Between the Roots

by A. N. McDermott

  He went into the bathroom. It occurred to him that this was the first time since noon that he'd even thought about normal stuff like taking a pee or being really hungry. The phone rang. He tried to hurry, but relieving himself was not a hurry-up job. Let the phone get the message, he thought. Before he left the room he ran warm water over his cold hands. It felt incredibly soothing; his hands were colder than he had known. Even skiing he'd kept his hands warmer than they felt now. That's it! The voice. That's where I've heard that voice. The guy from the slopes sounded just like that. Sammy allowed the warm water to bathe his hands: it ran over his numbed fingers to coax blood back into his fingertips. Where had she gone? What should he do? Too much tension from the last few hours was slowing his thinking. He grabbed a towel, wiped his hands as he returned to the phone.

  The light was blinking. He listened to the machine. "Sammy, I'll be home as soon as I can. Check in with Mrs. West. I love you." His mother's voice sounded weary. He played the recording again, hoping to detect a hidden meaning in the message. All he needed was a clue to set him at ease. Why didn't she say where she was?

  Sammy headed down the hall to her room. Perhaps she had left some clue in there, anything to set his mind at ease. The door was open. Nightclothes were flung on the bed, along with her slippers. Sammy lifted them up, and tossed them aside. The slippers fell to the floor. He picked them up, carried them to her closet, and set them neatly in the shoe rack on the floor.

  In the closet he saw it, wrapped in a heavy, clear plastic bag. He picked it up and rolled it over in his hand. A rush of disturbing memories came back to him. The bag contained a man's brown leather shoe, an object that somewhere deep in his childhood meant sadness. He recalled a voice saying, "Please, Daddy, me go too, okay?" Now he heard it coming from his own lips. So real were his recollections, he could hear the answer. "Not today, son. Come here, big boy. Give your daddy a big hug!"

  Being older, he knew why his mother had held the shoe shortly after that, rocked back and forth, and cried. As he stood there experiencing the past flood over him, the phone rang again.

  The noise jolted him back to the present. He answered the phone. "Hello, Sammy here."

  A frantic voice croaked, "Sammy, we need you, we need everybody. Can you get John? The river is flooding us! We need more sandbaggers. Even 'the others' are being called. The river is threatening the germinal forest."

  "I'll be there, Walt. I'll find a way." A click on the other end of the line meant hurry!

  Sammy dialed John, giving him the same urgent message. He heard John pleading with his parents. He waited and listened to the broken debate in the background. Then, "Dad says he'll help, too. We'll pick you up in a couple minutes."

  When Sammy returned the phone to the cradle, reason began to set in. He would call Mrs. West and tell her his plans. The line was busy, she didn't believe in modern phone-message services. He would have to leave a note. Where could Mom be? What was going on with her?

  He didn't have time to write a long explanation, just a short note. While he looked for paper and pencil, he thought of food. Sammy found leftover pizza in the refrigerator and stuffed it into his mouth while he rummaged around for something else he could eat fast. The refrigerator light went out, and the condenser went quiet. Sammy closed the door, surprised that the entire room had gone black. He edged past the counter, groping for the light switch on the far wall. It didn't work.

  Gusts of wind and rain beat against the front door. A honk followed. Sammy didn't have time to write. He felt his way to the hall closet and groped around till he had boots and his winter raincoat. He got them on, then bolted down the steps toward the waiting car. Rain pelted him.

  Chapter Twenty-One: Seeing Double

  ALL THE STREETLIGHTS were out; the entire town had lost power. Cars ventured cautiously up to dark intersections. John and Sammy directed John's dad toward the river road leading to the Colony.

  "Walt will probably meet us by the gate," Sammy said.

  At that moment, the front wheels hit a large pothole, sending water fountains along both front doors, splashing as high as the side mirrors. Fifty yards ahead, groups of people were fighting against the wild river that would soon crest, cover the road, and flood the woods. They were digging sand, filling burlap sacks, straining as they hauled them to the growing wall of stacked sandbags.

  "Grab the lights. This is far as we go, boys," John's dad called out. "Son, I'm proud of you for wanting to help these people, but stay safe."

  "Right, Dad, you too." John returned his dad's arm pat. They opened their car doors to join the busy crew. Immediately they were swept into the crowd. Sammy followed, and for one brief moment he felt alone. It occurred to him that he had just seen a rare exchange of affection. He wished he had a dad who could see him take on the challenge of this stormy night, and be here to praise and console him.

  Between the workers and the gate, a vehicle hugged the right side of the narrow road, its right tires planted in the ditch. AnLillie's car had not made it back to the garage. Sammy felt sorry for Walt, knowing that he would have some serious explaining to do. It was really too bad, such a short distance to go. The garage and AnLillie's cottage were the closest buildings to the road and the dam. So close; in fact, you could almost fish off the porch. Sammy's heart raced at the thought. How high had the water risen? If the germinal forest were being threatened, that would mean AnLillie's place was in even graver danger.

  "John, I'm going ahead and see if I can find Walt!" Sammy yelled above the river's roar. He ran, not wanting to be held back by anyone, even John.

  Both young and old were battling to save the dam, the forest, and buildings near the river. Sammy rushed past the volunteers. He realized that many of the young men and women, boys and girls, had probably had other struggles like this, years ago, perhaps decades ago, with this same threatening river.

  The gate was open. Exhausted people from within the Colony hurried onto the road to fill empty sand bags. Some were directing new recruits toward the forest. Sammy ran through the gate, peering into the dark at the faces of every old man, hoping to find Walt. He slowed to a fast walk when he reached a group of four people, hooded in the familiar plastic ponchos.

  One of the men, without even making eye contact, thrust a shovel in Sammy's free hands and said, "We need diggers." Sammy was being swept along like river flotsam into the forest.

  They thought he was one of them, perhaps returning from Severee. Sammy knew what he would see if they lifted their water-weighted hoods. They would be young-looking people with generations of experience. They would be sober faces that knew the heartbreak they and their families would endure if they didn't succeed tonight. They were parents and grandparents who would lose the loved ones they had waited so long to nurture.

  The group continued deeper into the forest. As Sammy walked, he felt the spongy earth under his feet. If left alone, the maturing beings would suffocate. They had to be dug up now and moved to higher forest ground.

  "Let's move the ones that are almost ready first."

  "Aren't there only two of them?"

  "Yes, two girls."

  Walt's own mother had come to the forest not long ago. Sammy gasped when he realized he could be helping to save Walt's own sister. He knew it's a girl. They must be the watchers. Holy cow! I'm actually walking with a group of watchers. Being here in the forest awakened his memory of how frightened he had been when he saw the watchers and washers laboring over what he supposed was a dead body.

  As he fell in line with the watchers, each soggy footstep taking them deeper into the forest, he began to think about how he'd kept his fears to himself. But what had his mother been keeping from him with those strange calls and unexplained meetings?

  He continued to follow the watchers, shovel in hand. Another group joined them from a side path. Two of them carried wooden slabs about five feet long and half as wide. Sammy halted as the newcomers wove their way into the group. The last young man directed his
light into Sammy's face. "Good to see you. Everything all right at the cottage?"

  Sammy nodded. Obviously he had been mistaken for someone else.

  Their pace quickened. Mud and needles clung to their boots. Rivulets coursed around their feet. With nowhere to go, growing puddles were fast becoming one connected pond over the natural clearing. In the splintered light cast by half a dozen flashlights and lanterns he recognized where he was. Beyond the shadows uphill near the road, he had once hidden behind a tree.

  An earth barrier surrounded the germinal garden. Someone hollered, "First dig a couple channels to drain this water!" At once the watchers attacked two low areas on the clearing edge. Water rushed through. At the same time, other watchers hurried to divert streams coming down the hill.

  "AnKurt, help with the slabs. AnJoe and AnWill are digging up Pod One just ahead of us." The same young man who had spoken to him earlier flashed his light in his direction. He hesitated. "AnKurt, take this slab."

  There was no mistake. The slab was being handed to him. Sammy stabbed his shovel into the ground, grabbed the board with his free hand, and joined the watchers uncovering the first of the most mature pods. He had been called "ancestor." It felt good.

  "Steady, steady. The skins are still tight. We're in luck. Quick, push the slab under it." From the heavy muck, a long slender bundle, encased in mud, was lifted from the ground. Root-like tendrils hung from its sides. "Be careful not to break any feeders." Sammy slung the flashlight strap over his wrist, then bent low and slipped the board under the pod. Immediately one of the watchers took hold of its far end and helped him lift the heavy burden from the earth.

  Without talking, he followed his partner's lead. Together they walked from the clearing, light swaying, heading up the hill and deeper into the forest. There, a group of workers waited near five other holes.

  Sammy and his partner were directed to the closest one. "Lower her here." Carefully they set the pod into the ground and eased the slab free of the feeders. Without pause, the watchers gently scooped shovels of dirt over the tender roots.

  His partner turned to acknowledge him. "Thanks. I think she'll take hold."

  "How much longer does she have to grow?" Sammy asked as he removed his flashlight from his wrist. The exertion had made him uncomfortably warm, bringing beads of sweat to his brow.

  "Don't you know?" The young man turned to face Sammy. "This is AnLillie's newest grandchild. She'll crust in about a month. I thought you were called to the house." His partner grew thoughtful. "Didn't you get the message?"

  Sammy realized he had again been mistaken for someone else. "What message? Was it from Walt?"

  "It could have been. They needed you to help persuade her to leave."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The spillway near AnLillie's place is flooding her cottage. She refused to leave when security arrived. You'd better get over there."

  Both of them retraced their path to the clearing, stepping aside for a second pod and its carriers to pass uphill. When they reached the remaining watchers, they parted. Sammy said, "I'm going to the cottage." He knew that the river was directly ahead of him.

  Within minutes, he could see the rushing waters swirling around the cottage path. He raced toward the commotion of workers and onlookers. A torrent of ugly water had claimed the garage and garden shed. Headlights from a parked truck shone on AnLillie's house. The porch was missing, torn from the main structure that was itself twisted off its foundation. The powerful waters completely encircled the house that was now caged in several tall firs.

  Sammy pushed through the crowd. Two men leaned from the cottage's side window. They handed a large, sheeted rectangle to helpers wading precariously in the current. What could be so important? Just beyond the flooded cottage, he saw a figure crumpled on the ground. It was Walt. Two volunteers were comforting him.

  "Walt, what happened?" Sammy cried as he hurried toward his friend.

  "Sammy, you came! She wouldn't leave the house. They came to get her, but she was standing on the porch."

  "Where is she?" Sammy feared the answer. It was obvious that the porch was gone.

  "She fell in."

  "Did they get her?"

  Walt rose to meet Sammy's stare. "She's in bad shape. They're taking her to the Colony clinic now."

  He hadn't said she was dead. There was still hope. "Let's go." Sammy headed down the main path that led to the infirmary; Walt struggled to keep up.

  It was the only building lit by electricity. Generators rumbled noisily beside it. The boys directed themselves up the steps and through the main door. Whispers and stares followed them as they hurried down the short hall to the waiting room. A woman still in a rain coat and dripping wet stood facing a patient's door, her back toward them. She turned when she heard them enter the room. "Sammy? What are you doing here?"

  "Mom!"

  "I asked him to come," Walt said.

  "Sammy, do you know who's in there?" His mother wrapped her arms around him.

  "He doesn't, Mrs. O'Doul," Walt interrupted. Shaking his head, he looked defeated. "I didn't tell him."

  "Then you know?" She directed her question at Walt.

  "I've known for a long time, ever since I first saw Sammy, months ago."

  Sammy was confused. Their exchange was swift and nonsensical. They were talking about him, but he hadn't a clue what else they were talking about. He stood puzzling as he watched his mother.

  "Sammy, I'm so sorry. I never meant for you to find out this way." There was anguish in her eyes.

  "Are you saying she's dead?" Sammy asked.

  "They're working on her now. But there's more, Sammy. You need to know. I should have told you sooner, but I didn't think you would understand."

  The glaring white of the walls hurt Sammy's eyes. "What do you mean?"

  "Sammy, ever since you were four years old, I knew something about you that I have never shared. It was several months after your father died that I found out the truth. Your father loved you so much, and me as well, that he couldn't bear to completely separate himself from us."

  Sammy interrupted. "You said he died in an accident."

  "That's what I thought, Sammy. But I found out differently after I had taken this job." His mother sat on the couch, looking soberly into Sammy's eyes. "Your father faked his death, Sammy. He drove our car into deep water. He had to break ties with us, so that we could start a new life, different from the one that he was growing into. Sammy, your father is not what I first thought he was."

  The door to the adjoining room opened behind her. A tall, curly haired young man stepped into the room. Sammy looked at him, and gasped. He saw his own likeness. The young man walked toward him. His posture was familiar. Sammy recognized the strong stride and the tilt of his head, which he'd noticed even when it had worn a ski mask.

  And then the word he had so longed to hear filled the room: "Son!"

  The tone in that one word sent him back to the mountain and the young man whom he'd admired and spoke to in the spring. He'd heard that voice only a short time ago on their home answering machine. "Dad?" A dam of enlightenment burst. For months now he had unknowingly prepared for this moment.

  Tears were streaming down his mother's face. "Your father and I have been caring for you, together, Sammy, all these years. But you didn't know. The rules of the Colony are so strict." He faced his mother, then Walt, and turned to study his father. "Kurt," his mother said, "you were so right, he needed to know sooner." She reached for her husband's hand.

  "Sammy, I don't know which day I dreaded more, the day I had to leave you, to fake my own death, or the day I would have to explain to you who I am, and who you are." Kurt extended both arms toward Sammy. "Son, I've watched you grow. I've skied by your side, watched you ride your bike, read your report card, pored over your homework projects, and longed to be a real part of your life."

  His mother said, "Those Tuesday meetings were our time together."

  Kurt
added, "All the while you were growing older, I was growing younger."

  Sammy wheeled to face Walt. "You knew! You knew all along and you didn't tell me. Why?"

  A young boy in an old man's body began to defend himself. "It wasn't my place. It had to come from your parents. AnLillie told me to keep quiet. Besides, I was afraid your mother wouldn't let me see you."

  "I only just found out tonight that Walt lived here," Sammy's mother said. "And now I know why he wanted to be your friend."

  Sammy's dad approached him again. "Sammy, Walt is your cousin. AnLillie is my mother, and your grandmother, too." He paused and then continued, "For years she's wanted to see you. I couldn't even tell my own mother that you lived so near."

  "Why, why the secrets?" Sammy faced Walt and said, "Especially after I knew about reversed aging?"

  "I was afraid I'd get in trouble," Walt said honestly.

  "The code of the Colony is to stay with our own kind," said Sammy's dad. "I failed the Colony when I fell in love with your mother and we had you. There are more who did the same; and we all have paid a lonely price."

  "What about AnLillie? Is she okay?" Sammy asked. There were dozens of questions he wanted answered.

  The scuffling of feet interrupted them. A man carried in the rectangular bundle from the cottage. He walked directly to Kurt, handed it to him, and whispered something in his ear. "Thank you," Kurt said. The man left. "AnLillie is sleeping. She's badly bruised and exhausted, but she'll be all right." Setting down the package, he extended his hand to his son. Sammy accepted it, before falling into the hug that his wise, old-yet-young-looking father had waited so long to give.