The Awakening

by Rain Oxford

  Later, even after a short walk and a couple of hours in his room, the food still weighed heavily on his stomach. He tossed restlessly on the bed, occasionally punching the pillow into a more comfortable position. A gently stirring breeze drifted through the open window and carried out the smoke from his cigarette.

  He watched the smoke curling aimlessly on the air currents. Just like that. Pointless motion. I do a lot of that.

  He had spent six years in the Air Force as a pilot, much of that active duty in Viet Nam. When he left the service he had seen his future as a model of the American dream, everything seemed thumbs up, there was always a shortage of trained pilots for the major airlines, and with his background in the Air Force it didn’t take long before he landed a choice position with Trans World Airlines.

  Then came Janet. Red haired and beautiful, with a fiery disposition and her own ideas of the way things should be run. He found himself out of balance constantly, in love and overpowered. Within weeks, they were married.

  Everything went well for a while. They bought a new home and made plan after plan. He was happy and he thought Janet was, until she started complaining about the long absences his job required. The warning signs were there; he mentally kicked himself for not seeing them.

  He didn’t contest the divorce. He gave her most of what they had and sold the rest. He became moody, depressed much of the time, and he began drinking a little too much. When it got to the point of affecting his work, he quit, even going as far as to blame it for most of his troubles. He didn’t now, but that didn’t matter; it was too far in the past. So here he was by his own hands, thirty-three-years-old and going nowhere.

  The cigarette left a bad taste in his mouth. He snubbed it out and lay staring at the ceiling.

  * * *

  In small country towns, most activity begins early and ends not long after the sun goes down. If you want to take in some nightlife or a movie, you drove into one of the nearby cities with some of the gang. Sometimes some of the younger set would pitch in and buy one or two kegs of beer, then haul them up to the hills or down to the river and have a party.

  If they were a few years older they would stop in at the local tavern and drink their beer, get a little or a lot drunk, and yell requests at the country and western band sweating out their own version of some stale song. Sometimes things got a little too rowdy and a fight would break out, but it was rarely a bad one; just people looking for release. If you could move around in the town and listen with your ears, you would hear music and laughter and the sound of a housewife doing the supper dishes and the muted sound of a new color television or an old black and white set with a booster on the shot picture tube; if you listened with a deeper part of your mind you could catch bits and pieces of people’s lives, the hurts and angers and hopes and loves that made them different from the beast.

  * * *

  Parker locked the front door of his store and went into the back room that served as his living quarters. The television threw a dim light over the small area and he stretched out on the low couch that doubled as his bed. Everything in the room was in easy reach, including the tiny icebox where he kept his beer. His way of life was habit formed from long years of being a bachelor. He enjoyed it, but he was getting old and sometimes he got lonely.

  He thought about that young guy, Derek. There was something about him that he liked. Maybe if he had married and had a son… What the hell. I'm getting senile.

  He grunted and dug into his icebox for a beer, then turned the channel on the TV to the nine o'clock news.

  * * *

  Tony Tomalo flounced on his bed, feverish with excitement. The morning seemed a million years away to his nine-year-old mind, and his impatience was an actual pain in his chest. He rumpled his blond hair, wanting to tell someone what he had found; but until he knew for sure, there was no way he could without running the risk of being laughed at. After tomorrow no one would laugh.

  The cave was there, waiting for him to go inside and find the treasure. He thought about how lucky he was. If his knife hadn’t fallen into the water while he was fishing, he never would have found the entrance to the cave just under the bank. He knew there was buried treasure in it; he’d read books about pirate treasure and outlaws burying money, and this cave was just right. Besides, he had found that axe blade with the strange marks on it just inside the cave. Tomorrow he was going to take a flashlight and the string he’d bought, go in that cave, and find that treasure. His mind was almost bursting with the ideas of what he could do with so much money, and of how proud of him his father would be.

  He set the alarm clock for four-thirty A.M. and stuffed it under the blankets so only he could hear it, then settled himself in to wait for morning. It was a long night.

  * * *

  Ann Commers threw the paperback book she’d been reading at her cat. The cat jumped and fled to the safety of his basket, where he sat licking his paws and ignoring Ann with pointed contempt. She tried to glare with a straight face, then gave up and laughed.

  “Here you go, stupid. You started it, you might as well finish it. It’s my fault for not making you one, too.” She scooted the plate with the sandwich toward the cat and stood up, stretching.

  She left her room, going through the house. It was uncomfortably quiet with her folks away, and she felt restless. From the unlit front porch, the black sky was fantastic, filled with thousands of stars. In the eastern part of the sky, the Milky Way formed a dreamy path through the heavens. The trail to the happy hunting grounds, the Indians believed, she thought. It’s like the inside of a huge pin cushion, with each star a tiny hole poked through the night. I wonder if anyone is up there thinking the same thing I am.

  Why was it that nights like this left her with such an empty, warm feeling in her stomach? What was it that brought the tears so close? She hated working at the clothes store, and she hated living in Cider Springs. Nothing ever happened, and all the men were either married, too old, or just acted like children around her.

  She felt the cat brush against her leg; he had forgiven her earlier insults and now wanted attention. She picked him up and cradled him in her arms, sighing.

  Chapter 2

  The river gurgled and rushed, glinting a dull metallic gray in the pre-dawn light. Tony made his way along the edge, jumping from boulder to boulder when he had to, searching for the exact spot where he had found the entrance to the cave. It was difficult, for much of the bank looked the same as the particular area he had in mind, and the semi-darkness gave the landscape a flat, unrealistic appearance. The beam from his flashlight danced ahead of him until it landed upon a fallen spruce laying part way in the water.

  I remember that. It was just a little ways down from me when I found the cave! Tony’s heart beat faster; he ran the last few yards and dropped down on the grassy bank. He removed his shoes and stuffed his socks inside, out of habit, and eased himself over the edge of the bank.

  The icy cold of the water soaked through his clothes instantly, leaving him numb and shivering. He carefully held the flashlight above the water and began poking through the twisted roots and bushes, searching for the right bottomless shadow. Suddenly it was there in front of him. He stopped. To go in there alone…

  The mouth of the cave formed a black gap in the crumbling bank just large enough for him to fit through easily. After a few feet the tunnel expanded into a long, narrow cavern with a low ceiling. The floor was covered with shallow water from the river.

  Tony crawled head-first through the muddy tunnel, feeling for the rough ledge he had found the day before. His hand felt the hard surface. He wriggled his body to get his feet on it, struggling so he would not fall into the dark water below. The place had a definite stink that was hard to ignore.

  Once on the ledge, he tied one end of his spool of string to a heavy root hanging from the roof of the entrance, then tested its strength with a firm tug; it held, and he was satisfied that it wouldn’t come loose. The spool of heavy string
held five hundred feet, which would give him plenty of room for safe exploring in case the cave was deep. He doubted if he’d need more than that.

  The odd shaped axe blade lay on the ledge where he had found it. He picked it up and held it in front of the flashlight so he could see the marks on its sides. It wasn’t writing, at least not like any he had ever seen before. They were more like crude designs. After a few moments he gave up trying to figure them out and stuck the tarnished piece of metal in his belt. It felt big and awkward.

  He waded the length of the cavern cautiously; wary of deep places in the stagnant water and watching for anything that might hint of digging or treasure. Part of the cavern’s floor of the far side was deeper, but a close search turned up nothing.

  Disappointed, he turned his light on the walls. They were rough and uneven, deeply shadowed from his flashlight, but there were no openings leading from the chamber except for the one he had entered. At the deepest point, the cave narrowed to a three foot width. A steep spill of dirt and rocks blocked it almost to the ceiling.

  Tony climbed the spill high enough to see the top, expecting a dead end but hoping there might be something on the other side. Instantly he forgot the cold and awful smell of the cave. It was blocked, but not in the way he had expected; a smooth, dark metal surface reflected his light. Excited, he scrambled the rest of the way up the spill.

  The metal surface spanned the distance between the walls and was set tightly into the stone at the top and both sides. A few minutes of digging convinced Tony that the metal went far down, probably to the floor of the cave, and it was unlikely that he could reach it unless he wanted to move two tons of dirt and rock. It was obvious that it was a doorway of some type. He tapped on the metal with a piece of rock and could hear a faint, hollow booming. That meant there was room on the other side, at least. The question was how to get to it.

  The axe blade! He pulled it out of his belt and hefted it. The metal of the door didn’t seem to be too thick, and with any luck he might be able to pound or pry a hole in it. At last he would be able to see what was on the other side.

  He started prying experimentally at the edges of the metal plate, then stopped, fascinated by what happened; sparks radiated from the axe blade. He tried it again. The blade grew warm, seeming to vibrate in his hand, and the narrow band of sparks formed a flowing blue aura as if an electric current were passing through it. He shrugged; it was neat, but taking the time to figure out what was causing it would slow him down. And there was the treasure, just waiting for him to find it. He grinned, aimed the blade at the obstruction, and took a hard swing.

  His scream was lost in the explosion of light and heat.

  * * *

  Derek woke. Not slowly, piece by piece like civilized men do, but suddenly and completely, like an animal sensing danger. He could see the first edges of dawn seeping through his window, and he searched his room with his eyes for some unknown threat. For a moment, he was ten years old again; a crumpled blanket was a menacing evil, and unthinkable horrors lurked in shadows and closets left slightly ajar.

  It took a long time for him to find sleep once more.

  * * *

  Mrs. Jameson was at the bottom of the stairs, wrestling with the heavy, ancient vacuum cleaner when Derek finally descended from his room. Her hair was drawn back in a severe, unattractive bun, giving her already rounded face a moon-like quality above her flower-print dress. She shut the wheezing machine off and smiled when she saw him.

  “Good morning, Mr. Hanen. Did you sleep well last night?”

  “Pretty much so. And please, call me Derek.”

  “Okay. Ernie called a little while ago, about your car, and wanted you to call him or come by the station when you got the chance. He said it could wait, so I didn’t want to wake you up. You seemed tired last night.”

  “I was. I’m going to grab a cup of coffee at the diner, then I’ll trot of down and see what he says. Thanks for the message.”

  “You’re welcome. Have a nice day.”

  * * *

  Derek had barely stepped through the front door of the diner before Parker’s hail shot across the dining area. He glanced around the tables until he spotted the old man waving an invitation, and was almost to the table before he noticed the young woman Parker had been talking to. She was pretty, dressed in jeans, sandals, and a green blouse. Her hair was dark brown and long, tied back with a piece of green yarn. She smiled at him as he sat down.

  “Good morning son. You gonna have some breakfast?”

  “No, just some coffee.” As if cued, the waitress appeared at his elbow with a cup and a steaming glass pot of coffee. He declined the menu and thanked her.

  Parker wiped his plate with a piece of toast and popped it into his mouth, then washed it down with coffee. He ran a hairy hand across his face, and as an afterthought wiped his hands with a napkin. After all, there was a lady present.

  “How’s your car, son?”

  “I don’t know yet. Haven’t checked. Ernie called the hotel this morning, but I wasn’t up.”

  The girl sipped her coffee while glancing at Derek with interest. Parker grinned when her foot gave his leg a gentle but firm reminder of her presence.

  “Forgetting my manners. Derek, this is Ann, part of the local crop of youngsters.”

  “I’m not a ‘youngster’, I’m nineteen,” she said with mock indignation, then smiled at Derek. “Hi, Derek.” Derek returned her smile. She was pretty, especially when she smiled.

  Parker cleared his throat to draw Derek’s attention. “If you’re going to be around a while, you want to do some fishing? The river’s good this time of year, and I can loan you a rod if you need one.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’ve got to check on my car first, but that won’t take very long. What about your store, though?”

  “I don’t worry about it on the weekends much. That’s a privilege of being one of them business owning senior citizens. I just hang up a sign saying that if they can’t keep their shirt on, they can hunt me down and I’ll open it up for them. If I want to go fishing, I guess I’m going to. There ain’t no law that…”

  A tall man in overalls stood just inside the doorway to the diner. He surveyed the room with his eye, saw Parker, and came over to their table. Derek could sense a controlled irritation in the way the man stood, his jaw forming a hard line. He ran a callused hand through his straw colored hair.

  “What’s the matter, John?” Parker asked. “You need something from the store?”

  “No. I’m looking for that boy of mine. He’s been gone all morning, and I had to do his chores. You seen him?”

  “No, not this morning. He was in my store late yesterday, bought some string. That’s the last I saw him.”

  “Well, if you do, you tell him to get his butt home. If I got to do any more of his chores, he isn’t going to be able to sit on anything hard until he’s twenty. Morning.” He nodded to Ann and Derek and stomped away.

  Derek watched the man leave the diner, then turned back to catch the old man grinning. “Is that the boy that almost ran over me at the store yesterday?”

  “Yup, that’s the one. Tony. He’s a good kid.”

  Derek sipped his coffee and thought about the boy, how it could have been a scene from his own boyhood. His smile faded as a shadow seemed to pass in front of his vision. It grew darker for a moment, then black, and deep in the blackness he saw- no, felt- something move.

  Then it was gone.

  “…with us, Derek?”

  “What? I’m sorry, I was thinking of something.”

  Ann repeated her question. “I said, ‘how long are you going to be with us?’”

  “I don’t know. I’m waiting for my car to be fixed, probably won’t be very long.”

  “Too bad. Sticksville could use a new face or two. Oh, most of the people around here are nice enough, but it seems like nothing ever happens. This place is so boring.”

  Derek smiled. “I doubt if I could add m
uch to the local color. I’m about as boring as they come.” He finished his coffee and stood up. “I’d better be checking on my car, but I’ll probably see you later. If you want, maybe you could show me some of the less boring points of interest before I leave.”

  “I’d like that. How about this afternoon? I’m not working.”

  “I doubt if my car will by fixed by then.”

  “I have my own car, if you can stand a girl driving. That way I’ll have you at my mercy.”

  Derek laughed. “Okay by me, as long as you’re merciful.”

  “Good enough, then. How about you meet me here when you’re done?”

  “Sure.”

  “Women.” Parker broke in, snorting. “Always dragging a man away from important things, like fishing. Unless it’s some type of fishing of their own that they’re up to.” He winked at Derek and took a sip of coffee. “Drop by the store when you get yourself unhooked, son, and we’ll pack up and head out. I know some good places.

  * * *

  Ernie’s gas station was small and run down. The tail end of his Plymouth stuck out of the single repair booth, giving Derek the impression of a horse in its stall. The lone individual apparently operating the station was pumping gasoline into a beat-up, red Chevy pick-up. Derek leaned against the Plymouth and waited.

  The pickup groaned to life and shuffled away. The man gave it a wave, then headed toward Derek, wiping his hands on a shop rag. He was a short, husky built man with shaggy black hair. A pair of steel-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and the thick lenses gave his eyes an owlish, oversized look.

  “Hi, I’m Ernie,” he said, stuffing the rag into his pocket. “You’re the guy that belongs to the Plymouth, right?”