THE GUARDIAN
Part One
It was overcast, blustery and dark. When the rap at the door came, I jumped and closed my hand around the heavy black gun, sliding off the safety. A tall figure stood outside in the dense fog. He nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the porch creaking beneath him. Studs on his black leather vest looked more like spikes from where I hunched at the window and the handle of a large knife protruded from his waistband in front. His long, greasy, blond hair fell across his eyes. I clutched the gun tighter.
His booming voice was laced with anger as he nearly stuttered his words. “Hey, open up in there or I’ll kick the damn door in!”
My heart thumped in my chest as I slid the window open an inch. “Go away.”
It came out more like a whisper than the demand I had intended.
“What? Let me in, now. This is your last warning.” He still danced outside, unaware I was watching him. He appeared to be alone but I had bad vibes about him.
This time my voice was louder. “Go away or I’ll shoot!”
“Hey, chill. All I need is some food. I haven’t eaten in three days. You must have something to eat in there.”
Tension gripped me so tightly that I started to feel nauseous.
His voice broke as he stuttered, “Please.”
I crept towards the front door and hesitated before reaching up and grabbing the door knob.
The desperate voice hissed behind stopping me in mid-motion. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Mom?!”
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(Part 2)
I spun around towards my son, Michael, standing there looking more like a man than a 14 year old boy. He pointed at the door and shook his head. “You can’t let anyone in without the password. I don’t care how hungry he says he is.”
“But what if he discovers our front door is steel?” I asked in a whisper.
“He won’t if you take a shot at him to scare him away.”
A disturbing thought occurred to me. “You don’t think he’s another one of the DI’s spies, do you?”
“The Dark Invaders?” Michael nodded, his young face serious and hard. “Yeah, he could be. I hear they pay pretty well to find law-benders.”
I knew the ragged, locked screen door stood between me and the stranger. “Open the door when I give you the signal,” I told him as I braced myself in front of the door, both hands gripping the gun. I took a deep breath. “Now.”
Michael flung open the door, protected behind the steel barrier that masqueraded as wood. The man looked surprised for an instant before the corners of his mouth raised in a sarcastic grin.
I was all business. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“Hey, darlin’,” he said. “You really are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” His hand reached out towards me.
“Wrong answer.” I squeezed the trigger. The kickback jerked me backwards a step.
The man’s smile faded as he stumbled sideways and looked down at the red blossom emerging from his heart. Then he sunk to the ground, as a balloon when the air is let out.
“Fourth one this month,” I said with a heavy sigh, lowering my weapon.
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I spun around towards my son, Michael, standing there looking more like a man than a 14 year old boy. He pointed at the door and shook his head. “You can’t let anyone in without the password. I don’t care how hungry he says he is.”
“But what if he discovers our front door is steel?” I asked in a whisper.
“He won’t if you take a shot at him to scare him away.”
A disturbing thought occurred to me. “You don’t think he’s another one of the DI’s spies, do you?”
“The Dark Invaders?” Michael nodded, his young face serious and hard. “Yeah, he could be. I hear they pay pretty well to find law-benders.”
I knew the ragged, locked screen door stood between me and the stranger. “Open the door when I give you the signal,” I told him as I braced myself in front of the door, both hands gripping the gun. I took a deep breath. “Now.”
Michael flung open the door, protected behind the steel barrier that masqueraded as wood. The man looked surprised for an instant before the corners of his mouth raised in a sarcastic grin.
I was all business. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“Hey, darlin’,” he said. “You really are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” His hand reached out towards me.
“Wrong answer.” I squeezed the trigger. The kickback jerked me backwards a step.
The man’s smile faded as he stumbled sideways and looked down at the red blossom emerging from his heart. Then he sunk to the ground, as a balloon when the air is let out.
“Fourth one this month,” I said with a heavy sigh, lowering my weapon.
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Part 3
Michael and I, having relieved him of his knife, matches, paper money, and a solitary tea bag still in its wrapper, dragged the stranger’s scrawny body off the porch, through the front metal gate (that he had obviously scaled) and dumped him by the roadside next to the garbage cans. I gazed back through the fog, which was so thick by now that our house was only a dim rectangular shape. Tonight we’ll light the candle, I thought, watching Michael lock the gate behind us.
The air had been perfectly still so when a cloaked figure emerged outside the gate, I inhaled sharply. “Who’s there?” I said, squinting at the person pulling off his hood. His long white-gray hair drifted around his shoulders like feathers.
Michael bumped me as he stood close. The man paused and cleared his throat. “The name’s Socrates.” He pulled a smaller figure out of the wall of fog up beside him. “And this here’s my daughter, Ari. We’ve come to see...” there was a pause. “Leonardo DiVinci.”
I smiled, relieved. “Welcome, Socrates. Have you brought me something?”
He pointed back from where he’d come. “I’ve a loaded cart we’ve hauled for many days.”
I nodded at my son. “Help them.”
Michael, who had been staring at the pale, delicate Ari, turned and unlocked the gate, then hurried them and their cart inside, looking both ways as he clamped the lock shut again. Ari and Michael pulled it around the house to the back yard, away from prying eyes, while Socrates and I went into the house. I made sure all the blinds were pulled tight and lit the last candle.
Socrates stood in front of the wood stove, warming his hands. “I should go out and give the kids a hand with that cart.”
“No. Let them take care of it,” I said, perhaps too abruptly, not wanting any extra eyes out back than absolutely necessary, even if he were one of us. “So, what have you brought me?”
“Oh, mostly hardcover classics: you know, Shakespeare, Whitman, even some Chomsky.” He dug under his coat and produced a volume so tattered that the name had worn off the cover. “And this gem...” He opened it carefully and beaconed me over. “Look, an old 1920 herbal/medical manual that my grandmother had treasured. I wish I could keep it, but with the DI at every corner, I dare not. You will keep it safe for me, won’t you?”
“Of course. You can rest your mind. I’ll see that it is stored in a dry, safe place,” I assured him. I took the book carefully and gently turned its thick pages. What a rarity indeed! Why, if I sold this to the right buyer, we could eat for several weeks. How had this volume managed to escape the book fires set by the Dark Invaders?
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(Part 4)
The next morning, we loaded the bloated dead man in Socrates’ cart so he could dump it in the ravine on his way down the hill. Michael smiled and waved to Ari as she and her father pulled the cart away from the gate. I don’t think she saw him.
Michael led the way along the short path to our garage. Inside were the books he and Ari had stacked sitting on a low plank shelf in the corner ahead of our dusty car. Careful not to disturb the dust on the floor and around the unused vehicle, I stayed in Michael’s footsteps as he tiptoed on old blocks of wood scattered on the floor. Halfway to the other corner, he stopped and moved a square plywood piece off a scrap of ragged carpeting. Pulling the carpeting aside, a small trap door was revealed. Before opening it, we both stopped a moment and listened. Birds and crickets chirped in their relaxing rhythm and the steady echo of an axe chopping wood resounded from the neighbor to the north.
My late husband had envisioned how things might turn out and, being the creative carpenter that he was, had dug out a 50ish bomb shelter “just in case.” The project became an obsession with him in his final days, spending most of his time in this underground concrete bunker. In fact, there was no stopping its progress. Thank God for that. Never could he have known that his work would end up making such a difference in our lives. The location of this hidden place was known only to Michael and me, and we’d kept the secret well. The “Library,” as it was called was now almost legendary in its reputation—many believing it didn’t really exist.
I nodded at my son. “Come on. Let’s get these volumes down there quickly.”
The hinged door groaned as he pulled it open. With one arm gripping a load of books and the other, the candle, I led the way down the steep stairs into our forbidden world. As I gazed around at the rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves, I estimated that we had approximately 500 books — maybe more, but certainly not less. Michael and I wasted no time placing the ones Socrates had given us in their appropriate categories. I couldn’t resist taking a moment with the medical volume as I opened it gently and glimpsed at its various color photos within.
“Come on, Mom, we gotta get out of here. It’s getting late,” urged Michael. “Someone could be waiting up top for us.”
I nodded in agreement and hurried to the trap door, wishing I could spend more time just looking at all the wonderful volumes. No sooner had we placed the carpet over the door and slid the wooden square back in place over it, than the door to the garage creaked open. I peeked up over the car at the opening and a silhouetted figure filled the doorway. I reached to my back where my gun usually rode before remembering I’d forgotten to wear it today. Michael swore at my forgetfulness, then hunkered down behind the car.
The figure in the doorway stood stock still. “Hello? Michael? Are you in here?”
Michael’s shocked look was quickly replaced by a broad grin. “Hey, Ari,” he said, standing up. “What are you doing back here?” He hurried over the pathway of wooden pieces with agility and speed I had trouble matching, then stopped as he approached her.
“My father’s dead,” she said. “I’ve come for his book.”
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(Part 5)
Michael looked back at me with a hint of a smile.
“What happened to your father?” I asked, taking her arm and guiding her towards the house.
Ari let me lead her away as she explained. “We were probably two miles from your house when we dumped the body into the gulch. Then two guys rode up on horses. When they spotted the dead body, one guy turned and shot my father.”
It was curious that she hadn’t been hurt too. “How did you get away from them?” I asked.
She wrapped her arms tightly across her chest and stared at the ground. “I ran into the bushes and hid. They were too busy making sure my father was dead that I guess they didn’t notice me.”
“Well, at least you’re safe now.” Something didn’t feel right about it.
Ari looked around the living room, her gaze falling on the cluster of things sitting on the dining table that Michael and I had taken off the dead man. She reached down and picked up the small, tattered, wrapped square. “What’s this?”
I almost laughed, shaking my head in amazement. “That, my dear, is a tea bag.” I realized it had been quite a long time since the invasion, and if she had never drunk tea from a bag before, I suppose it was possible she didn’t know what it was, but it still astounded me.
She turned the frail, barely wrapped square over in her hands. “Tea? Is it any good? They say it’s quite rare. Is it really as good as they say? Is it worth something?”
I took the steaming pot of water from the woodstove and poured it into three mis-matched mugs, then gently opened the paper enclosure. Ari gasped as I held it by its string dunked the tea pouch in the hot water so all the cups had the same amount of brown color, then put the dripping bag on a small plate. “It’s OK. If we don’t use it, someone else will. We have it, so let’s use it.”
She grimaced as she sipped the steaming liquid. “It’s bitter. You sure it’s not spoiled?”
“No, that’s how it’s supposed to taste,” I said. “Sorry we don’t have any sugar or honey to add to it.”
Her eyes scanned the room. “So, where’s the book my father gave you?”
I looked at Michael, whose expression was poker-sober. “It’s in a safe place. If you have it in your possession, it will bring you nothing but trouble. The DI will take it from you if they find you with it. Then they’ll kill you for having it.”
“I don’t care. I want it now.”
“Well, you can’t have it now.” There was no way I was taking her to the bunker. “We’ll get it for you later. When was the last time you ate anything?” I was sure at the suggestion of food, she would forget about the tome.
“I’m not hungry. I want the book and then I will be on my way.”
“We have some apples in our cellar. Wouldn’t you like one?” I asked.
She stood abruptly and pushed past me towards the back door of the house. “I told you, I’m not hungry. I’m going out to the garage and find the book.”
Michael stood tall in the doorway, hands on his hips, barring the way so she couldn’t pass. “No.”
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(Part 6)
Ari stared for a long minute. Then a single tear crept down her face. Michael’s right eyebrow raised and I thought he might roll his eyes. “Drama queen,” he muttered.
I put my arm around her shoulders and gently turned her so I could look square in her face. “What’s going on?”
She looked away from me, tears dripping down onto the floor. “All right. He isn’t dead. They have him. Somehow they knew about the book and they made him tell them that we left it with you.” Then she looked up with pleading eyes. “If I don’t get the book back, they will kill father. Then they will come here and get the book.”
I glanced over at Michael. Our eyes locked. I nodded ever so slightly at him and he jerked his head in recognition, then turned and disappeared around the corner. I turned back to Ari. “Don’t worry. We’ll get the book and you can take it back to them. No one followed you here, did they?” I gazed out the broken front window at the locked gate and empty road.
“I don’t think so. I took a short cut through the fields and there was no one behind me.” She took a long drink of the bitter tea and didn’t make a face this time. But she had stopped crying and was staring out the window.
My gun still lay on top my purse under the kitchen table. I snatched it up and slid it into my waistband at the small of my back. I wasn’t going to be caught without it again. As I straightened up, a board on the front porch creaked. I stepped back into the living room. Ari stood gazing out the window, then made a small strange gesture with her left hand.
“What are you doing? Who’s out there?” I said in a loud whisper.
She jerked her hand down and spun around towards me. “Oh! No one. I was just scratching my head.” If she hadn’t stuttered on the last word, I might have believed her.
“Get away from the window,” I said, waving the gun at the leather couch. “Go sit over there and keep your hands where I can see them.”
A loud crash at the front door followed by machine gun stutter, drew my attention away from Ari. But I had to smile as I aimed at the door with both hands on the gun. It wouldn’t be that easy to get in through that steel door. I drifted away from the window, keeping one eye on it as I settled on the central couch near the girl.
“Who’s out there?” she asked, her eyes glistening.
“You tell me. You led them here. I saw you signal to them.”
Her look of fear melted into a wicked smile. “You should just give up. There are too many of them. They’ll knock that door down soon and it will be all over.”
The door was dented in several places but held fast. Suddenly the shooting stopped and everything went silent. It couldn’t be over yet. They wouldn’t give up that easily. The butt of an automatic rifle was thrust through the already broken window, clearing out the old splinters. I aimed at the figure climbing through the opening and squeezed the trigger. The blast knocked him backwards onto the porch.
In the short silence that followed, I heard the outside door to the kitchen open and close. Michael was back. Ari huddled on the couch, clutching a couple of throw pillows. “Get down over by the woodstove. You won’t get hit there by stray bullets.”
Then I turned as Michael, the book clutched in one hand, stumbled through the door and fell onto the kitchen floor. Behind him stood a muscled, tatooed man with a rifle. His shoulder length blond hair hung in greasy clumps as he pointed the gun at me. “Drop the gun, or the kid gets it.”
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(Part 7)
I shoved Michael behind me but held my gun steady. “Hand me the book, Michael.”
“But Mom,” he started to say.
My jaw clenched. “Just give it to me.”
I felt the book on my hand as he muttered, “It was one of the best ones.”
When I extended the book to the man with the gun, he knocked it from my hand and it seemed to tumble to the ground in slow motion. The man roared, “I’m not here for that stinking book. Now drop the damn gun.”
I couldn’t do it. The gun seemed glued to my hand. My other hand pushed Michael further behind me. “Then why are you here?” I already knew the answer.
Another man, dressed in long, flowing Arabic garb, stepped up behind the first and stood, an amused look on his face. “Well, what have we here, Tag?” His teeth seemed glow-in-the-dark-bright against this deep olive skin. His black hair, streaked with gray, gave him an air of distinction. He was, undoubtedly, one of the leaders of the DI.
Tag stood straighter as he kept his eyes and gun on us. “These are the scum who hide the books.”
How did he know about the books? Then it dawned on me. “What have you done with Socrates?”
The DI leader looked surprised. “Who?” Then the laughed. “You mean the old man who was with the girl? His usefulness ran out.”
His nonchalant shrug bubbled up my anger like hydrogen peroxide on a wound. I inhaled sharply and pulled the trigger. The man with the gun yelped in surprise and stitched a line of bullets across the kitchen ceiling as he fell back. The DI leader charged at me, bowling Michael over too. As my hand hit the ground, the gun popped out and slid across the floor. The man pinned me to the ground with his body. I looked over at Michael who lay still beside me in a jumbled heap as if he were asleep. When I looked back, the man grinned down at me, holding a long blade in his right hand, while he clamped his other hand on my neck. I struggled but could only move a small amount as he choked the air from me. The edges of my vision began to blur as I fought to maintain consciousness. Somewhere in the distance I heard a loud bang. Suddenly I could breathe again as the hand that choked fell away and the man sprawled across my body. I blinked until my eyes could focus and was astounded to see Ari’s face looking down at me as the gun fell from her shaking hand.
“My father was all I had. They promised if I got the book...” Her voice trailed off as she stared off into space.
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(Part 8)
I grunted, heaving the dead weight of the robed DI off of me and sat up. Michael’s foot jerked, nearly kicking me in the side. I leaned over and grabbing his shoulders, shook him gently.
“Michael. Wake up, son. We’ve got to get out of here before more of them find us.”
He stirred and his eyes opened and blinked a couple of times. He groaned as he sat up and rubbed the side of his head. “Are you OK, Mom?”
I nodded and grabbed up the gun, putting it back in my waistband. Then I stepped across the kitchen to the bottom drawer, pulling it open. “Ari, help me carry these boxes. I know they’re heavy, but we need them.”
She approached and held out her arms as I stacked up four small brick-like boxes of ammo. “Do we have to take them all? That seems like an awful lot for one gun.”
I chuckled. “No there are rifle shells and other clips for another handgun in there. But those guns won’t protect us if they don’t have bullets.”
Michael nodded. “OK. I’ll get the other guns. But you’d better grab some food before we leave.” He glanced at Ari. “Is she really coming with us? Can we trust her?”
Ari looked indignant, but it was I that answered. “She’s fine.”
With the book wedged under my arm, I carried a couple of plastic bags of food and led the way towards the garage. Disturbing as little dust as possible, we made our way down into the bunker. Michael brought up the rear, securing the doors as we went. Thank goodness my husband had installed steel doors.
“Wow!” said Ari, when she entered the library, her eyes flitting from side to side. She dumped her heavy load on the only table wedged in the corner and wandered the stacks, touching the book spines as if she were unsure if they were real. “Where did these all come from?”
“Donors,” replied Michael, amused by her awed expression. He hummed to himself and began checking the weapons to make sure they were clean and loaded before stacking them against the wall next to the heavy boxes of ammo.
Our gazes suddenly shot to the ceiling as the sound of wood exploding penetrated our room. “They’re in the garage,” I whispered. “Shhh. No sound.”
I quietly reached for my pistol, sliding it from the waistband, and pointed it at the trapdoor opening just above. Michael slid the portable stairs away from under the door, then grabbed up the other handgun.
Voices murmured above, but we couldn’t distinguish what was being said. Scraping noises sounded like they were moving things around in the garage. It wouldn’t be long before they discovered the first door. Ari stood beside Michael, her eyes unblinking as she stared up at the door.
Then everything went silent. I started to lower my gun when an explosion ripped through the air. The ground shook beneath our feet and books tumbled from the shelves, thudding to the ground around us. We stared up at the steel trapdoor, waiting.
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(Part 9)
Nothing. No guns. No bombs. Just silence. It was so quiet that I could hear the faint ticking of my watch as I held the gun with both hands. After several minutes, I slowly lowered the weapon. Michael did likewise as he whispered, “Do you think they left?”
“I don’t know. But we won’t go up to check for at least two hours.”
So we waited. No one spoke as we tiptoed around picked up books and replaced them on the shelves, cradling each copy as if it were a newborn baby. Ari leafed through the volumes, her eyes wide as she stared at the color plates springing from the pages. Michael spent most of his time watching Ari rather than perusing the books as he put them back.
The hours crawled by, second by second, but all was still. As the minute hand crept to the hour, Michael whispered, “I’ll go up and check around.”
“No, son. You stay here with Ari. If only one of us survives this, it should be you. You know my job as guardian. I’ll take my gun and if I get caught, I’ll try to get a two shot signal off to you. Listen for it,” I told him. “Don’t come out unless you hear it.” I checked to make sure my weapon was fully loaded and stuffed two more clips in my pockets before ascending the ladder to the trap door.
The tunnel to the other door was still intact, but when the upper door was finally pushed open, a mound of rubble forced aside, I climbed out into the pouring rain. The garage around me was nothing but ripped siding and metal debris from the car. What little fire there had been was beaten out by the rain. Only part of the roof and far corner of the garage remained. I was relieved when I saw that the house just as we’d left it.
Hunched against the stinging rain and hoping no one was in the house watching me, I scurried to the back door and slipped inside. It seemed like everyone had just up and left. But why? Why hadn’t they pursued the search for the books? They had been so close. There was no sign of them. They had been through the kitchen cupboards and taken some canned food, but at least the house was still there. The fire in the woodstove had long died, and even though I shivered from rain-soaked clothes, I thought better not to rekindle the flame, lest the smoke would give me away. Instead, I grabbed a wool blanket from the hall closet and wrapped it around me as I headed for the back bedroom.
I tried to stop my chattering teeth as I traipsed down the hall. An unexpected clink emulated from the room ahead, stopping me in mid-step. When I peeked around the corner, a figure was hunched over the roll-top desk, rifling through the multitude of drawers.
“Stop right there,” I said, leveling my gun on the person.
It was a large, tattered woman who turned around and grinned at me with two teeth gone. Her cloth coat was patched with duct tape and her jeans were torn and too tight. A felt hat with a big chunk missing from the brim was pulled down over her gray hair. She waved the bone-handled knife at me, the same one I’d taken from the sleazy stranger I’d shot yesterday. “Where’s Jesse? What have you done with him? I know he was here—this is his knife.”
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(Part 10)
“He’s dead,” I said.
My fingers tightened around the gun as I looked into her frantic eyes. In spite of thinking I was ready for anything, when she lunged at me with the knife, I paused too long. She held the blade low, her knuckles white as she grasped the handle with her whole hand and aimed for my gut. I fired four bullets into her, but when I looked into her eyes, there was no indication she had even felt it. Rage pierced the air as she screamed and howled, burying the knife deep in my stomach.
It’s funny. I didn’t feel any pain. All I could think about was how amazed I was that she was still on her feet and fighting. Her body took me to the ground as easily as a bowling ball picking up a spare. Frantic to get air with the heavy weight covering me, I wriggled and grunted, trying to push her away.
As my vision began to blur, a voice screamed, “Mom! I heard your signal.” The weight suddenly lifted, I gulped in air, acutely aware of the pain emanating from my side.
“Michael! Thank God, ” I whispered, wincing each time I breathed in. “You’ve got to get out of here. Take Ari and leave here. The books will be fine. Come back later...”
He rolled the woman over on her back. “Who is that woman? She doesn’t look like DI to me.”
It was hard to form words and harder to spit them out. “She’s not. The man I shot yesterday...she’s his woman, I think.”
I glanced down at the blood as it oozed through my fingers that pressed my side. Michael forced my hand away and held a small towel tight to the wound. “We need to find you some help.”
My voice slurred, “There’s no one.” I tried to focus on his eyes as he stared down at me. I felt everything slipping away as if I were in a giant tunnel trying to escape through the far end and the opening was getting smaller and smaller. “Be safe. Hide. It’s your responsibility now. You are the Guardian.”
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THE END
The air had been perfectly still so when a cloaked figure emerged outside the gate, I inhaled sharply. “Who’s there?” I said, squinting at the person pulling off his hood. His long white-gray hair drifted around his shoulders like feathers.
Michael bumped me as he stood close. The man paused and cleared his throat. “The name’s Socrates.” He pulled a smaller figure out of the wall of fog up beside him. “And this here’s my daughter, Ari. We’ve come to see...” there was a pause. “Leonardo DiVinci.”
I smiled, relieved. “Welcome, Socrates. Have you brought me something?”
He pointed back from where he’d come. “I’ve a loaded cart we’ve hauled for many days.”
I nodded at my son. “Help them.”
Michael, who had been staring at the pale, delicate Ari, turned and unlocked the gate, then hurried them and their cart inside, looking both ways as he clamped the lock shut again. Ari and Michael pulled it around the house to the back yard, away from prying eyes, while Socrates and I went into the house. I made sure all the blinds were pulled tight and lit the last candle.
Socrates stood in front of the wood stove, warming his hands. “I should go out and give the kids a hand with that cart.”
“No. Let them take care of it,” I said, perhaps too abruptly, not wanting any extra eyes out back than absolutely necessary, even if he were one of us. “So, what have you brought me?”
“Oh, mostly hardcover classics: you know, Shakespeare, Whitman, even some Chomsky.” He dug under his coat and produced a volume so tattered that the name had worn off the cover. “And this gem...” He opened it carefully and beaconed me over. “Look, an old 1920 herbal/medical manual that my grandmother had treasured. I wish I could keep it, but with the DI at every corner, I dare not. You will keep it safe for me, won’t you?”
“Of course. You can rest your mind. I’ll see that it is stored in a dry, safe place,” I assured him. I took the book carefully and gently turned its thick pages. What a rarity indeed! Why, if I sold this to the right buyer, we could eat for several weeks. How had this volume managed to escape the book fires set by the Dark Invaders?
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(Part 4)
The next morning, we loaded the bloated dead man in Socrates’ cart so he could dump it in the ravine on his way down the hill. Michael smiled and waved to Ari as she and her father pulled the cart away from the gate. I don’t think she saw him.
Michael led the way along the short path to our garage. Inside were the books he and Ari had stacked sitting on a low plank shelf in the corner ahead of our dusty car. Careful not to disturb the dust on the floor and around the unused vehicle, I stayed in Michael’s footsteps as he tiptoed on old blocks of wood scattered on the floor. Halfway to the other corner, he stopped and moved a square plywood piece off a scrap of ragged carpeting. Pulling the carpeting aside, a small trap door was revealed. Before opening it, we both stopped a moment and listened. Birds and crickets chirped in their relaxing rhythm and the steady echo of an axe chopping wood resounded from the neighbor to the north.
My late husband had envisioned how things might turn out and, being the creative carpenter that he was, had dug out a 50ish bomb shelter “just in case.” The project became an obsession with him in his final days, spending most of his time in this underground concrete bunker. In fact, there was no stopping its progress. Thank God for that. Never could he have known that his work would end up making such a difference in our lives. The location of this hidden place was known only to Michael and me, and we’d kept the secret well. The “Library,” as it was called was now almost legendary in its reputation—many believing it didn’t really exist.
I nodded at my son. “Come on. Let’s get these volumes down there quickly.”
The hinged door groaned as he pulled it open. With one arm gripping a load of books and the other, the candle, I led the way down the steep stairs into our forbidden world. As I gazed around at the rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves, I estimated that we had approximately 500 books — maybe more, but certainly not less. Michael and I wasted no time placing the ones Socrates had given us in their appropriate categories. I couldn’t resist taking a moment with the medical volume as I opened it gently and glimpsed at its various color photos within.
“Come on, Mom, we gotta get out of here. It’s getting late,” urged Michael. “Someone could be waiting up top for us.”
I nodded in agreement and hurried to the trap door, wishing I could spend more time just looking at all the wonderful volumes. No sooner had we placed the carpet over the door and slid the wooden square back in place over it, than the door to the garage creaked open. I peeked up over the car at the opening and a silhouetted figure filled the doorway. I reached to my back where my gun usually rode before remembering I’d forgotten to wear it today. Michael swore at my forgetfulness, then hunkered down behind the car.
The figure in the doorway stood stock still. “Hello? Michael? Are you in here?”
Michael’s shocked look was quickly replaced by a broad grin. “Hey, Ari,” he said, standing up. “What are you doing back here?” He hurried over the pathway of wooden pieces with agility and speed I had trouble matching, then stopped as he approached her.
“My father’s dead,” she said. “I’ve come for his book.”
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(Part 5)
Michael looked back at me with a hint of a smile.
“What happened to your father?” I asked, taking her arm and guiding her towards the house.
Ari let me lead her away as she explained. “We were probably two miles from your house when we dumped the body into the gulch. Then two guys rode up on horses. When they spotted the dead body, one guy turned and shot my father.”
It was curious that she hadn’t been hurt too. “How did you get away from them?” I asked.
She wrapped her arms tightly across her chest and stared at the ground. “I ran into the bushes and hid. They were too busy making sure my father was dead that I guess they didn’t notice me.”
“Well, at least you’re safe now.” Something didn’t feel right about it.
Ari looked around the living room, her gaze falling on the cluster of things sitting on the dining table that Michael and I had taken off the dead man. She reached down and picked up the small, tattered, wrapped square. “What’s this?”
I almost laughed, shaking my head in amazement. “That, my dear, is a tea bag.” I realized it had been quite a long time since the invasion, and if she had never drunk tea from a bag before, I suppose it was possible she didn’t know what it was, but it still astounded me.
She turned the frail, barely wrapped square over in her hands. “Tea? Is it any good? They say it’s quite rare. Is it really as good as they say? Is it worth something?”
I took the steaming pot of water from the woodstove and poured it into three mis-matched mugs, then gently opened the paper enclosure. Ari gasped as I held it by its string dunked the tea pouch in the hot water so all the cups had the same amount of brown color, then put the dripping bag on a small plate. “It’s OK. If we don’t use it, someone else will. We have it, so let’s use it.”
She grimaced as she sipped the steaming liquid. “It’s bitter. You sure it’s not spoiled?”
“No, that’s how it’s supposed to taste,” I said. “Sorry we don’t have any sugar or honey to add to it.”
Her eyes scanned the room. “So, where’s the book my father gave you?”
I looked at Michael, whose expression was poker-sober. “It’s in a safe place. If you have it in your possession, it will bring you nothing but trouble. The DI will take it from you if they find you with it. Then they’ll kill you for having it.”
“I don’t care. I want it now.”
“Well, you can’t have it now.” There was no way I was taking her to the bunker. “We’ll get it for you later. When was the last time you ate anything?” I was sure at the suggestion of food, she would forget about the tome.
“I’m not hungry. I want the book and then I will be on my way.”
“We have some apples in our cellar. Wouldn’t you like one?” I asked.
She stood abruptly and pushed past me towards the back door of the house. “I told you, I’m not hungry. I’m going out to the garage and find the book.”
Michael stood tall in the doorway, hands on his hips, barring the way so she couldn’t pass. “No.”
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(Part 6)
Ari stared for a long minute. Then a single tear crept down her face. Michael’s right eyebrow raised and I thought he might roll his eyes. “Drama queen,” he muttered.
I put my arm around her shoulders and gently turned her so I could look square in her face. “What’s going on?”
She looked away from me, tears dripping down onto the floor. “All right. He isn’t dead. They have him. Somehow they knew about the book and they made him tell them that we left it with you.” Then she looked up with pleading eyes. “If I don’t get the book back, they will kill father. Then they will come here and get the book.”
I glanced over at Michael. Our eyes locked. I nodded ever so slightly at him and he jerked his head in recognition, then turned and disappeared around the corner. I turned back to Ari. “Don’t worry. We’ll get the book and you can take it back to them. No one followed you here, did they?” I gazed out the broken front window at the locked gate and empty road.
“I don’t think so. I took a short cut through the fields and there was no one behind me.” She took a long drink of the bitter tea and didn’t make a face this time. But she had stopped crying and was staring out the window.
My gun still lay on top my purse under the kitchen table. I snatched it up and slid it into my waistband at the small of my back. I wasn’t going to be caught without it again. As I straightened up, a board on the front porch creaked. I stepped back into the living room. Ari stood gazing out the window, then made a small strange gesture with her left hand.
“What are you doing? Who’s out there?” I said in a loud whisper.
She jerked her hand down and spun around towards me. “Oh! No one. I was just scratching my head.” If she hadn’t stuttered on the last word, I might have believed her.
“Get away from the window,” I said, waving the gun at the leather couch. “Go sit over there and keep your hands where I can see them.”
A loud crash at the front door followed by machine gun stutter, drew my attention away from Ari. But I had to smile as I aimed at the door with both hands on the gun. It wouldn’t be that easy to get in through that steel door. I drifted away from the window, keeping one eye on it as I settled on the central couch near the girl.
“Who’s out there?” she asked, her eyes glistening.
“You tell me. You led them here. I saw you signal to them.”
Her look of fear melted into a wicked smile. “You should just give up. There are too many of them. They’ll knock that door down soon and it will be all over.”
The door was dented in several places but held fast. Suddenly the shooting stopped and everything went silent. It couldn’t be over yet. They wouldn’t give up that easily. The butt of an automatic rifle was thrust through the already broken window, clearing out the old splinters. I aimed at the figure climbing through the opening and squeezed the trigger. The blast knocked him backwards onto the porch.
In the short silence that followed, I heard the outside door to the kitchen open and close. Michael was back. Ari huddled on the couch, clutching a couple of throw pillows. “Get down over by the woodstove. You won’t get hit there by stray bullets.”
Then I turned as Michael, the book clutched in one hand, stumbled through the door and fell onto the kitchen floor. Behind him stood a muscled, tatooed man with a rifle. His shoulder length blond hair hung in greasy clumps as he pointed the gun at me. “Drop the gun, or the kid gets it.”
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(Part 7)
I shoved Michael behind me but held my gun steady. “Hand me the book, Michael.”
“But Mom,” he started to say.
My jaw clenched. “Just give it to me.”
I felt the book on my hand as he muttered, “It was one of the best ones.”
When I extended the book to the man with the gun, he knocked it from my hand and it seemed to tumble to the ground in slow motion. The man roared, “I’m not here for that stinking book. Now drop the damn gun.”
I couldn’t do it. The gun seemed glued to my hand. My other hand pushed Michael further behind me. “Then why are you here?” I already knew the answer.
Another man, dressed in long, flowing Arabic garb, stepped up behind the first and stood, an amused look on his face. “Well, what have we here, Tag?” His teeth seemed glow-in-the-dark-bright against this deep olive skin. His black hair, streaked with gray, gave him an air of distinction. He was, undoubtedly, one of the leaders of the DI.
Tag stood straighter as he kept his eyes and gun on us. “These are the scum who hide the books.”
How did he know about the books? Then it dawned on me. “What have you done with Socrates?”
The DI leader looked surprised. “Who?” Then the laughed. “You mean the old man who was with the girl? His usefulness ran out.”
His nonchalant shrug bubbled up my anger like hydrogen peroxide on a wound. I inhaled sharply and pulled the trigger. The man with the gun yelped in surprise and stitched a line of bullets across the kitchen ceiling as he fell back. The DI leader charged at me, bowling Michael over too. As my hand hit the ground, the gun popped out and slid across the floor. The man pinned me to the ground with his body. I looked over at Michael who lay still beside me in a jumbled heap as if he were asleep. When I looked back, the man grinned down at me, holding a long blade in his right hand, while he clamped his other hand on my neck. I struggled but could only move a small amount as he choked the air from me. The edges of my vision began to blur as I fought to maintain consciousness. Somewhere in the distance I heard a loud bang. Suddenly I could breathe again as the hand that choked fell away and the man sprawled across my body. I blinked until my eyes could focus and was astounded to see Ari’s face looking down at me as the gun fell from her shaking hand.
“My father was all I had. They promised if I got the book...” Her voice trailed off as she stared off into space.
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(Part 8)
I grunted, heaving the dead weight of the robed DI off of me and sat up. Michael’s foot jerked, nearly kicking me in the side. I leaned over and grabbing his shoulders, shook him gently.
“Michael. Wake up, son. We’ve got to get out of here before more of them find us.”
He stirred and his eyes opened and blinked a couple of times. He groaned as he sat up and rubbed the side of his head. “Are you OK, Mom?”
I nodded and grabbed up the gun, putting it back in my waistband. Then I stepped across the kitchen to the bottom drawer, pulling it open. “Ari, help me carry these boxes. I know they’re heavy, but we need them.”
She approached and held out her arms as I stacked up four small brick-like boxes of ammo. “Do we have to take them all? That seems like an awful lot for one gun.”
I chuckled. “No there are rifle shells and other clips for another handgun in there. But those guns won’t protect us if they don’t have bullets.”
Michael nodded. “OK. I’ll get the other guns. But you’d better grab some food before we leave.” He glanced at Ari. “Is she really coming with us? Can we trust her?”
Ari looked indignant, but it was I that answered. “She’s fine.”
With the book wedged under my arm, I carried a couple of plastic bags of food and led the way towards the garage. Disturbing as little dust as possible, we made our way down into the bunker. Michael brought up the rear, securing the doors as we went. Thank goodness my husband had installed steel doors.
“Wow!” said Ari, when she entered the library, her eyes flitting from side to side. She dumped her heavy load on the only table wedged in the corner and wandered the stacks, touching the book spines as if she were unsure if they were real. “Where did these all come from?”
“Donors,” replied Michael, amused by her awed expression. He hummed to himself and began checking the weapons to make sure they were clean and loaded before stacking them against the wall next to the heavy boxes of ammo.
Our gazes suddenly shot to the ceiling as the sound of wood exploding penetrated our room. “They’re in the garage,” I whispered. “Shhh. No sound.”
I quietly reached for my pistol, sliding it from the waistband, and pointed it at the trapdoor opening just above. Michael slid the portable stairs away from under the door, then grabbed up the other handgun.
Voices murmured above, but we couldn’t distinguish what was being said. Scraping noises sounded like they were moving things around in the garage. It wouldn’t be long before they discovered the first door. Ari stood beside Michael, her eyes unblinking as she stared up at the door.
Then everything went silent. I started to lower my gun when an explosion ripped through the air. The ground shook beneath our feet and books tumbled from the shelves, thudding to the ground around us. We stared up at the steel trapdoor, waiting.
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(Part 9)
Nothing. No guns. No bombs. Just silence. It was so quiet that I could hear the faint ticking of my watch as I held the gun with both hands. After several minutes, I slowly lowered the weapon. Michael did likewise as he whispered, “Do you think they left?”
“I don’t know. But we won’t go up to check for at least two hours.”
So we waited. No one spoke as we tiptoed around picked up books and replaced them on the shelves, cradling each copy as if it were a newborn baby. Ari leafed through the volumes, her eyes wide as she stared at the color plates springing from the pages. Michael spent most of his time watching Ari rather than perusing the books as he put them back.
The hours crawled by, second by second, but all was still. As the minute hand crept to the hour, Michael whispered, “I’ll go up and check around.”
“No, son. You stay here with Ari. If only one of us survives this, it should be you. You know my job as guardian. I’ll take my gun and if I get caught, I’ll try to get a two shot signal off to you. Listen for it,” I told him. “Don’t come out unless you hear it.” I checked to make sure my weapon was fully loaded and stuffed two more clips in my pockets before ascending the ladder to the trap door.
The tunnel to the other door was still intact, but when the upper door was finally pushed open, a mound of rubble forced aside, I climbed out into the pouring rain. The garage around me was nothing but ripped siding and metal debris from the car. What little fire there had been was beaten out by the rain. Only part of the roof and far corner of the garage remained. I was relieved when I saw that the house just as we’d left it.
Hunched against the stinging rain and hoping no one was in the house watching me, I scurried to the back door and slipped inside. It seemed like everyone had just up and left. But why? Why hadn’t they pursued the search for the books? They had been so close. There was no sign of them. They had been through the kitchen cupboards and taken some canned food, but at least the house was still there. The fire in the woodstove had long died, and even though I shivered from rain-soaked clothes, I thought better not to rekindle the flame, lest the smoke would give me away. Instead, I grabbed a wool blanket from the hall closet and wrapped it around me as I headed for the back bedroom.
I tried to stop my chattering teeth as I traipsed down the hall. An unexpected clink emulated from the room ahead, stopping me in mid-step. When I peeked around the corner, a figure was hunched over the roll-top desk, rifling through the multitude of drawers.
“Stop right there,” I said, leveling my gun on the person.
It was a large, tattered woman who turned around and grinned at me with two teeth gone. Her cloth coat was patched with duct tape and her jeans were torn and too tight. A felt hat with a big chunk missing from the brim was pulled down over her gray hair. She waved the bone-handled knife at me, the same one I’d taken from the sleazy stranger I’d shot yesterday. “Where’s Jesse? What have you done with him? I know he was here—this is his knife.”
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(Part 10)
“He’s dead,” I said.
My fingers tightened around the gun as I looked into her frantic eyes. In spite of thinking I was ready for anything, when she lunged at me with the knife, I paused too long. She held the blade low, her knuckles white as she grasped the handle with her whole hand and aimed for my gut. I fired four bullets into her, but when I looked into her eyes, there was no indication she had even felt it. Rage pierced the air as she screamed and howled, burying the knife deep in my stomach.
It’s funny. I didn’t feel any pain. All I could think about was how amazed I was that she was still on her feet and fighting. Her body took me to the ground as easily as a bowling ball picking up a spare. Frantic to get air with the heavy weight covering me, I wriggled and grunted, trying to push her away.
As my vision began to blur, a voice screamed, “Mom! I heard your signal.” The weight suddenly lifted, I gulped in air, acutely aware of the pain emanating from my side.
“Michael! Thank God, ” I whispered, wincing each time I breathed in. “You’ve got to get out of here. Take Ari and leave here. The books will be fine. Come back later...”
He rolled the woman over on her back. “Who is that woman? She doesn’t look like DI to me.”
It was hard to form words and harder to spit them out. “She’s not. The man I shot yesterday...she’s his woman, I think.”
I glanced down at the blood as it oozed through my fingers that pressed my side. Michael forced my hand away and held a small towel tight to the wound. “We need to find you some help.”
My voice slurred, “There’s no one.” I tried to focus on his eyes as he stared down at me. I felt everything slipping away as if I were in a giant tunnel trying to escape through the far end and the opening was getting smaller and smaller. “Be safe. Hide. It’s your responsibility now. You are the Guardian.”
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THE END
