Ruled By Fear (16 page)

    
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said softly, then shut the door.

    
Once in his own room, he drank the water from the cracked pitcher and collapsed onto his bed.  He was asleep before his head touched the mattress.

     Aaron woke slowly the next day, and his dust filled eyes were greeted by a few streams of sunlight shining through the walls.  For the first time since he had been there, he heard the cheerful chirping of birds, and he lay for a while soaking in the sound.    He could tell it was still early and, rolling over, he stretched carefully—mentally tallying each ache and injury.  Every inch of his body was sore, but they were all wounds that would heal.  He sat up and held his hands out to the welcoming rays of sunshine.  The light pointed out all the cuts and bruises on his hands.  An idea struck him and he quickly untied his belt.  Removing the journal he held it up in the sunlight and, moving the book back and forth between the small streams of light, he was able to read a little more.

     Journal Entry – 26 May

    
This is the first chance I’ve had to write in a long time.  We’ve been on the move for two days.  The guards take turns riding in the prison carts.  I hate being with the prisoners—their smells and manners are offensive, to say the least.  G.C. said we should be at the new facility sometime late tomorrow.  Jesse’s been much happier during this trip, during the daytime, of course.  At night he turns back into a whimpering child, and I’m the only one that offers him any comfort.  I think the sound of my voice soothes him.  Despite my anxieties, I’m anxious to arrive at our destination.

C
 

hapter 14

Aaron closed the book when he heard the sounds of doors opening and closing.  Keith hadn’t come to wake him up that morning and, with Tom now gone, Aaron realized it was going to be up to him to get his younger brother moving in the mornings. He exited his room and crossed the hall, giving a short knock to Keith’s door before entering.  Sure enough, Keith was sound asleep—curled up in a tangled mess of sheets.  Aaron glanced over at their water pitcher and, for just a moment, was tempted to wake his brother the way he always did back home, but common sense stopped him.  Water was too precious a commodity to waste in this place.  Instead, he called Keith’s name loudly as he crossed the room toward Philip’s bed.

    
“Hey, there,” he said, seeing the boy was awake.  “Let’s go down and get something into that stomach of yours.”

    
Philip sat up slowly, blinking tears from his eyes, then stared at his brother’s empty bed unmoving.  Aaron sat down beside him.

    
“Just take things slow,” he said after a moment.  “Right now, all you have to do is get up and go downstairs.  Just concentrate on that.”

    
Once again, Aaron thought back to those days when they’d been traveling west, right after his mother had been killed.  He had been young, but that hadn’t made the experience any less painful.  He had learned then that the way to make it through was to concentrate on one task at a time.  Gradually, after the pain wasn’t so intense, he was able take things an hour at a time and then days, weeks.  Sometimes, even months would go by without those old, painful memories resurfacing.  Time could never erase the scars that had been left, but it did help to lessen the ache.

    
Philip nodded his head slowly and rose.  Aaron got up too and, seeing that Keith was ready, started toward the door.  As he crossed the room he noticed the floorboards made a peculiar sound in one particular spot, and he stopped to test the area.  It was then he remembered Keith telling him about Tom hiding something in the floorboards.

    
“Keith, I’ll be down in a minute.  Can you take Philip with you?” he asked, making his way out.

    
Keith looked at him quizzically, but Aaron just glanced in Philip’s direction and shook his head slightly.  He went across to his room, waited just inside until Keith and Philip had left, then slipped back into the boy’s room.  Quickly, he crossed to the section of loose boards, and was able to pull them up without too much difficulty.  The space wasn’t very big, but nearly every inch of it was packed with small pouches, tied at the top with a leather string.  He took one out and opened it, and recognizing the black powder instantly, he smiled as he replaced the pouch.  Thanks to Tom, he finally had something useful, and his mind was already whirling with possibilities.

    
He hurried downstairs and as he entered the dining room, the smell of food almost overwhelmed him.  It had been a long time since his last meal, and the hot food coupled with what he’d found upstairs seemed to renew his mind as well as his body.  As they ate he glanced up at the board, curious to see if there would be any reaction to what had happened in the mine.  His eyes widened at what he saw.  All of the prisoner’s numbers were large and scattered all over the board.  In the center, “Clear the mine” was written in large, black letters.

    
“They’re angry,” Emily said and he turned his puzzled expression toward her.

    
Aaron shook his head at this bit of information.  If anyone should be angry, it was the prisoners.  He ate the rest of his biscuit in silence and, later, as they walked across the yard toward the mine, Aaron thought about what had happened.  He was pretty sure he had heard an explosion before the cave in, and he wondered who, besides Tom, had managed to come across gunpowder.  Questions began to run through his mind.  If one of the prisoners had caused the explosion, why would they do it in the mine full of people?  Annie and Meri had survived seemingly unscathed in the same chamber where Grant’s two companions had both been killed.  Then there was the mysterious disappearance of the cat.  Too many things just weren’t adding up, and his frustration was building.  Time was what he needed to get more answers, but every day they stayed there made it less likely that they would survive.

    
Grant was in his normal spot by the shed passing out tools, looking no less formidable due to the absence of his two companions, when they arrived.  Aaron watched as Philip approached and Grant put a hand on his shoulder, saying something quietly to him.  A moment later the boy turned and ran into the mine.  Aaron threw Grant a questioning look as he grabbed a shovel and hurried after him. He and Keith caught up with the boy at the end of the long row of mounds where he had stopped in front of four freshly dug graves.  As they approached Philip, the boy looked up with tearful eyes.

    
“I don’t even know which one is his,” he said.

    
Aaron ran his hand over his face, fighting back his own anger over the way these people had been callously buried, in a spot that was a constant reminder of the danger they were in.

    
“Then grieve for them all,” he answered finally, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

    
“There are four?” Keith said softly, coming up behind him.

    
“The driver,” Aaron reminded.

    
“If it’s him, they waited an awfully long time to bury him,” Keith responded.

    
“They.” Aaron repeated the ominous word that was used to describe their unseen captors.  “They have no sense of right or wrong—of decency.”

    
Aaron couldn’t stand beside the unmarked graves a moment longer and, without waiting for Keith, made his way down the tunnel.  It would take them weeks, if not longer, to clear all the debris, and from the creaks and groans sounding around him, he had his doubts that the mine would last that long.  As he walked, he squinted into the darkness, seeing many places where the walls were starting to become unstable.  When he and Keith had been trapped in the mine overnight, they had wandered tunnels almost endlessly.  Many of them were long and winding, going deep into the mountain.  He slowed down a bit to let Keith and Philip catch up with him, as he felt along some of the cracks in the walls.

    
“It’s falling apart.”  Keith spoke the words, he’d been thinking.

    
“They’ve gone too deep,” Aaron answered.  “These supports and braces are old and placed haphazardly, even toward the front of the mine.  Whoever started digging here obviously didn’t know what they were doing.”

    
Aaron turned as Grant rounded the corner.

    
“Everyone is meeting at the chamber where the most damage occurred,” he said, then turned away without even waiting for a response.

    
“I guess that means we’re supposed to go over there,” Aaron said.

    
There was a lot of murmuring and whispering as they joined the other prisoners in the next tunnel over.  When they entered the room, Grant stepped out from the crowd and began snapping out orders.  No one seemed to have either the strength or the will to question him, and immediately set to work.  Aaron thought back to the way the assignments had been written that morning.

    
“Let’s get this mine clear,” Grant shouted out, grabbing up a pick.

    
The message coming through from the board had been one of anger, and no one was angrier right now than Grant.

     Aaron kept a sharp eye open throughout the day.  Meri was never hard to find, always talking to anyone interested in listening, or at least that didn’t tell him to be quiet.  Annie, however, seemed to have the ability to slip in and out without attracting attention—something she had in common with Emily.  With all of the prisoners working so closely together, he had seen quite a bit of the young girl that day.  She seemed to spend most of her time going back and forth with water buckets.  Several times, he stopped to rest for a few minutes and found her watching him.  He always gave her a smile or a wink, and she would respond by blushing shyly.

    
Grant spent most of his time with the group, although he too disappeared several times during the course of the day.  Aaron had to admit that Grant was an impressive worker.  He assumed that the man’s angry manner was over the deaths of his comrades, and he wondered how long they had been friends.  For that matter, he wondered how long Grant had been a part of this place, and just what part he played.

    
There was no chance during the long, hard day for Aaron to read the journal.  He had planned to try during one of the cart dumps, but Grant had always assigned that task to someone else.  By the time the work-worn group headed out of the mine, he was once again bone weary.  The wind had picked up considerably, and he could smell rain in the air.  A smell that at one time he had appreciated, and looked forward to.  But now, that scent only represented misery.

     Supper that night started out quiet.  Aaron could see that Keith was exhausted, and he worried over how drawn his cheeks were becoming.  At one point, Keith turned to answer something Emily had said, and Aaron slipped a little extra stew from his own bowl into Keith’s.  Philip spent the entire meal with his eyes fixed on his bowl.  Emily, in her own tender way, cared for him, sitting close, talking softly, or laying an occasional hand over his.  They were both alone now, and they seemed to take comfort in just being near one another.  Aaron was surprised when, a moment later, Emily spoke.

    
“Aaron, could . . . would you please tell us some more about your home, and . . . that lake?”

    
Philip looked up for just an instant, and Aaron thought he might have seen a glimmer of interest in his eyes.

    
“Yeah, Aaron,” Keith said.  “Why don’t you tell them about the time we built that boat?  Remember, the first summer you were back from college?”

    
Aaron chuckled as the memory of that pitiful little boat came back to him.

    
“Well, the first thing you have to know about that lake,” he started, “is that it has its moods . . .”

    
The rest of the meal passed quickly, and by the time Aaron had finished his story most of the prisoners had already left the room.  The few that remained seemed, suspiciously, as if they had been listening in.

    
“I wish I could see it,” Emily said softly when Aaron had finished.

    
He recognized the longing in her eyes and it pulled at his heart.

    
“Emily,” he answered, looking her straight in the eye, “if I have anything to say about it, you will.”

    
“Well, then why don’t you do something?” Philip said, slapping his open palm against the rough, wooden table.  “Why do they get to make all the rules?”

    
Philip stood up, his face red, his body trembling.

    
“Why doesn’t anybody do something?”

    
Aaron stood and reached out a hand toward Philip, but before he could say anything the boy fled from the room.  The few remaining prisoners, wide-eyed with alarm, quickly made their way toward the stairs.  Aaron sighed as he rested his hand on his forehead.

    
“I’ll talk to him,” said Keith.

    
Aaron nodded, Philip was hurt and angry—two things that could cause him to do something dangerous.

    
“We’ll both talk to him,” Aaron replied.  “I think I’ll sleep in your room tonight.”

    
As he spoke, he found himself watching Emily—studying her response.  She didn’t seem particularly alarmed over his announcement to switch rooms.  He wondered why she hadn’t, and he also wondered why he’d thought she would.

    
Emily did seem anxious to leave the dining room though, so the three made their way up the stairs.  Along the way, Aaron thought about what he could say to Philip, and if he would even have the strength left to say anything at all.  He and Keith slipped quietly into the room, and Aaron could just barely make out the boy’s thin frame stretched out on his bed.

    
“Philip,” he called softly.

    
As he approached, his foot caught on something and he almost landed in a heap on the side of Philip’s bed.  The noise was enough to cause the boy to turn over in alarm.

    
“Sorry about that,” Aaron said.   “Kind of hard to see in here.”

    
He sat down on the bed across from Philip and rubbed absently at his throbbing big toe, then drew in a breath as he thought about what he would say.

    
“Please don’t,” Philip cut him off.  “I’m tired.  I just want to go to sleep.”

    
Aaron turned to look at Keith but, in the dark, he couldn’t see his expression.

    
“All right,” he answered.  “Just remember that we’re here when you do want to talk.  I promise you that we’ll listen.”