westernmost end of the walled forest flanked the road's other side. A soft breeze tantalized the water; ripples lapped against the low concrete barrier whose overflow fed the valley below when the river level rose from melting snow or rain.

  They mounted their bikes and continued down the road.

  "How far should we go?" John asked, scanning the road side. Five yards into the lush undergrowth, a sturdy chain-link fence rose six feet from the ground. It was topped with swirling coils of light barbed wire.

  "We're up against a fortress!" Sammy said. No wonder the rumors in town were growing.

  In the evening light, he could see the road disappear under a wide gate. The fence continued to the river's edge, following its bank until it met the cement dam that was covered with larger coils of barbed wire.

  The boys laid their bikes in the thick undergrowth alongside the fence. Sammy pulled a flashlight from his jacket. He flicked it on and carefully directed its beam along the base of the fence. It looked hopelessly impenetrable. The two-inch clearance was not enough crawl space.

  "I hadn't planned on this. We sure as heck can't get over this sucker or under it. Maybe we should go over the wall the way I first came in," Sammy said. He was following John, tracing his steps with the light. Sammy turned to shine the light on their bikes. Thud! He fell against John and they both sprawled to the ground.

  "Geez, Sammy, you're heavy! Get up and give me some light." A soft mound of dirt under the fence impeded their walk.

  "Why did you take the light away?" John grumbled and slugged his fist into the dirt pile.

  "Hey, this stuff is really sandy! Look, Sammy, there's a good-size hole here already; probably some dog started it." Both boys began digging the loose soil. Within minutes the small hole was large enough for Sammy to wiggle his head and shoulders under the wire. He backed out and began digging again.

  "John, my man, this is our ticket into this joint!"

  With the aid of sticks, and their bike helmets, they plowed the loose dirt away from the fence. Again Sammy wiggled under the wire, clearing his entire body.

  "You next, big fellow," Sammy whispered to John.

  "I'll never fit under this."

  "Stop your moaning and duck your head." Sammy grabbed John's hands and pulled him through as John squirmed back and forth, pushing his feet against the ground.

  "Crap, I look like I been rolling in pig slop."

  "Maybe you have for all we know," Sammy said. The damp dirt on John's belly glowed in the moonlight. "Let's leave our helmets on the outside so we can find our way out."

  The work of dusting each other off, slapping a little harder than necessary, energized their determination. Their nerves felt fueled for the trek toward the lights and the curious buildings. A well-trodden path made it possible to navigate without the flashlight. The path wound
its way through patches of groomed bushes and mowed open areas. In several places it forked near clusters of cottages barely visible through the trees. The boys held to the main path, which led to a large stone building. Shuttered windows, evenly spaced, lined either side of its huge covered porch.

  They followed wide stone steps to the porch, where narrow, vertical windows framed a massive wood door. John followed Sammy, crouching low to the floor. Squatting against the building, they flanked the windows and peered into the entrance. A grand foyer led to a larger sunken room that appeared to be the focal area of the entire structure. From their vantage, they saw the tops of bookcases and crowns of people's heads that were milling below.

  "It looks like a library," whispered Sammy. He motioned John to follow him off the porch, down the steps to a lower level of similarly shuttered windows built low to the ground. They edged behind a thorny bush near the porch steps to a perfect viewing window. Its half-drawn curtains allowed them to see most of the sunken library.

  "What do you make of it?" John asked.

  "Looks like some sort of school." Individual desks were randomly placed among large tables; couches and overstuffed chairs made comfortable reading areas.

  Every desk was occupied by an older resident toiling over papers, pen in hand. Several young people, about John and Sammy's age, were wandering around the desks. One girl, hands clasped behind her back, looked over the shoulder of one senior, and then moved on to the next. She ventured close to the window. The people working at the desks ignored her, busily writing as if racing against time. The boys ducked lower.

  "Hey, Sammy," John hissed, "what does that remind you of?"

  "State testing!"

  "No lie. But look who's taking them!"

  A woman in her late sixties was sitting on the floor in front of one of the couches. She was holding an oversized puzzle piece, trying to fit it into a nearly completed puzzle with the help of a young boy. Her smiles were childlike and hopeful. Sammy watched her intently, struck with sympathy. He wondered if she had suffered a stroke, or if she was mildly handicapped.

  The longer the boys watched, the more apparent it became that something was backward about this scene. Just as Sammy was becoming unconsciously absorbed, John coughed. The young girl turned toward their window. She scowled, and then lifted her hands to her ears as if adjusting hearing aids.

  They veered back and flattened themselves against the cold stones. There was snap from within as the curtains were tightly closed.

  The boys crawled along the foundation behind the bushes that soon became untended and lush, touching the siding to form a tunnel. When they reached the corner, they stood and continued walking around the back of the building. Small windows dotted the lower level; larger shuttered windows above cast light into the darkness.

  Sneaking along the exposed wall, Sammy found a door leading to the basement. He tried the knob. To both boys' surprise, it opened. Once inside, they found themselves in a short hall that branched off to either side of the building.

  "Let's split up for a few minutes," Sammy suggested. He glanced at his watch. "It's 7:05, right?"

  "If you say so."

  "We haven't got much time. How about meeting here in fifteen minutes?"

  John said, "And what happens if things go wrong?"

  "They won't."

  "Just the same, Sammy, if you're not here in fifteen minutes, I'll head back toward our helmets."

  "Right."

  The boys split to either side of the hall and began testing doors. Sammy approached a door cautiously, placed an ear to it, and then tried the knob. It was locked. He glanced over to John, who'd just tried a door himself. He reported the results with a shrug. They worked their way down the hall. Finally, John succeeded. The knob turned. He motioned to Sammy to join him. At that same moment, they heard voices approaching from Sammy's direction, where another hall forked off to the right. John quickly stepped into the opened room.

  Sammy was stranded: not enough time to join his partner, not enough time to retrace his steps to the outside door. Rather than turn, he headed toward the approaching voices. Another door to his left offered his only chance to escape. He tried the knob. To his surprise, it opened. As the people turned the corner, Sammy closed it behind him. The room was dimly lit, the flashing light from a VCR signaled "12:00." A high counter, flanked by tall cabinets, made an island in the middle of the room. Three computer stations covered a healthy share of the wall facing the island. On the adjoining wall, another large piece of equipment emitted a high-pitched buzz.

  A rustle of keys near the door startled him. He ducked behind the counter.

  A boy spoke just outside. "It's time you learned how to do this yourself."

  "I appreciate you teaching me," a man said.

  The second voice seemed familiar. A key slipped into the lock. It clicked. The knob resisted its turn.

  "Darn, I just locked it. Someone must have left it unlocked. Not the smartest thing to do."

  "No, sir, especially this room."

  Sammy hugged the counter, staying close to the floor. If only they wouldn't come around to his side. The filing cabinet drawers faced the computer, away from him. He was thankful. Maybe everything they needed was on the other side of the counter.

  "So, you think you need an update?" the boy said as he entered the room; the overhead lights woke into full bloom. The other person only grunted. Sammy could feel tension in his ears as he strained to hear the man's voice.

  "Have you worked on these computers?" Again the young voice.

  A negative grunt followed. Speak, speak up. Say something that will tell me whether it's Walt.

  "First we need the history disks from the files. Here." Another rattle of keys followed. "It's under 'O'."

  Another affirmative grunt followed. The other person shuffled to the filing cabinet and unlocked it. The metal drawer slid easily. "Are all the disks here?" he asked.

  Yes, I'm right, it is him. Someone's helping him. Sounds like a kid.

  "Just find your disk and nose on out."

  Wow, bossy kid. What's the deal?

  "Driver's license, right?"

  "Yes. I need to take off about four years." The old voice paused then continued. "Don't you think?"

  "Let's see. Oh, I'd say so. This one would get you stopped, or maybe cited for retesting. Can't have that. I wonder who wrote this up."

  "My grandma was asking the same thing!" They both laughed.

  Grandma? A real joker. I'd sure like to see Walt's grandmother.

  "This won't take long." Sammy listened to the instructions as he tried to visualize the scene on the other side of the island. His heartbeats and the ticking of the wall clock seemed to be in rhythm with each other. Fifteen minutes was nearly up. He was trapped. Please hurry, please leave drummed through his mind.

  "Stand against that wall." A faint snap followed. "There, now we'll just import it into the computer. Ah, see how easy this is?" The young instructor sounded pleased. "This never ceases to amaze me. So much easier than our old printing method."

  "And pretty much foolproof too, right?" Walt responded.

  "Sure is. Get me some paper from the other file, please. It's in the middle drawer."

  "Do I need your key?"

  "No, it's open."

  Sammy realized he had been holding his breath to listen more clearly. Slowly he exhaled just as he heard "Wow, there's some fine stuff in here!"

  "We gotta look official."

  More clicks and taps on the countertop. Sammy edged around the far side of the filing cabinet. Be done. Be done. Please be done! The clock showed "7:21." John had probably returned. Sammy felt an anxious grinding in his stomach. Please be done now, now.

  "There you are; that should last you until your hair comes back." They both laughed. Two pairs of feet headed toward the door. "Thanks, AnMike."

  Sammy frowned to himself. AnMike? What kind of a name was that?

  The lights flicked off; the door closed.
A rattle on the knob told Sammy he was locked inside. He waited, still frozen against the cabinets. Slowly he stood. He knew he didn't have the luxury of waiting much longer. They must be gone, he reasoned.

  Even in the low light, the middle drawer of the filing cabinet caught Sammy's eye as he walked in front of the counter. It was ajar, too tempting to ignore. Without hesitation, he pulled it wide open, and allowed his hand to slip over the neatly hung folders. His eyes were ill-adjusted to the dark; but he could make out a paper. Sammy lifted it from its pocket. He found the flashlight and aimed the small beam at the death-certificate document. He pushed it back into its folder and dragged his hand to the next file to lift a second paper. "Birth Certificate" was boldly printed across the form. He raced the light over the hanging files as he ruffled them open. The entire drawer was filled with blank important documents.

  The clock, visible from the light cast by the blinking VCR, registered "7:25." He lit its face to double-check. A twist of panic propelled him to the door, and he went out. The hall was empty, both directions, no sign of John. He must be at the fence. Sammy raced through the short hall, turned the corner, and ran into someone else. "Walt!" Sammy cried.

  He could hear new voices coming from the very direction he had left. He was caught, no use turning back. "Please, let me out!"

  "I thought that was you. I saw your feet at the edge of the file cabinet. Quick!" He pointed to the door. "Someone saw a boy running outside."

  "It's John. Stall them, Walt! Please." They both hurried to the door.

  Walt opened it, peered outside looking both ways, then signaled Sammy out. "Sammy, let's talk. Meet me, meet me . . . "

  "At the arcade, tomorrow," Sammy called over his shoulder, heading in the direction of the unexplored side of the building. He thought he could join the path and reach the fence. He was right. The path was awash with light from the windows. Fear propelled him down the path. The dog's barking became louder. It was gaining on him.