August Ansel - Shadow Road

“Carrot seeds can be a torment,” Arie agreed. “Fussy little buggers, and tiny as fleas. You did well to grow so many.”

“I just kept using the ones she saved from before she…” His voice faltered only slightly. “Before she couldn’t. But there’s still a lot left in the bank.”

“Bank,” said Arie. “A seed bank, you mean.”

“You’ll see,” he said. Arie warmed to the unmistakable glint of excitement in his eye. The three of them eased single-file out of the dirt-lined keep to where Curran and Handy waited.

They toured the entire perimeter of the cabin, did a daylight investigation of the outhouse, and traipsed over the sight lines at every point of the compass. As if these signs and wonders were not enough to round out the morning, Kory told them he had one last surprise. “It’s in the house,” he said.

He took them inside and asked for help to move the dining table. Handy grabbed one end, and they pushed it aside. Kory dropped to one knee and pressed on the end of the floorboard. A six-inch section tilted up to expose a shining ringbolt.

“No way,” said Renna. “You’re going to show us a freaking trap door.”

Kory smiled up at her, clearly pleased. “Good guess.” He hooked a finger through the ring, braced his feet, and gave a mighty heave. The hatch swung open with only the slightest squall of hinges. Dropping to one knee, he reached into the dark. The rest of them exchanged glances over Kory’s head: What now? A side of beef? Buried treasure?

With an ordinary little click , the area under the floorboards came alive with a blare of electric lights.

A NEAT SET OF STAIRS and a section of clean cement floor were clearly visible below. Kory looked intently at each of them, appearing simultaneously excited and terrified. “Follow me,” he said, and clattered down the short flight of steps.

“Maybe he’s got Mama and Papa down there,” Curran whispered.

Arie, one foot already on the stairs, nailed him with her eyes. “Later I’d like you to explain to me what’s funny here.”

The color fell out of his face. “Yeah, that was messed up. Sorry.”

Once they were downstairs together, Curran’s idle humor would have evaporated, anyway. For every ounce of whimsy and rustic charm upstairs, there was a gallon of clear-eyed pragmatism under the floorboards.

“Command center,” said Renna, so quietly she may have been speaking to herself. “Wow.”

They stood blinking under a bank of overhead fixtures. Molded plastic folding tables stood against the two side walls. At the far end of the room was a deep metal cabinet painted industrial gray, like something salvaged from a school gym. It was a row of narrow lockers, six in all, each with a square drawer beneath it.

“Look here,” said Handy. Renna followed him to an alcove behind the stairs.

“Beautiful,” she said. A three-dimensional topographical map hung at eye level. Its plasticized surface shone dully, and Renna traced her fingertips over ridges and through valleys.

The unrelenting glare was oppressive and Arie visored a hand above her eyes. “You’ve had electricity all this time, then,” she said. “Solar, is it?”

Kory nodded.

“Awfully brave,” said Arie. “Steep trouble if someone had nosed in.” The penalties for unauthorized off-grid power generation—instituted shortly before this boy was born—had gone from stringent to brutally punitive within six months of the 2036 election.

“Papa hid the panels on the back roof.”

“Holy crap.” It was Curran, standing at one of the folding tables. “Is that…” he faltered. “That’s a short-wave radio.”

The setup in question, a unit about the size of a shoebox, was covered with an array of knobs, dials, buttons, and display windows. He rested one hand reverently on top of the box and looked at Kory.

“It works,” said Kory, a doubtful little waver in his voice.

Curran pressed the red power button. Nothing happened.

Kory pointed to a small panel that had four simple toggle switches, two up, two down. He flipped a down switch up. “It’ll come up in a minute, but…” He trailed off and fidgeted with the frayed drawstring on his hooded sweatshirt.

“But what?” said Arie.

The radio came on with a blurt of static. Six heads swiveled toward it, including Talus’s. That crackle and hiss after two years without mechanical sound may as well have been a physical slap for the four adults.

A rolling office chair was stationed at the table, and Curran dropped into it. He reached for the radio and then hesitated. “I don’t have a clue how to work this thing,” he said to Kory. “Give me some pointers?”

Kory’s hand hovered a moment before pressing a series of buttons. “Try here,” he said. The large central knob had a round depression on its face where he rested his index finger. “Put your finger on that spot and turn it. Go slow.”

Curran did as he was told, ticking the dial clockwise. The numerals on the digital display began to climb. Kory watched with almost painful intensity, a faint line of tension between his eyebrows. Arie realized she felt the anticipation, too, holding her breath while Curran turned the radio’s dial bit by bit.

There was sound, mostly the hiss and crackle of static. At a few spots an otherworldly whine rose and fell like the notes of a theremin.

“Huh.” Curran slumped back in his seat. “Seems like there’d be somebody out there, doesn’t it? One random guy sitting at his own mic, looking for another voice?”

“You can try other channels,” said Kory. He flipped switches to demonstrate. “But you won’t hear much.” He shuffled backward a couple of steps. “Probably nothing.”

“Have you?” asked Handy. “What have you heard?”

The boy’s expression tightened, not just guarded but ill-looking. Terrified, thought Arie.

“After Papa left, I tried,” he said. “Every day.” He folded his arms over his chest, not a defiant posture, it seemed, but a self-soothing one. “A long time ago.”

Arie took both of Kory’s hands in hers. “When did your father leave?” She was only a little taller than the boy, and she put her face close to his. “How long have you been here alone?”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He dropped his chin, not able to sustain her scrutiny. “I don’t know,” he said. “I stopped counting things like that.”

“A long time, though,” said Arie.

“Yes.” When he looked up again, his sturdy, competent facade had cracked. Tears welled in his eyes. “After Mama died, he tried and tried to reach the Webbs, but they never answered.”

“The Webbs,” Curran said. “Who are they?”

“They live across the river, and down—no wait. I mean, over the little hill, then down.” He shifted from one foot to the other, pink-faced. “I don’t remember exactly. We only went there one time, and I was super little. Six, I guess. It was for Crossly Webb’s birthday, and we stayed for three days.”

“Friends, then. Another family.”

He nodded. Talus, busy smelling every square inch of the room, left off investigating and sat on one of the boy’s feet.

“Kory,” said Arie, as gently as she could. “Did your father get sick?”

He shook his head adamantly. “Not sick. But he was sad. I was, too, because of Mama. And he—” He took a deep breath. “I think he was really scared.” Talus licked his fingers once and pressed her muzzle into the palm of his hand. Kory stroked the dog’s velvety nose with two fingers, looking at her with unfocused eyes. Seeing what? Arie hated to think. His face seemed younger with the telling, as if calling up memory had stripped away the past two years, leaving a little boy in the place of the pre-adolescent he had been just moments ago.