Gone to Ground (7 page)

10

It had taken Christina a week to convince the caregivers at the nursery that she was ready to play a
long, and to allow her to rejoin the rest of the children on the upper level of the converted hotel. Her abrupt change of heart was met with suspicion by those who’d decided to lock her away. Finally, however, they decided that she’d seen the light, and brought her back upstairs.

Being released from isolation, however, seemed to be the limit of her progress. A week after coming above ground she was no closer to getting on with her plan than she had been when locked in the cell in the basement. At least it felt that way.

While sitting in the small subterranean room, Christina put a lot of thought into what she needed to make good her escape. At the top of the list were her brothers. There was absolutely no way she was leaving without them. The problem was, however, that the boys and girls were housed in different wings of the hotel, which they had, unoriginally in Christina’s mind, decided to call the “Nursery.” Geez, the Nursery. Like they were some little babies or something! Granted, there were about thirty or forty little kids on the lower floors, but still, it was insulting.

She sighed as she put away her clothes in the dresser drawers allotted to her. She had been assigned a room with a fourteen-year-old named Alysa Thalman, a pretty girl with a round face, huge, dark brown, almond shaped eyes, straight black hair and skin the color of an aged penny. Unfortunately, Christina thought, Alysa also had the curiosity and ambition of a snail. Several times during the past week Christina had carefully ventured to broach the subject of the APZs, and the people’s imprisonment there, but each time Alysa had looked at Christina as though she had suddenly grown a few extra heads, and possibly an arm or two.

If pushed too hard, Alysa would say that the APZs were the only way that the government could make sure that everyone was cared for, and that it was important that all of them work together to make sure that all members of the community had what they needed. Her words so exactly mimicked those of the teachers at the Nursery that Christina began to wonder if she’d been programed just like a computer.

Her dad had told her how loss and sadness could affect some people; make them more malleable, a word dad had taught her to mean flexible, or easily molded. Christina loved learning new words and ideas from her dad and constantly pestered him to teach her more, more, more... A sudden spike of pain slashed through her middle. She missed him so much.

Based on the other things her father taught her, and the things she’d seen since coming to the APZ, she figured that brainwashing wasn’t out of the question. When the Nursery was formed, the caregivers had apparently felt that it was important to get back to a semblance of normalcy as quickly as possible.

And for the kids, that meant school.

The problem was the most of the teachers had died, along with everyone else, in the influenza outbreak that swept across the country. When she thought about it, though, that might have worked in the government’s favor since they could then handpick the people they wanted teaching the children. They could handpick the curriculum as well, she thought, because from what she could see from the classes she’d attended this week, lessons had changed radically from when she was last in school a few months ago.

Sure, there was still reading and writing and math. You couldn’t get away from those things if you tried. But now there was an emphasis on the environment, reducing the “footprint” of the humans on the planet, and organizing communities so that everyone was taken care of, while the planet was also left in a healthier condition.

It was interesting, Christina thought, that while her mother was an environmental scientist, and had frequently talked about the damage of greenhouse gases and that type of thing, the lessons being taught at the Nursery school seemed to be taking her ideas to such an extreme that Christina almost didn’t recognize them. It scared her. Badly.

To distract herself from the chilling thought that the people in the APZ were being programmed, Christina turned her mind once again to her escape plan.

Several times during the week she’d asked to see her brothers, but so far had been denied. She figured that the powers that be still didn’t fully trust her, and they wanted to watch her for awhile.
So be it
, she thought. She’d be the best little robot they’d ever seen if it meant that she’d get some freedom and be allowed to visit Nick and Ryan.

The rest of her plan required her to stockpile some food and other supplies, find a map of northern Arizona, and find a weakness in the defenses surrounding the APZ so that when they did make a break for it, they wouldn’t be immediately spotted and brought back. She guessed that she wouldn’t get a second chance if she were caught.

None of these things had been easy so far. Christina’s assigned chores were in cleaning, so she didn’t have access to any easily portable and storable food supplies. The ideal situation, she thought, would be to be assigned to the kitchen detail. She had to be careful, however, because if she pushed for a change of assignment, people might become suspicious. So far, she’d merely dropped hints about enjoying cooking and liking to help in her mom’s kitchen. She hoped that someone would catch on and consider moving her soon.

Christina had also been assigned a counselor, as had all the children in the Nursery, to help her deal with the loss of family and home. Shandra was a young woman with black hair and skin the color of a toasted almond, who admitted to Christina that she’d been a third year psychology student prior to the outbreak of the virus, and based on that limited experience had been assigned to the Nursery. Shandra was nice, but Christina felt that she had to be extra careful with what she said, since she was pretty sure that any suspicious actions or remarks would be relayed directly to the Enforcers in charge of the Nursery. Still, Christina didn’t think it would hurt to ‘reminisce’  wistfully about her imaginary kitchen expertise.

She was having a bit more luck with the rest of her plan, though she still hadn’t been able to secure a map, which could be a deal breaker. She’d managed to secret away several warm blankets, hiding them in a small utility closet near her room. She’d also managed to get her hands on a couple of canteens that some of the Enforcers had left sitting in the dining room after a meal. She still had a long way to go, but there were no doubts in her mind that she would manage, just given time and patience. That’s what dad had always said about science; that it just needed time, patience and imagination.

Christina was standing at the window of her room looking out over the city, toward the Colorado River and Arizona on the far side, daydreaming about the deep canyon with its running stream and green meadow. In her mind she could see everything just as O’Reilly had described it; house built back beneath the undercut of the cliff, blending so perfectly that you couldn’t see it at first unless you knew where to look. Large front windows facing out onto the pasture with its barn and windmill. Just as she was losing herself in the image of the rising cliff walls, enfolding her and protecting her, she was startled back into the here and now by the banging of the room door being opened suddenly by Alysa.

“Christina, grab your shorts and a t-shirt and hurry. They’re taking us on an outing to the river to go swimming.”

“What do you mean?” Christina asked, turning from the window. “We’ve got the pool.”

“Yeah, but the caretakers thought we’d like to get out and see the river. A lot of us have never been there since we’re not from this city. We’re all going. Come
on,”
Alysa urged
with more animation than Christina had seen in her during the entire the week she’d lived there. She remembered that when Alysa had shared a little about her life before being concentrated she’d mentioned living in a small town in the country where she could go out and wander in the desert near her home whenever she felt like it. Maybe the
“it’s for our own good”
line that Alysa had been repeating wasn’t as ingrained as it seemed.

As Christina rummaged through her drawers looking for a pair of shorts and a shirt she could wear to the river, she glanced back over her shoulder at the excited Alysa, “What do you mean that we’re all going? All the girls?” She felt a tremor of hope spark inside her.

“No, all of us. At least all of us old enough to go. I don’t think they’re taking the little babies. But everyone over, say, seven or eight? Boys and girls. We’re going to have lunch down there and not come back until this afternoon.”

Christina felt the spark of hope grow.
Please, please, please let them take Nick and Ryan. Please let them be old enough. Please, please let me be able to talk with them.
She hurriedly grabbed her clothes, threw them on and, stuffing a towel into a small day pack, rushed out the door, followed closely by Alysa.

11

Maggie groaned as she fell into bed, every muscle in her body protesting at the unaccustomed work she’d been demanding of them. The last two weeks had passed in a blur, with O’Reilly unrelenting in his demands that she and Mark master the skills required to live at the camp. Sure, there were down times, fun times, but even those were filled with activity instead of sitting quietly in an easy chair, reading a book.

That first night Maggie had been sure she was going to die. That all her muscles were going to rise in revolt leaving her flopping on the ground like a fish out of water.

The second night she thought that she might actually survive, although as a permanent cripple, requiring assistance to do simple things like use the outhouse.

The third and fourth nights, survival became a sure thing, and although she wasn’t convinced that she was looking forward to it, she was pretty sure that she didn’t prefer it to a swift and painless death.

Now finally, when she slipped between the blankets, she ached, but she knew that she was becoming stronger, and that in the morning she would be ready for whatever new tortures O’Reilly had cooked up.

Several times during the week she had again been awakened by the sounds of O’Reilly’s nightmares. Twice she had gone to stand by the door, listening as he thrashed and cried out. After his recent abrupt dismissal of her concern, however, she chose not to open the door again. Every time she stood there she heard anew the pain, the frustration and the torment that he worked so hard conceal during the day. Her curiosity, always a driving force in her life, ate away at her, but she decided that a subtle approach would gain her more than a direct assault. To that end, she watched and waited, taking note when his defenses seemed to be the weakest, when he was the most likely to share his inner thoughts and let his guard down.

She had plenty of opportunities to observe him during the last few days. Since she still insisted that Mark put in part of every day in school work, she became O’Reilly’s primary pupil and they spent a great deal of time together. As much as she hated admitting it, he had much more experience in this type of life than did she, and she found herself relying on him more and more to decide what needed to be done around the camp.

During the past two weeks the garden had been put in, one much bigger than the one that she and Mark started. O’Reilly asserted that they didn’t have any idea how much would be required to get them through the winter, and that what they’d planted would barely get them through the summer. To water the garden, she and O’Reilly dug several irrigation ditches, which Maggie insisted rivaled the depth of the Grand Canyon. They had also rejuvenated the irrigation system that served a small orchard at the far end of the meadow. All the horses had pedicures, she could now milk the cow in under thirty minutes, and she and Mark together were learning to rope.

Okay,
Maggie grudgingly admitted to herself while mentally cataloging the progress of the past two weeks,
Mark is learning to rope. I’m learning the best way to tangle a rope, and how to make steam erupt from O’Reilly’s ears
and potentially induce a fatal stroke, should it become necessary in the future.
She sighed and turned over, trying to find a comfortable position on the old mattress.

O’Reilly took Mark out one day on horseback, moving Maggie’s hard won cows up to a nearby pasture, further from the possible prying camera eyes of any seekers. Maggie was sad to see them go, but O’Reilly’d made a point when he said that the pasture needed to be kept fresh as possible, since they would be unable to provide hay in the winter and the horses would have to fend for themselves. He also said that most of the horses would have to be turned up in the other pasture which made Maggie uncomfortable, but she had to admit he had more knowledge of livestock, and the feeding of such, than she did.

That evening when they came home, they were packing a large buck, which O’Reilly proceeded to butcher out, cut into strips and demonstrate the correct way to make venison jerky. He explained that in the warm weather, jerky would be about all they could do with larger animals they killed.

Feeling her stomach rise into her throat at the sight of Bambi being reduced to strips of meat, Maggie merely nodded. The sight of Maggie’s pale face brought a slightly sarcastic grin to O’Reilly’s.

“Where did you think the meat on your dinner table came from? This is it.”

“Is it too late to become a vegetarian?”

Later that evening, however, as she savored a venison steak, prepared by Mark and O’Reilly, the designated cooks for the evening, she reconsidered her planned dietary change. She claimed it was the best steak she’d had in a long time, and silently tried to get the sight of the deer’s lifeless eyes out of her mind

One of the most important projects that O’Reilly insisted on, and that Maggie had the greatest difficulty in accepting, was that they develop an escape plan. When she questioned him about the need for something that drastic, he looked at her, then up at the yellow, red and pink water-stain-streaked canyon walls that towered above them.

“What do you think will happen if they find us holing up in here?”

“What makes you think that they will find us?” She bristled at the implication that she’d never paid attention to her surroundings. “Surely we’re far enough out that they won’t bother to send seekers or search parties. They can’t
want
to waste their resources in that manner, can they?”

“Think what you want,” he retorted sharply. “But for me, I want a place to go if they should show up, and while this canyon is a great place to hide out, it can also be a great trap. I want a fall back plan.”

Eventually Maggie gave in, acknowledging that having a hideout within the hideout wouldn’t hurt anything. That afternoon O’Reilly took Mark and Maggie and headed for the caves at the northern end of the pasture.

When Maggie and Mark first arrived at Hideaway, Mark had been excited by the caves peppering the sides of the canyon. Some were high with no visible way of reaching them, but others were near ground level and Mark was eager to begin exploring. Maggie, however, had laid down the law in regards to possible subterranean exploration. First and foremost, he was never, ever, on pain of death and fear of a furious mother, to enter any of the caves without her. Maggie had no idea what might be in a cave, but those that went further back than could be easily viewed from the entrance stirred in her an ill defined fear that curdled her stomach. She had visions of bears and mountain lions (
foolish
she told herself), snakes and bats (
maybe not so foolish
), and dead prospectors whose ghosts were determined to protect their claims (
totally, absolutely and unequivocally nutso, cause for immediate commitment to a mental hospital)
.

Dead prospectors’ ghosts or not, so far Mark had respected his mother’s commands and hadn’t ventured into any of the caves. At least she hoped not. It helped that they’d been so busy just staying alive and fed that free time to go exploring was hard to come by. Now, however, regardless of her fears, the caves were exactly where they were heading and she felt a sudden burning desire for a clove of garlic, a cross, or anything else that might drive the ghosts away.

O’Reilly knew exactly where he was going, apparently, and aimed straight for a small inconsequential hole, near the northern end on the western side of the meadow behind the old orchard. It was about ten feet above ground level, though a steep scree made access possible, if not easy. Near the mouth of the small cave grew a large juniper, roots entwined among several large boulders, all but obscuring the opening unless you knew where to look.

Having scrambled up the loose, rocky slope, the three stood at the entrance, peering into the dusky gloom beyond. Mark was almost jumping out of his skin in excitement, ready to rush into the lead but O’Reilly put out an arm, halting him.

“Slow down, buddy, you don’t want to go ramming around in these caves. They’re filled with side turns, drop offs as well as rock falls.” Maggie’s nervousness ratcheted up a few more notches. “You also need to always know where you’re putting your feet and your hands,” O’Reilly warned. “Rattlesnakes love these places during the hot weather. It keeps them cool during the day time and there are usually a fair number of rodents who wander in here, making for good eating.”

“Maybe we should reconsider,” Maggie started.

“
Mom
.”

“Well, maybe there’s somewhere safer,” she continued, over Mark’s protest, “and not so... well... so creepy.”

A snort of laughter met her ears, though when O’Reilly turned back to look at her, his face was perfectly straight, dark brown eyes serious.

“Listen, yeah, there are dangers in here, but there’s no where else in this canyon that you have any hope of eluding people who really want to find you.”

“What good does eluding them do if you fall down a shaft and wind up sitting in the middle of a pile of rattlesnakes?” Maggie shot back.

“Well, I don’t know, I guess you could throw snakes at them if they came after you. Either that or make a really nice hatband while you’re waiting to be captured and hauled off to an APZ.
If
they let you get that far,” he answered sarcastically.

Mark’s head swivelled on his neck as he looked back and forth between the two of them arguing. “Mom, it’s okay. I trust Mr. O’Reilly. He said he and his brother spent a lot of time in these caves when he was a kid. He knows where we’re going.” Mark looked pleadingly at his mother, obviously eager to proceed in spite of the mention of snakes and armed pursuit.

Maggie relented, grudgingly, acknowledging to herself how large a place O’Reilly had already taken in Mark’s life.

Mark’s father had been a hero in his life, and for several months following Mike’s death Mark had spoken of him often, holding up what he thought his father would do in certain situations as proof that they were heading in the right or wrong direction. Over this past week Mike’s name had come up less frequently, and simultaneously “What Would O’Reilly Do?” became Mark’s mantra.

Maggie felt a pang at this change. She understood it. Mike was dead. He could no longer be there to protect them, and in these days of fear and uncertainty Mark needed someone to look to for strength and as a role model. She just missed Mike so much and regretted any thinning of the connection between them.

“Okay, I’m going first,” O’Reilly stated. “Mark you’re second and Maggie, you’re bringing up the rear. Do not go past me. Do not go anywhere I do not go, even if you see something you think is cool. No taking side trips, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Mark snapped O’Reilly a mock salute that made him smile.

“I spent a lot of time in these caves, but that was over twenty years ago, and there likely have been changes since then, so we’re going to go carefully this first time.”

“How do we keep from getting lost?” Maggie queried.

“Every time we change directions we’ll use loose rocks to make an arrow pointing back in the direction we came from. We’ll have time later to make the markers less obvious once we find where we want to set up camp.” Maggie and Mark nodded in concert and the three ventured into the cool gloom of the cave.

Once past the entrance, it seemed that the ambient temperature dropped at least twenty degrees and Maggie suppressed a slight shiver. O’Reilly proceeded deeper into the cave, heading for the back wall which appeared solid in the dim light. He didn’t hesitate though, and moved to the left around a large rock, and bending down, moved into a small opening which appeared like magic.

The thought passed through Maggie’s mind that anyone giving the cave a cursory inspection might not even venture in as far as the back wall since you could see it from the entrance, and therefore might miss this second opening all together, hidden as it was behind this boulder.

O’Reilly kept a running commentary going while walking. “We need to get a pine or juniper bough here to mask our footprints in the dust and sand. It would need to be kept at the opening and once used, stashed in the inner cave here.

Once past the second opening, the cave abruptly hooked to the left, and seemed to lead back down toward the southern end of the canyon, though exact directions were difficult to determine underground. Although she’d never before been prone to claustrophobia, Maggie began to feel all the tons of earth overhead and her nervousness increased with the darkness. The air was damp, cool and musty with an odor, difficult to describe, but nonetheless unpleasant.

The three of them walked single file for several minutes, moving between small caves and the occasional short tunnel. Gradually all talking ceased, except for the occasional question posed by Mark who seemed to be avidly enjoying this experience. Several times O’Reilly glanced over his shoulder to assure himself that they were all right, and Maggie saw in the soft glow from her flashlight a small smile play around his lips when he looked at Mark’s excited face.

They were just passing through a small cavern replete with fanciful limestone sculptures from the mineral rich water that had formed this underground riverbed, when suddenly from in front of Maggie came a sharp
ch-ch-ch-chchchhchchch
. Mentally flashing on the rattlesnake (not the ghosts, she assured herself afterward) Maggie let out a brief shriek, tried to grab for Mark and jump backward at the same time.