by Nancy Widrew
Neither words nor actions were necessary for Jeremy to figure out what Rahm really meant: behave yourself or else. All right you bastard, he said to himself. I’ll be good, but just for now. Then you’ll get yours in spades.
#
Jeremy entered the tunnel, not because Rahm told him to, but because the thought of killing a creature, even a small, defenseless one filled him with glee and caused his pulse to race as if he were climbing a mountain. The passage, worn clean by many footprints, led down toward the lake but in the opposite direction of the mushrooms. He had already been here on his tour of “Second Chance City”—that first day before he knew anything was wrong, before he knew hell really existed.
There they were, a slimy mass of putrid primogenial animal, having no right to exist on God’s Earth. Hundreds, several inches in length, were crawling on the walls, stalagmites, and stalactites in search of insects. All were ghost white, without eyes so that they appeared almost faceless. Some were missing a limb or a tail—perhaps due to mutations or the result of cannibalism—while others were eating their own flesh.
With a wave of disgust, Jeremy kicked at the wall, sending them scurrying. Picking one up from the ground, he effortlessly disposed of it by strangling it between his thumb and forefinger. He picked up another and another, repeating the executions until his abhorrence diminished and his diabolical need felt satiated.
Holding one final specimen by its tail, Jeremy let it dangle helplessly before his eyes as he examined it in detail. Its wiggling, a feeble defense in his grip, increased, and it began to squeak like a newborn puppy. Then slowly, by whatever thin thread of animate existence they shared, its desperation seeped into Jeremy’s wounded psyche, and with trembling fingers he let it go and watched as it dropped to the ground.
“I’m sorry,” he said as it staggered away, half broken. It tried licking its tiny limb, now protruding at an unnatural angle. Confused, it began biting itself, only compounding its misery.
Waves of remorse snaked through Jeremy’s veins until reaching his core, they transformed into a groundswell of empathy. With the shame of blood on his hands, he ground the salamander into the earth, not wanting it to continue suffering. “I’m sorry,” he said again, although no one was there to hear.
Sinking to the ground, he lowered his head to his chest, sobbed, wailed long and hard at the magnitude of all he had lost and what he was becoming. Forcing himself, he looked up toward a sky he could no longer see, and made a promise to himself, to Karen. “I won’t let them turn me into a monster!” he yelled. Suddenly, all lingering feelings of self-pity drained from his body along with their traces of poison and ensuing depravity. And with that came strength. “I swear that somehow, someday, I’ll get even. He deserves that; they all do.” With his brow set in furrows of resolution, he made his way back to the others, sans salamanders for dinner, more determined than ever to survive and win.
#
Softly, with tender care, Karen patted down the beds where the new mycelium was placed as if putting her charges to sleep.
“You did fine,” said Rachel.
Karen rose to her feet, suddenly aware of the twisted world she inhabited. She tossed the rag to the ground, but as she did her eyes skimmed over her fingers, now embedded with dirt, the cuticles near the ends forming black, smiling faces, mocking her. She tried wiping them on her soiled pants, but only succeeded in smearing the mess. “I’m filthy,” she said, angry at Jeremy, angry at Rachel, the world, herself.
“No problem,” said Rachel, attempting to placate the irritated woman, now glaring with accusatory eyes. “It’s clean dirt. But I suppose this is a good time to show you where we bathe and wash our clothes. Come.”
Each holding a pailful of mushrooms for the evening meal, they walked back toward the lake. Rachel lit a candle and a trickle of water appeared underfoot before seeping into the ground.
“Look for that,” she said. “A marker. It indicates we’re almost there.”
“I can tell,” said Karen, reminding Rachel that she recognized the rumbling pitter-patter from earlier that day. Now, however, mysterious splashing thumps added harmonic overtones. “What’s that slap-slap noise? It sounds like drumbeats.”
“You’ll see for yourself soon enough, but wait here until I light the lantern farther up.” Moments later, Rachel called out, “You can come now, but be careful. The rocks are slippery.”
Karen walked down, arms out for balance since there was nothing to hold on to. She stumbled once but quickly caught herself. Then gazing out at the lake, a smoky black basin in the darkness, she squinted at the bizarre, flashes of light, hitting the surface. “Is that what you were talking about? Some kind of aquatic firefly?”
Rachel shook her head sideways. “Actually they’re shrimp. Like most things here, they turned white, but they’re powerful swimmers like their cousins above. That’s why we hardly eat them; hard to catch. Hey,” she said, her voice rising on the crest of a sudden idea. “Would you like to go out on the water? We have a rowboat nearby. The lake is quite pleasant, peaceful even.”
Not knowing the depth of the lake and being a mediocre swimmer at best, Karen answered with a resounding no.
“As you like,” said Rachel. If she felt rebuffed, she didn’t give any sign. “But if you change your mind, I’m sure someone would be happy to take you out. There’s a large waterfall off a ways. We often fish beneath it. For some reason, the trout like it there. We’re lucky to have them. It’s rare for trout to live in caves.”
“Did you know they were here before you came?”
“Yes. Rahm discovered them on an earlier exploration. That’s one of the reasons we chose this area. There’s crayfish here too. They’re common in caves, but not in this amount or size. They live under stones in the shallow places. But enough of this. You wanted to clean up.”
“Right,” said Karen, twitching her nose. “I stink.”
Rachel held back from affirming the obvious. Instead she pointed out the best place to stand, a runoff farther down, where the water pooled into a hollow. “We do laundry there too. We try not to contaminate the main part of the lake because of the fish. I suppose you’d also like fresh clothes.”
“That would be nice.”
“I’ll handle that,” said Rachel, taking the lead along the gravely shoreline. She stopped at a protruding boulder and handed Karen soap and a towel, always left on the same flat surface.
Karen removed her socks and shoes and immersed her feet in the water. “It’s freezing,” she said, drawing back.
“Another thing you’ll get used to. And while you’re bathing I’ll go back to the storage area. It won’t take me long.” She click-clicked and ran her eyes over Karen’s body, saying, “I’ll just have to guess at your size. We are responsible for washing our personal items, by the way. As for the towels and other community property, we take turns.”
Certain she was gone, Karen stripped naked. She waded in up to her ankles, running the wet, soapy washcloth over her entire body and scrubbed. After repeating the process, she did it twice more without soap. Despite the cold, she unconsciously hummed just as she did back home in the shower. It felt so good to be clean. Then as her purple-blue lips and body shook like some long-ago Roaring Twenties flapper, she scrambled back to shore and washed her clothes along the shallow edge.
As she was hanging them on the clothesline, she heard the scuff of feet and quickly finished putting the last clothespin in place. Hurrying back to the hollow, she modestly hunched over, and covered her body with her hands.
“I’ve got the clothes,” said Rachel, waving a bag in the air. “I’ll come down and leave it on a rock, then wait by the berry bushes. I may as well gather some for tonight while you’re dressing. By the way, I passed Jeremy on my way back. He said to tell you he’s very, very sorry.”
Karen blanched at her husband’s name. Still trembling from the cold, she went into the open and grabbed the bag between numb fingers. The prickly nip on her
skin spread to her bones, making her too uncomfortable to fuss over her nakedness or consider Jeremy’s apology. Least of her worries were the outfit’s clashing colors, aqua-blue on top, olive-green on the bottom. She was just glad that Rachel had picked a long-sleeved sweatshirt and heavy-weight cotton sweatpants. The pants, a man’s medium, sagged to her hips. She tightened the drawstring. The bra was too big, but the panties felt soft. Perhaps they were new, from one of their infrequent, shopping trips above. Furiously, she rubbed her hands along her arms to warm herself.
“I’m done picking berries,” yelled Rachel from off in the distance. “Let me know when you’re ready.” Her voice, loud enough to wake the dead, signaled her growing impatience.
Realizing she couldn’t delay the inevitable—her impending confrontation with Jeremy—Karen yelled back, “One more second.” Then, “Okay. I’m ready to go.”
#
Jeremy, eyes and ears on alert, waited in The Ballroom. He noticed her before she noticed him. “I want to talk to you,” he said, rushing up, overtaking her before she could flee. Grabbing her by the wrist, he tried pulling her along the passageway toward their quarters. Karen yanked her hand free, nodded toward one of the nearby couches, but changed her mind when Jeremy pointed out Lily rummaging through the books. Brian, too, hovered nearby, probably waiting to spy.
“Okay, you’re right,” she said. “We’ll go back to our room.”
Jeremy bristled. The hairs on his neck stung like needle pricks. It wasn’t their room and never would be, but he let the word pass without comment. Once again he reached for her hand, adding “Please” like a vagabond begging for food. Karen relented and together they walked back, physically connected but alone with their thoughts.
In his eagerness to begin, Jeremy almost tore off the privacy curtain, separating their quarters from the others. Apologizing never came easy to him, but he knew he was clearly in the wrong and ready to take what was coming. He cleared some space on the mattress, helped her down, and began.
“I’m so ashamed,” he said, his voice shaky and muted.
Karen leaned forward, straining to hear.
“Forgive me if you can; not only for what I did today, but for bringing you to this god-awful place. I must have been crazy. So full of myself. I have no excuse. I’m responsible for everything.”
When she didn’t respond, he felt certain she was still furious. He didn’t blame her. “I beg you, Karen. Don’t hate me. I need you so much. You’re all I have.” Tears pooled in his sad, dark eyes.
Karen played with a stand of hair to delay a response. “I don’t hate you,” she said. Speaking louder, she added, “I love you.”
The circles underneath Jeremy’s eyes darkened as he questioned if she were merely reciting lines out of habit. “Do you really? Could you still? After all I did?”
“Neither you nor I have been ourselves lately.” She snickered, her attempt at humor being more pathetic than funny. “Yes, I still love you,” she repeated, “but you must swear”—she stopped, closed her eyes, gathering the strength to bring forth the words—“swear that you will never hurt me again.”
Jeremy flinched, pulled her closer, smelling the soapy fragrance on her skin. “I swear,” he said. “I’d rather cut off my arms first. I’m totally mortified by what I did. And you’re right about us not being ourselves. I’ve been so out of control that I no longer recognize myself, and I know it’s worsened everything. I’ve got to keep myself together if we’re going to escape.”
“Then let’s remember”—she stroked his cheek with the back of her hand—“who the true enemy is.”
Jeremy felt so relieved by her statement that he shifted his legs and straddled them around her hips. Letting go of her defenses, she snuggled her head against his neck.
“God, I’m glad you said that. I was a little afraid you were getting used to it here.”
Karen’s head swung back, and she opened her eyes in disbelief. “How could you even consider such a thing?”
Not wanting to start another disagreement, he fashioned his words as gently as possible. “It’s the way you’ve been acting since you came out of that—that stupor you were in. You’ve seemed too willing to accept whatever they dish out.”
Karen fumbled with a response. “I’ve never been much of a fighter,” she admitted. “After we met, I let you fight the battles for both of us. It just seemed natural. But these last few days, I’ve been so scared of losing my mind again, that I’ve been grasping at anything that seemed familiar or soothing: a book or even a kindness from Rachel. It’s because I’m so afraid, that I’m doing anything, everything, to hold on. I’ve even been reduced to playing games with myself, pretending we’re on vacation or at home working in the garden. Isn’t that silly? We don’t even have a garden.” Her mouth twitched as she spoke, and she quickly looked away, but not before Jeremy saw the pain in her eyes.
“I’ve been doing the same thing,” he laughed. “Well, not a garden exactly, but I’ve been both a prisoner of war and a pitcher for the Red Sox.” It was the first time he laughed since the kidnapping.
Encouraged, Karen raised her face. “There is one thing you can be sure of. I want to get out of here every last bit as much as you.”
“Good,” he said, clutching her shoulders, and as his eyes received and reflected the love between them, he added a pledge. “We will get out, Karen. I’m certain of that. Sticking together we’ll find a way.”
Chapter 11
Like an unwelcome trip to the dentist, Karen and Jeremy wanted no part of the community meeting about to begin. Fortunately, Mary offered to fill them in later, and as they stomped off, she fixed her eyes, along with her attention, on Brian.
From the time of his arrival, Brian had taken it upon himself to keep track of the days, months, and years, along with special events such as birthdays and holidays, listing them on the hand-made calendars he kept near his bed. When Rahm came upon an occasional newspaper from one of his weekly scouting expeditions to the upper level of the cave, Brian always double-checked his dates. Happily, he had never made a mistake and over time eased into the role of Minute Keeper. He never saw this as an unwelcome task but an affirmation of his self-worth.
Preferring to stand rather than sit, Brian sucked in his sloppy belly and adjusted his pants. He held his notes a short distance from his eyes then moved them closer and closer still. He grunted at the significance. After scanning the first few lines, he turned toward his wife who snorted contemptuously. Brian snorted back even louder then began his summation, which sounded more like a rant with an accusatory punch. “Due to the unforeseen complications surrounding our newest … umm … comrades, our official meetings have been way off schedule. Then to make matters worse, Mary wasted everyone’s time by insisting we let them go. To placate her, we took up the issue. Even held it to a vote. But was she satisfied? No. She followed up by trying to overturning Rahm’s veto. Well, we know how that turned out.”
“It’s not fair!” screamed Mary. “My side had the majority.”
“It is fair,” countered her husband. “You needed seven votes and you couldn’t get them. We can’t change the rules to suit every whim. You of all people should appreciate that.”
“All right,” she said, “then I propose we vote again. Today.”
“That’s crazy,” said Brian. “Admit it. Your side lost.”
Mary huffed and looked around, searching for a savior. When none came, she refrained from her usual effort to cover her disgust. You lecher she thought, glaring at Brian. I know why you want them here. No. Not them. Her! You can’t wait to get your slimy paws on her in the fertility area. But just you wait, you sickening curdle of blubber. You’ll never touch her. Never! I’ll see to that. As one corner of her mouth edged up in a half-smile, she made a promise to herself to foil his plans, whatever it took, and again she scanned the faces, hoping someone would second her motion.
Help came where she least expected it. “I have to agree with Ma
ry,” said David, his voice crystal-clear, rising over the surrounding murmurs as he articulated each word with the precision of a plucked violin string. “We have no right to hold them here. It puts us in the same category as thieves and murderers. I’m sorry I ever agreed to this.”
Thank God, thought Mary, making a mental tally of supporters and detractors.
“Furthermore,” continued David, “it’s not against any rules I’m aware of to vote on an issue multiple times.” He paused to see if anyone disagreed. When no one did, he said, “I second the motion that we vote on this again.”
Immediately, Rahm sprang to his feet, his shadow casting a tall, misshapen silhouette on the wall. Like naughty children caught off guard, each one of the members squirmed. David and Brian took their seats. “I have no objection to voting on the issue again and again, if necessary. But first, I insist on speaking.”
He took a sip of water and cleared his throat. “Bringing them here, forcing them to stay has been difficult on all of us. But let me remind you, we voted unanimously in favor of this act and now we each have to bear the responsibility. Just because it turned out more complicated than we imagined, doesn’t mean we were wrong or should change our minds. Our reason remains as grave as ever: the survival of our tribe.
“I may not be a history professor,” he continued, “but I know that sometimes a few have to be sacrificed for the greater good, and what greater good is there than our survival? Of course, there’s a practical reason too: if we let them go, they may return—only this time with the authorities. Think about it: the possibility of life behind bars. Oh, we could try to run or relocate. Move everything immediately, but do you realize what that would entail? It would be impossible.” He paused, waiting for his words to sink in. When blood-drained faces regarded him, he added the finishing stroke.
