The Painted Room

by Tina Mikals

Chapter 26

  Underground

  "What just happened?" asked May, attempting to keep the rising level of panic out of her voice. She already knew the answer, but she was hoping against hope she was wrong.

  "The stone must have tipped," said Carlisle's low voice out of the dark. His attempt at a calm tone only thinly disguised the anxiety lingering below it, but she was grateful for his effort anyway.

  "What do we do now?" she asked. "Can we dig our way out?"

  "The stone is on top of us. We'd have to dig around it," said Carlisle.

  He's leaving out the part where we run out of air in the process, thought May.

  Next to her, Sheila took in a long breath and let it out in an audible shudder on the verge of a sob. May expected her to start crying any second, but instead Sheila said, with surprise in her voice, "It ought to feel a lot stuffier in here."

  "What's on the other side of you?" asked Carlisle.

  Without explanation, May found Sheila's observation enormously funny. She began to laugh.

  "Hush, May," Carlisle said softly, putting his hand lightly on her arm.

  On the other side of her, she felt Sheila move away.

  May stopped laughing and gave a small gasp. She groped around the moist dirt floor hoping to contact some part of Sheila. When she didn't find her, she called out her name.

  "Wait there for me," said Sheila's voice from a small distance away.

  Carlisle was furious. "Where the—where in the devil's name—is she going? I didn't tell her to do that! Get moving, May. Follow her. I can't get by you."

  As irritated as she was at being ordered about like a foot soldier, she had to admit she didn't like the idea of Sheila stumbling through the dark on her own either.

  She began to shuffle along on all fours, patting the ground ahead of her as she went and hoping she didn't encounter anything slimy. Behind her, she could hear dirt silt down on Carlisle as his head brushed the top of the tunnel and his broad shoulders grazed the loose soil of the concave walls to the sides of him.

  Ahead of them, she heard Sheila give out a small cry.

  "Can't you go any faster?" said Carlisle.

  "It's pitch black. I'm going as fast as I can!" All at once, the bottom dropped out from under her right hand and her stomach jumped. May felt around, searching for the moist cool floor of the tunnel again and found it a full two feet below.

  "Watch out for that drop," shouted Sheila.

  "Now you tell us," she called back.

  "Is it me or is it getting narrower in here?" said Carlisle. There was a note of panic in his voice.

  "Definitely narrower," confirmed May.

  "Don't worry, we'll get out of here."

  "I know we will," she reassured him.

  "Guys?" said Sheila. Her voice sounded muted and small in the tunnel ahead of them as the soft, musty earth absorbed the vibrations of her voice. "I think some of the roof collapsed. There's a hole, and I can see some light, but it's not big enough to get through. I'm going to try to make it bigger."

  As Sheila scooped away at the fine loam ahead of her, the light ahead seemed to get brighter by degrees until after a few minutes, she said, "I'm through. There's more tunnel up ahead here, but I think I can see the end of it." She suddenly sounded excited. "I don't think it's much further!"

  May came to the narrowed part of the tunnel that Sheila had dug out and wiggled through on her belly, loose dirt crumbling to the sides of her. She made out Sheila's outline ahead, making her way down the final length of the passage as the tunnel opened up. Sheila was almost at the end, and May scrambled to catch up. Behind her, she could hear Carlisle give a small grunt.

  All at once the light ahead of her was extinguished and the form of Sheila disappeared momentarily. Then May saw the dark silhouette of her head reemerge in a circle of gray sky just a few feet ahead. Sheila grabbed her hand and pulled her out into the open air.

  Exhausted, relieved to feel grass under her hands, May rolled over onto her back and stared thankfully at the sky.

  A few seconds later, Carlisle wriggled out like an earthworm. Every last inch of him was caked with reddish dirt from his shoelaces to his bushy eyebrows and long sideburns. Sweat and grime had mixed on his face into a streaky red mud.

  He got to his feet and walked several yards away from them, tipped his head forward and brushed his hands briskly through his hair, causing dirt to patter down onto the dry grass.

  "How far do you think we traveled underground?" asked May, turning her head to look into the distance. She found the rock easily but the farmhouse was nowhere in sight, and she decided the tornado must have torn it apart.

  "Far enough," said Carlisle.

  Sheila searched through the satchel. She pulled out the empty water bottle and put it on the grass, then plucked out a bruised, red apple. "Any takers?" she asked. May was famished and took the apple. Sheila got another one for herself and held the last up for Carlisle.

  He shook his head. "No thanks."

  "Too bruised?"

  "Save mine for later," he said.

  "You really ought to eat, Mr. Carlisle. Don't save it on our account," said Sheila, offering it again.

  "I said I don't want it," he snapped at her.

  "Okay," Sheila said softly with a hurt look, putting the apple back in the sack.

  Carlisle softened his tone. "Just—just save it for me, dear. Or you can eat it yourself, if you'd like. I'm just not very hungry right now." He got to his feet with a sigh and started walking. "I could use some water though just to get the taste of dirt out of my mouth. Maybe with some luck, we'll find some."

  As they walked, the brown grass growing up through hard packed ground changed over gradually to green meadow dotted with purple crown vetch, daisies, and bright goldenrod.

  Strangely, from no discernable starting points, footpaths began to emerge out of nowhere in the field. Some paths lead to forest, some wove through stands of trees and then back out again. Some paths continued for a short way, then mysteriously dissipated into nothing but more virgin and untrodden growth underfoot.

  The blanket of gray clouds above them blew away, and the sun began to shine down, brightening their spirits—all but one, that is.

  Carlisle sulked along, listlessly lagging behind the girls.

  "He can't be holding a grudge still?" said May, hoping for reassurance from Sheila, whose finer sense of such things she had grown to depend on over the years.

  "I don't know," her friend replied as if she knew very well indeed.

  "I'll apologize, you know. I've just been waiting for the right opportunity."

  "Oh, is that what you've been waiting for."

  "You know, he wasn't totally in the right either."

  "I know that."

  May stopped walking and without needing to explain herself, Sheila left her behind so she could wait for Carlisle to catch up. May watched him walk to her slowly with his hands in his pockets.

  "You're a bit poky," she said brightly.

  He replied with a grunt, not looking at her.

  Her first attempt to make light conversation having failed, she forged ahead steadily.

  "Sheila and I are so used to getting a stitch in our sides keeping up, we hardly know what to do with ourselves."

  He mumbled, "I never realized. I'm sorry."

  "That's fine. We've gotten used to it." She traveled alongside him and focused on the ground as she said, "I wanted to talk to you about what I said before. It's just—you made me mad. I only said what I did because I didn't like what you said to me first and I still don't. But I shouldn't have said what I did. And it's not even true anyway. You aren't stupid. I can't live with you thinking that I think less of you. But then you kind of think less of me, don't you, just because I'm female? I guess I can't help that. It's completely narrow-minded, but it's not really your fault. After all, you are from a backward time and all. Anyhow, will you accept my apology?"

  "I'm not entirely sure I heard one,
but it's no matter. I haven't given it a second thought. You don't really need to apologize."

  "Oh. Okay."

  "On the other hand, if it makes you feel better, then I accept."

  "Good," she said relieved. "I still think you were wrong, too, but I'm big enough to let it go."

  "Thank you."

  "Maybe if you thought about it awhile, you would see my point."

  "Perhaps."

  "That's not much of an answer."

  "It's the only one I have for you. Now would you mind very much, May? The truth of it is, I appreciate your apology, but I have a lot on my mind. Perhaps you and Sheila could chit-chat for a while. We'll stop and rest in an hour or so, unless we find some water before then."

  "Fine," she said, stepping up her pace.

  "Well?" asked Sheila, when May caught up to her. "How did it go?"

  "He still seems like he's in a crabby mood to me," she said, feeling like she'd failed in some way. Looking down at the ground, she asked Sheila, "What happened to the path we were on?"

  "It went veering off into the woods," said Sheila. "I thought it would be better if we just followed the sun."

  "Well, okay. I guess that makes sense, but we'll have to make sure to do a tick check when we stop."

  Forty minutes passed before they finally came upon a small stream. After they filled their water bottle, she and Sheila splashed water on their faces, attempting to clean off the red muck, which still clung to them from their journey underground.

  After drinking from the stream, Carlisle sat down and propped his back against an oak tree about ten yards away. A squirrel chittered at him from a low branch.

  "I guess he doesn't like our company anymore. He's got some nerve saying I mope around," said May. "You'd think he'd a least want to clean up a little."

  "He's acting strange," said Sheila. She pulled the previously rejected apple from the satchel and strolled over to the oak tree with it.

  There was a brief exchange of words between them before Sheila returned, still bearing the apple in her hand. She bit her lip as she replaced it in the satchel.

  May knew that look. "What now?" she asked, not really in the mood to deal with any more tender feelings from either one of them.

  Predictably, Sheila burst into tears.

  "This has gotten ridiculous. He's been in a horrible mood all afternoon. How long can the man hold a grudge, anyway? It's just our luck to be stranded with an artist."

  She marched over to the oak tree, stood in front of him with her hands on her hips, and yelled, "What's gotten into you? You don't need to go crabbing at Sheila if it's me you're mad at. I told you I was sorry already!"

  He was leaned against the trunk of the tree with his legs straight out in front of him and his hands folded across his chest, keeping his jacket closed. He didn't even reply to her—only stared at his shoes sulkily.

  "You could at least look at me when I'm talking to you."

  Reluctantly, he glanced up at her. His eyes sparkled with an abnormal brightness. He returned his gaze to his shoes again. "I'm sorry," he said bleakly.

  A vague misgiving clawed at her with that one glance.

  Oddly, what struck her next was that not one inch of him was moving. Only one other time had she seen him so still—and that was when he was as good as dead.