 
The Big Black Trunk

By Mary Rice Somerville

Smashwords Edition 1.0

Copyright Mary Rice Somerville 1995, 2011  
ISBN 978-1-61061-392-7

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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This is a boy's story, so let's let a boy tell it. His nickname is JG and at thirteen he is already an Eagle Scout. His Dad said, "JG, since you want to be a writer, why don't you put our story on paper? You've got that old typewriter and plenty of paper. What happened here last night is more gripping than anything you could make up."

So JG agreed, starting at the beginning.

# Chapter 1 SPRING BREAK, AND HOW!

My sleeping bag was so wet that, when I rolled over, it squished. Is there anything more miserable? I could hear the steady downpour outside in the spring chill. Dad and Mom were snoring. Dad could sleep through anything; probably he had a carefree conscience, not like mine.

We had asked him if rain would keep us from making the trip. Actually, he knew that if he didn't keep his promise to take us camping during our spring break it might be a long time before he could do it again. That's the trouble with being a successful businessman.

Dad thought toy logs were too wimpy for his boys. He brought us up here to start a real cabin several years ago. It was Sol's sixth birthday, the day after Christmas, and cold as whiz.

He used the chain saw to cut down tall, straight poplar trees, whacking off the branches for us to stack. He made cabin-sized logs, notching the ends and layering them in a square, leaving a gap for a door. We stood around, shivering, trying to keep a warming tire going with the small branches. At the right time, we helped with the lifting.

On this trip, he planned to put up roof timbers, so that we could really use the cabin for camping. He also hoped we could gather rocks for a chimney. He wanted his boys to be rugged, and not sit around like house babies.

You should have seen us as we started out, it would have made a great photo. We were so excited!

JohnB had to take his pillow, of course. He was spoiled to that pillow and said he couldn't sleep without it. He hung his guitar strap over his shoulder, so that he could carry the heaviest part of the grub in a box. He's the oldest.

Scopi, you say that "Sco-pie," had to take his new telescope, he's the kind who will do it even if it weighs fifty pounds and the path is straight uphill for a mile. He thought he might be able to see more of the sky with the extra altitude, but I told him the woods would be in his way. He's a year older than I and a lot smarter. I had to admire his spunk, even if he didn't take my advice.

"Dad, I'll make another trip to bring more food. There are some weird things going on in the stars. Maybe I can show you tonight," Scopi suggested, "if the sky clears up."

"Can I tie my load onto the goat?" begged Rooster. "Please let me, Dad. I can carry something else. We've got to take care of her anyway. Will it be too much for her, with her pregnant?"

Dad had to stop what he was doing and weigh the question. Mom was on Rooster's side. His legs were short for his age, and she thought Narnia wouldn't mind. Besides, the goat could nibble the briars around the cabin site.

Dad looked up at the clouds and decided, "Yes, take Narnia, but be quick. We've got to get going. Maybe we'll have a good sky tomorrow night, Scopi."

Sol carried his load on his back in a knapsack that I made for him in my Scout work. His gear was light; clothes, snacks, and a tiny transistor radio. He had his walking stick in one hand and his sleeping bag in the other. He looked so proud.

Dad carried the saw and the gas can, but of course he always had his binoculars around his neck. It was a delicious prospect for him to spend four whole days in the woods alone with his family. He loved birds, flowers, and all wildlife. Maybe he should have been a biology teacher instead of a building contractor.

I packed very sensibly, that's one of the things you learn in Scouts. Besides clothes, I had my Swiss Army knife, Band-Aids, flashlight with batteries, writing supplies, soap and towels, snakebite kit, and ax. I did forget my underwear.

Mom took part of the kitchen equipment and her yarn bag. That's how she enjoys herself -- knitting. She hates to waste time even when she's resting. She likes to talk but doesn't get much chance now that her sons are big enough to argue on any subject.

We gave our chickens some extra feed. I didn't kiss them goodbye, I am not crazy about chickens. I hate what they do in the yard right where I am trying to slide into first base. Dad had plenty of money and could have bought a truck full of eggs, but Mom always liked to play the farmer's wife. Maybe God picked her out special for Dad, His knowing the sort of future we were going to have.

It was late in the afternoon when we got all the way up to our cabin. Dad was helping us tack on a big tarpaulin for a roof when it began to rain. But did I say, "Rain?" I should have said, "DUMP!"

We were all inside, even the goat, when the plastic began to sag. Dad held the middle with Sol's walking stick for a few minutes, and then he let me hold it while he went outside to cut a real pole. When he got it set and working right, he took Narnia out and tied her to a nearby tree.

"Oh, Honey," moaned Mom. "I know you have to put her out, but I just hate to see her so wet and cold." When she saw that Dad was drenched, she felt even sorrier for him.

Nobody cooked that night. We had our pork and beans right out of the can. Nobody watched the birds at their evening feeding or gathered yellow dog tooth violets or looked for pink lady slippers. We huddled together in a wet heap, trying to be cheerful.

Rooster pulled out his bag of Halloween goodies that he had been saving for six months. He gave us each a candy com if we promised to suck on it for at least an hour!

We told jokes and stories until we fizzled, then Dad turned on the radio. It was amazing how radio waves could travel through all that falling water. "Heavy rains in the mountainous areas," said the weather report. But, of course, West Virginia is all mountainous!

We fought and scrambled to make ourselves beds, passing the flashlight back and forth. Then Dad pulled out his pocketsized Bible, pulling off his glasses to read the tiny print. I'm sure that he was trying to settle us down, reading about those old kings of Israel. I got so confused and disgusted with them that I fell asleep.

But in the middle of the night, I put out my hand and found that we were floating. The rain had poured off the plastic and had oozed under the logs on all sides. I found that I wasn't the only one in misery.

"Dad, I can't sleep," moaned JohnB. "Would it be all right if we turned the radio on real low?" "Sure, son," Dad whispered sleepily. "It might help us all."

There was some music, a talk-show program, world news, and then the weather. It seemed a volcano had erupted somewhere.

"I listen to the news every day at home," muttered Mom from under her blanket, "I haven't heard anything about a volcano." This volcano, the announcer said, had happened over a year before in the Pacific, and it was supposed to be the cause of all our weird weather and sore throats.

Daylight finally came, camouflaged by dark clouds and rain. Breakfast was scheduled to be pancakes and sausage over a campfire, but we passed around the raisins and goodies that were brought for snacks.

I tied a couple of socks together pretending that they were a doll. "My name is Judy Miller . . .," I began in a high, girlish voice. She carried on until the whole family was dabbing at their eyes from laughter. In an emergency, I had to think of something to lift the mood.

It was a very long three days. I think Mom had a little fun with her knitting and no cooking, but we boys were climbing the walls. We were so used to fighting each other at high speeds in computer games that we didn't know how to be still for a minute. Dad tried to slow us down by quizzing us on our schoolwork and general knowledge. I saw him look over at Mom with horror. I guess he had never thought to check up on our education before.

On the fourth morning, Dad went outside early, determined to start a fire. We could hear his ax biting into a big log, opening up some dry wood. At last some real food. All of us were wet, weak, and hungry.

The sun rose and the rain slowed to a drip. Suddenly, far down below, we heard a gigantic thunderous roar. Jumping out of our sleeping bags, we grabbed each other. Dad stuck his head into the cabin, looking really scared.

He yelled, "What is it? Are you all right?"

The noise sounded like a tidal wave or a speeding train. We heard snapping, banging, and bumping. Mom thought she heard screams. It must have been about five minutes before peace returned, and we could hear the crackle of Dad's fire again. Sol was crying. Someone had stepped on him.

We scrambled to find our clothes, getting in each other's way. I was the first one dressed.

"I'm going down the mountain and take a look. I've got to see what's happening."

Scopi was ready next, "Me, too. I'm with you, JG."

JohnB had already thrown his poncho over his bare back.

"Oh, no! No, you're not," yelled Mom, "Honey, don't let them out of your sight," she pleaded.

Dad did some quick thinking. "Scopi, concentrate on the radio and try to find out what happened while I serve these flapjacks. JohnB and JG, stretch out a dining fly over my cooking stuff. Mom, please help Rooster and Sol with their clothes, we 'll feed them first."

The activity helped to control our panic, and we listened to the buzzing and static on the radio while we worked.

"Here's some news, Dad. Ten inches of rain have fallen in West Virginia since midnight. Isn't that like a cloudburst? The Syrians are threatening Israel again. Hey, here's news from Capitol City. There are flood alerts for our county and the Highway Department says that there are some impoundments which are reaching the critical level," reported Scopi.

"What is an impoundment, Dad?" asked Rooster. I noticed as Dad stiffened, forgetting the pancakes. He looked up into the sky and said a few words to God. Then he went back to his cooking, sobered and silent.

OUR FAMILY THEME-SONG

by Bishop Thomas Ken 1709

All praise to Thee, my God, this night  
For all the blessings of the light,  
Keep me, oh, keep me, King of kings,  
Beneath Thine own almighty wings.  
Forgive me, Lord, for Thy dear Son,  
The ill that I this day have done,  
That with the world, myself and Thee,  
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.

Teach me to live, that I may dread  
The grave as little as my bed,  
Teach me to die, that so I may  
Rise glorious at the judgment day.  
Oh, may my soul on Thee repose,  
And may sweet sleep mine eyelids close,  
Sleep that shall me more vigorous make  
To serve my God when I awake.

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow,  
Praise Him, all creatures here below,  
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host,  
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

# CHAPTER 2 IN SHOCK!

Obeying Dad was hard but we struggled against our emotions until we had finished.

"Now can we go, Dad? Please?"

"Rinse and stack your dishes, then you can cut out," he agreed.

Leaving all our stuff behind, even the goat, we plunged down the mountainside. Mom hung onto limbs and saplings, carefully avoiding the old, muddy logging path. Everything was so wet! She tried to find footing in the leaves and grass of the underbrush, but we boys didn't care about safety. We slithered down, thinking only of speed.

The sky was showing cheerful spots of blue. We skirted along the old barbed wire fence, keeping to the left of the raging creek. As we came out of the bushes into the clearing, everyone gasped. No one could speak, for what was there to say?

The river was at our feet. It was so impossible, so ludicrous, so ridiculous, to have the river tum into a lake, forty feet up our mountain, covering all of our known world and lying right there in front of us. We looked out over the smelly, murky water; but where were our home, post office, grocery store, school, both bridges, and highway?

The water went down quickly, even as we watched. When a dam breaks it gives a big flush, swooshing down the riverbed until it spends its power, leaving behind the usual remains and a lot of mud and crud.

It was Saturday morning. Were our school friends watching cartoons and eating toaster tarts when a wall of water appeared out of nowhere and washed them away? Did the man-made dam do a sudden split, or was there a tiny crack that got out of control? Did the owner of the mine know? Surely he would have sounded an alarm, or was he off on a vacation trip with his own sons?

"Don't let that water touch you, boys," warned Dad. "It will be dangerous for a while. You know those outdoor toilets upstream? The contents will all be coming this way."

"Oh, yuck," I groaned, wondering if we would have to take those typhoid shots as we did the last time the river came up in our yard.

After a long silence, Mom whispered, "No house."

"No business," joined Dad with a sigh.

"No piano," JohnB said, sadly.

"No school," cheered Scopi. "Hooray!"

"No computer," said I, the hopeful writer.

"No ball field," groaned Rooster, the best pitcher on his Little League team.

"No big black trunk." Sol had always wanted to be wise like Solomon, and sometimes he was. In those few moments he had already realized that our trunk full of baby shoes, report cards, and awards was the one thing that could never be replaced.

"Are we homeless?" asked Mom, the home-maker.

"Almost, sweetheart," said Dad in a comforting voice as he put his arm around her waist, "but not as homeless as our Master. He had nowhere to lay His head. He's given us a vacation cottage in the mountains as if we were still rich people.

He turned us around and headed us up the hill, not whistling. "We're going up there to have a prayer meeting, committing ourselves to God, thanking Him for our safety, and asking His mercy on others. You realize where we would be if we had not gone camping this week-end."

The climb was awesomely quiet. We all wanted to go to Heaven, of course -- but not anytime soon. When we got back to our fire, it was only a pod of red coals. Dad split more wood, hoping to find something dry. The sun was shining in earnest. The golden sparkle of the wet leaves never gave a hint of the muddy disaster down below or of the loss of everything we owned.

We rolled some logs around the tire to make a circle as we always did at Scout camp. Dad got us singing "Amazing Grace," which fit the occasion and sounded good, coming from the heart.

One by one, we each said a prayer aloud. Dad's was first, thanking God again, and asking Him to help those who must have lost their homes, too, and maybe their lives.

"Father, please show us if there is anything we can do for our neighbors and community."

Scopi's prayer was last. "Since You saved our lives, maybe You have something special planned for us, Father. Please help us to know what it is. We'll try to be ready for anything. Amen."

The silence was broken with an announcement by Dad; "Family, we've got a big decision to make about our future. What should we do? Should we make this our new home site, rebuild back by the river, or move to the city?"

I liked the way Dad included us in things. JohnB was almost sixteen. We three teenagers would be making decisions of our own before long. Even the little guys liked to have their opinions and to be heard.

Dad wanted Mom's ideas first. "What do you think, honey? Do you want to be a hill climber? You wouldn't have to worry about getting enough exercise! You'd have a better shape than all of the other women," he grinned.

"Of course, I'd be the only woman," she pointed out. "But what about the children? How would they get to school?"

I saw Scopi drop his head.

Dad wrinkled his forehead. "This land is steep. No one else would want it, but it's all ours. Great-great grandpa was smart enough to keep the mineral rights. Nobody is going to be stripping coal out from under us. The logs are free. We have lots of growing muscles here, but you are right, honey, I don't know how we could get around the school law."

In the last few years, the government was getting harder and harder to obey. We couldn't go anywhere, buy anything, or do anything without our ID cards. Little kids all had to go to day care, and there was a new worldwide law about only two kids allowed for each family.

"Let's just hide up here, Daddy, and live off the land," begged Rooster. "Me and Sol knows how to hunt squirrels. We can eat roots and berries like the real pioneers, besides, the school is washed away." Then I said, "Isn't it going to be years before we have a new bridge? The county isn't going to want to build one just for us with all the houses gone. Maybe we should move into town."

"Let's just stay up in here and never be seen again," Scopi muttered. He really liked the school books. When he started algebra, he found he could take the two T's of his real name, Scott, and make them look like pi. He's called himself that ever since. But he's always hated going to school.

It was JohnB's turn. "Do you mean live up here, like forever, with no cars, or girls, or Scouts? Mom, how could you live without a phone or neighbors? What about mail and stores? And Dad, how could we live if you didn't have a job?"

"I would have a job, son. I would be building this family a new home. Isn't that a man's responsibility? Most of the stuff is free if we have the gumption to get hold of it. Money and electricity are newfangled inventions, JohnB -- and telephones," he said as he glanced cautiously at Mom.

"We've lost a fortune in vehicles and lumber and in the house," he continued. "For years no one has been able to get flood insurance. Even if I could get to town and show my ID, there's not much in our account. With this new machine money, people don't feel that they have to pay their bills."

"Do you mean we really are poor?" wailed Sol. "I always felt sorry for poor people."

"Sol, buddy, start feeling sorry for us." I advised.

"We don't have one computer or a single game to play on it."

"But, Daddy, I don't know how to be poor," he cried, grabbing Dad around the legs. "How does it feel?"

"About like this," said Dad. "You know, sitting on wet logs in front of a smoking fire, wishing for cartoons and sausage and hot biscuits."

"Oh, well, then it won't be too bad. I thought you had to be miserable to be poor," Sol chuckled.

We all felt comforted and actually prosperous, but what could we do about our future, and how would we be able to help anyone else?

"Oh, Dad, speaking of cards, have we lost them?" asked Mom anxiously.

"Don't you worry about that, sweetheart. Maybe you didn't think to bring yours, but I can't breathe these days without mine."

He reached into his back pocket and held up the plastic card that controlled all his buying and selling.

"See, just like they told us. It is safer than money -- - if we don't lose it."

"We can't really take a vote about our fixture, can we?" Mom noted realistically. "We don't have much of a choice if we don't have any money or business."

Dad stood up, put on a voice like a preacher, and began to make a speech: "A man wants to make his family happy and stay within the laws of the land, but since God Himself has made me the head of this family, I believe that all of you would grow up to be better men if we could live up here and rough it. We have the land from the top of the ridge all the way to the river. It ought to be a big enough yard for you growing boys. Mother and I could share with you the education that we already have. We could get books, make a nice home, get to know each other, and trust God for everything. Now, that's my vote. I don't know why we can't do it if we want to. We won't be hurting anyone. We don't seem to have any vote in the new government, but we can live for God no matter what the other people do."

We boys kept quiet. I could understand Dad's desire to bring us up according to his own ideas, but could we really give up our old way of life? Was this going to be permanent? Would we never go to Scouts again? Or to any church? How would we buy groceries and get them all the way up to our campsite? It sounded more scary than fun to me, but Sol and Rooster were thrilled. Mom bit her lip and stared in wonder at her man.

JohnB strummed on his guitar, while looking out through the trees across the valley.

"Let's call our place 'Reptile Ridge'," volunteered Scopi.

And that was the beginning of our new life.

# CHAPTER 3 SETTLING IN

"Whatcha gonna to do with that big old black pot?" Sol asked.

"Put my stuff in it to carry up the hill. Mom can cook in it over the fire," retorted Rooster. "I don't care if it's heavy."

"Well she won't do much cooking without any food," Sol noted.

Dad had let us go downhill to explore and look for our neighbors. I nearly felt sick when we found no sign of their houses or cars. Our little country road had nearly disappeared under the acres of mud. Now we could realize that it was good that Granny Hill had died already. There was nothing left of her home.

It was awesome to poke around where our own house had stood. Everything man-made was swept clean, but there stood the little apple tree that Sol and Rooster had bought with their own money and planted for Mom on Mother's Day last year.

The chain for the goat was still hanging on the sugar maple. We took it, glad that Namia had gone camping with us. There were rat tracks everywhere on the sandy river banks. Ugh!

"The Swiss Family Robinson got lots of stuff from their shipwreck to help them out," Scopi reminded us. "Maybe we can find the remains of ours."

We picked our way downstream, searching the debris for anything that looked like ours. When we had covered the familiar mile toward our old school, there was our house, slammed up against the old bridge abutment, smashed flat.

Dad had built it himself. It was a big two-story country house with a windowsill for Mom's African violets and secret hideouts and passageways for us. The garage was tailor-made for the work truck and our two nice cars. Over that had been a huge playroom for rainy days.

It was the funniest thing, but on the way back we found Mom's red bathrobe hanging up in a tree. Why that, and only that? There were plenty of muddy garbage bags, plastic jugs, and wet paper diapers clinging to the trees. Pieces of lumber and broken furniture littered the sandy banks.

What we didn't find was food. Our camping meals were all gone. These people who want to live off the land better not try it in April. We didn't know anything about digging roots, and there were no berries, or gardens, or fruits hanging on trees at that time of year.

As we sat around the campfire that night we had a round of confessions and apologies. Our family had never been on a total fast before. I felt spacey, maybe even spiritual.

Dad asked JohnB and Scopi to go across the river the next day and find out about the other people and what was going on. He and Mom both had terrible sick headaches from no coffee. He asked if I would supervise Sol and Rooster in getting our new home tidy.

It was early morning when the big boys set out. They would have to pull off their pants and shoes to wade across the river. We watched wistfully as they waved good-bye.

First, Mom asked us to go hunting for a spring for clean drinking water. Water? Why, it would take a whole waterfall for JohnB. Since he discovered girls, he took a shower every day, just for the fun of it! I could see that Scopi was headed in the same direction.

Rooster and Sol thought it was fun, tramping around in the woods, circling our cabin site, kicking up leaves. We were all wondering how to find a spring.

"JG, could you be our Scoutmaster? Can we have a troop of just two? You could teach us everything," they begged.

Maybe this new life was going to be better than I thought. I was flattered and comforted. Little brothers were really special. I was glad the new rules hadn't gotten them.

We found purple blooms up in one big bush. They smelled wonderful. When we took some to Mom, she told us that they were lilacs and a sure sign that a woman had lived up here in the past, planting this bush at the comer of her cabin.

Violets were everywhere -- - purple, white, and yellow. There were dark red trilliums and Jack-in- the-pulpits. It was fun to explore our "yard" and "farm."

We thought that we might have discovered old, worn-out apple trees. There were no leaves yet, but lots of tiny buds. Maybe the same lady who planted the lilac had set out those fruit trees and also the daffodils that were blooming up there, all alone, waiting to be admired.

"Look over there, JG," called Rooster. "See those birds? See how they dip their beaks and then look up at the sky like our chickens did when they were drinking water?"

What a break! Some little banty chicks were making their own living up there in the woods, drinking from a leaf-covered pool. I could actually see water bubbling from the ground, and a steady trickle running down through the rocks toward the creek. Not only did we have at spring near our cabin, but we had friendly feathered neighbors.

Sol ran back to camp to get some tin cans for digging, and we had fun scooping out a water hole about as big as a sink.

"Let's make a rock wall around the rim," suggested Rooster. "We don't want any crawly things to get in our cups."

Mom was happily surprised when we brought the big black pot full of clean water for her "kitchen." "Don't we need something like a garbage pit, too?" Sol asked.

"Good thinking, Sol," she agreed. "Wait until we get a shovel for that project and some real garbage."

What we needed the most was an outhouse, but bushes would have to do. I learned something new: never use poison ivy for toilet paper!

Mom got us to put up a clothesline to dry out our sleeping bags. Then she wanted the goat moved away from the clothesline. Did you know that goats don't like grass? We chained her near some honeysuckle vines that were turning green. She was the only one with a nice, full tummy. Mom was eager to give us fresh milk after Narnia's baby was born, but some of us were not too excited by the idea.

Dad was as hungry as we were, but he distracted himself by working with his saw. His favorite hobby was making firewood. We offered to help, but he thanked us and let us go down to the river to wait. The water was clear and almost pretty. Rooster looked along the edge for a good fishing hole and nearly fell in when he slithered across a big slick of mud.

"Let's slide!" he challenged. He was smart enough to take off his pants. He started further uphill and had a great trip -- - right into the river. Sol spotted an old plastic bucket and brought up water to pour onto the mud to make it even more slippery

We were sliding and hollering and pouring on water like hoodlums when we suddenly spotted our big brothers, staring at us from the other side of the river.

"Boys!" yelled JohnB. "That looks like fun."

He jerked off his pants and shoes, put a big bundle on his head, and sloshed across to join us. Here came Scopi, holding a box, not a bit sure of this ridiculous sport, but it did look tantalizing.

"Did you all get some food?" we begged. "Food, you know, food!"

"We'd better get out of here and get these army rations up to Mom and Dad. Hurry, JG! Get a move on!"

But I never could find my pants and my only underwear was in shreds. I wrapped long grasses around my waist and tied it with a piece of electric cord that was hung in the weeds. I probably looked like a hula girl.

We had a happy reunion.

JohnB gave the report, "Dad, our Scouthouse is far enough up the highway that it didn't get wet, and it's been turned into the post office. The mail lady was nice to us. She nearly cried as she took our names off the Missing list that was tacked to the front door. She had piles of mail all over the floor. I don't know how she` found ours, but she handed it to us with a smile. She said, 'I'm so glad to know that your family is safe.'"

"Dad, lots of our school friends are gone and some of your men. It's awful. There are over a hundred names. The kids that are dead are our friends who were really the true Christians. Why would God let that happen?"

Then she pointed to the poster on the wall about the Red Cross trailer at the new Methodist Church. She told us, 'There have been so many disasters that the Red Cross is only giving out Army survival packs. There are no pillows, or sheets, or blankets. No typhoid shots -- not this time. There just aren't any supplies or health care workers.'"

Dad listened with tears, and, looking at Mom, he began digging in his pocket for a handkerchief. Then he nervously opened his letters. We boys looked over the junk mail. Those bright photos of things to buy seemed to come from another planet.

"Children," he said in a low, kind voice. "Do you remember how we told God last night that we loved Him and were sorry for our sins and how we needed His help? Do you know how hungry we've been? This letter here in my hand shows that the help that we were praying for was already on the way. One of my biggest customers has paid. Here is the credit slip for thousands of dollars. We do have the money to build a home. It's got to be a miracle! I'm so grateful. Why would God want to be so good to us?"

"But, Mom, listen to this: this is even better! It's from the Superintendent of Schools: 'Dear New World Citizen, if the recent flooding has made it impossible for your children to attend school, they will be excused without penalty until other arrangements can be made.'"

"Yes, double yes!" some yelled, but JohnB and I were a little more restrained. We weren't completely sure.

"JG, could I use some of your paper and your pencil. Let's start making a list. On Monday, it will be my turn to go across the river," Dad announced.

It was just like Christmas, our getting into those Army meals. We didn't even need a cooking fire. Somehow, you just rigged up the package of food and put it in the plastic bag with a little water and, whammo, it made heat. There were candy bars, chewing-gum, and drink mixes, crackers and grape jelly, matches, wet towelettes, and spoons. Our parents were more than thrilled to have the tiny pouches of coffee powder and creamers. But, maybe the best find was toilet paper!

It was a joyful time. Our list used both sides of the paper. We sang a few hymns and fell into bed. I could hear both of my parents whispering late into the night, while I kept trying to count enough sheep to fall asleep.

The List: mattresses; one double and five or six single thin foam pads with cloth, zippers, and thread for sturdy covers.

Ten or more thermal blankets to add to sleeping bags, washable in case of "accidents," and light enough for summer. More pillows and pillowcases. About two dozen bath towels and dish towels with washcloths for both. Soaps and shampoos.

Eight metal water buckets for hauling water. Plastic no good. Eight metal garbage cans with lids for catching rain water. Eight plastic garbage cans for storage of out of season clothes.

Four wash tubs, old-fashioned wringer, clothespins, lots of soap, old washboard, more clothesline.

At feed store 50 lb. sacks of seed corn and wheat. Hand grinder that will hold up to hard use.

Books, deodorants, seeds, building supplies, ETC.

# CHAPTER 4 BOATS

The next day was Sunday. JohnB loaned me some of his pants and underwear, and I was glad to feel respectable again.

Back in the past we always went to church. We had a good old-fashioned pastor who preached to us out of the Bible. He told us about a big peace and safety movement coming soon in the world that would fool many nations. He had already warned us about the new money system long before it happened. His preaching made some of the people mad, and they didn't come back. We couldn't believe it when we heard that he had committed suicide -- or the newspaper said he had.

The new minister who took over the church was very polished. After a few weeks he politely invited us to attend some other church. We were stunned! We didn't know what we had done.

Mom and Dad suffered and prayed a lot, but they felt that we should accept it and quietly move on. They wondered if there was some jealousy since we were probably the best workers in the church, and the richest.

We had to drive a long way to find a new church. One Sunday Dad announced that he wasn't going to make the trip again to listen to that sentimental hogwash. In the back of the van we were punching each other's shoulders, hearing that we wouldn't have to go to church anymore. I guess God was getting us ready for our future.

We couldn't exactly go to church, but our parents were determined to make Sundays different, and they stuck with it even up on our mountain. After breakfast, Dad taught us some of the Shorter Catechism. It was all questions, and we had to memorize the right answers. He promised each of us a Swiss Army knife if we would do it and do it right. We knew that Dad was itching to teach us how to whittle. Also, we did a lot of singing out of the old hymnbook. Prayers were short, taking into account young wigglers and skeptical teens.

Mom had made two rules for Sunday; don't work, and don't try to be good.

"Do you really mean it, Mom?" asked Rooster, with that special shine in his eyes.

"Yep, I found it in the Bible," she said, confirming her authority. "This is the day we are supposed to lean back and let Jesus save us. Isn't that sweet?"

For lunch there was another round of Army food, then it was playtime. Dad got down on his knees with a piece of bark, scraping little roads in the dirt, making tiny bridges, planting twigs for "trees." He had Sol and Rooster making a whole park with picnic areas and campsites. It nearly made me cry to watch my Daddy play. Our disaster was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Monday morning came with birds, sunshine, and excitement. There was chicken stew for breakfast for all us soldiers. Mom and Dad savored their coffee while going over The List.

Dad laced up his boots, had a few hymns, a big family prayer, and started out.

Mom called after him, "Be sure and get some bleach, honey. We don't really know if this water is safe to drink. Hope it is easy to find a ride."

We all waved goodbye, wishing we could go, but Dad had big things on his mind and didn't need any of our help.

"What do you want us to do today, Mom?" asked Rooster. He always had energy to burn, but I felt like I was coming down with puberty or something.

"Do you want to go to the river?" she asked. "Go and have yourself some more fun, boys, but please stay out of that nasty mud. You could really use those shots after the stunt you all played the other day. JG, I'm tempted to tell your Scoutmaster that his Eagle has turned into a pig!"

Scopi got the hatchet. Sol took a ball of string and a knife. Rooster brought a towel and more rations. JohnB got some clean water to drink from the spring, and down we went. I took my notebook and pencil.

When we got to the river we agreed on a project: a boat. There had to be some way that we could help Dad get back and forth with all stuff he was planning to buy. He wanted to get tin panels for the roof and Lucite for windows, besides nails, groceries, and clothes.

"Look, boys," JohnB shouted, "see this old set of steps here on the bank? Can't you see a flat-bottomed boat going back and forth, making trips to haul stuff, and looking just like a casket?"

When he got a big idea, he was so enthusiastic that we usually followed meekly along. What else could we do? He said that we could knock off the flat parts and then nail them back along the edges of the big side boards. With some mighty pounding, first to get the thing apart, to straighten the nails, and then to get it back into its new shape, his idea actually worked.

"Resin, boys. We need some pine pitch to put in the cracks," he ordered.

"Clay will work, JohnB. We've got plenty of clay," insisted Scopi.

"Where's Sol?" I asked.

"Well, I don't know," JohnB answered grumpily. "Wasn't he here a minute ago?"

"We've been concentrating so much on this boat that we haven't been thinking about anything else," said Scopi.

We yelled, "Sol! Sol! Where are you, buddy?" We began to panic.

"Wait," said Rooster, "be quiet a minute. I think I hear something upstream."

Around the bend here came that kid brother of mine, riding down the middle of the river, poling along with a broken bamboo fishing pole, looking like King Tut coming in from a big victory.

"Sol! What's holding you up? How did you ever think of such a thing?" we asked.

"It's a jug-a-maran. I made it up. It really works," he grinned. "See, I just threaded those empty milk jugs on these poles and lashed them together with my string like you showed me, JG, from the Scout book."

We all wanted to take a turn. It wasn't going to be much use for hauling cargo, but it was the most fun we ever had, riding around on milk jugs in the Bad Old River!

By the time we heard the truck coming, we had caulked up the casket with enough pitch to make it watertight.

Dad was amazed by our work. When we brought him over, nice and dry, the cracks began to leak.

"You'll need to get some more resin to get it right, boys, but that boat is strong and can do most of the hauling tonight anyhow."

It was our job to take load after load across the river. Dad had even remembered to get me some new underwear.

It was getting too dark for taking everything up the hill. Scopi had the idea of making a storehouse in the old coal mine. We could stuff everything in there since it was near the river, then bring up our loads as needed on a daily basis. Dad was thankful for the suggestion.

By bedtime, everything was put away and we were sitting around our tire, drinking hot chocolate, eating hot dogs, and roasting marshmallows.

Ah, life was good.

# CHAPTER 5 WOLVES?

We had a secret that we never did tell Mom and Dad. They gave us an afternoon off, and we went out hunting for excitement on the other side of the ridge where we found three wild ponies. They had probably escaped the flood farther upriver and had scavenged their way into our area. They were thin and mangy, but lots of fun to catch and to try to ride.

"Let's herd them up and take them home," said Scopi.

"Do you want Dad to kill them?" barked JohnB. "You know what he always does with unwanted strays."

"But we do want them," chimed in Rooster.

"Yes, and what will we feed them in the winter?" JohnB sneered.

"Oh . . ."

"They are surviving over here on their own. Let's just keep it our secret and try to help them make it," JohnB proposed.

And so we agreed.

I caught a black mare and tamed it enough so Rooster could get up on a stump and throw his leg over her back. We older boys watched in wonder as he gripped his toes under that filly's belly, dug his fists into her mane, and raced around the woods like a banshee. As he headed our way, he would leap off while the pony was going full tilt. He did this several times, getting jolted and bruised.

"Why do you keep doing that, Rooster?" we asked. "We'll catch her for you so you can get off."

"No, no, no." He shook his stubborn head. "That's how the boys did it in the Pony Express"

Rooster was just the right nickname for him. Years ago my little, green Easter chick grew up to be a big, mean, white rooster. One day it pranced up to my baby brother, who was crawling in the grass. It hopped on his head and sunk its claws into the baby's scalp, leaving a crown of bloody puncture wounds. That day the bird went into the pot, and the baby became "Rooster" to dignity the event. But, I was mad about losing my pet.

It was nearly impossible to keep our secret the day that we found the black mare's half-eaten carcass. The other two ponies were not telling. How we wished they could talk! The unknown murderer haunted our waking thoughts as well as our dreams. What we wanted to know was: would it get us next?

Several nights later we heard a big racket. Part of it was Dad's trying to find his shoes in the dark, and part was Narnia's bleating, and part was wild barking and thrashing around in the woods. I hid in my sleeping bag, but JohnB and Dad went out.

We heard the most awful whacking and yelling. I was sure that it must be wolves. We could hear Mom in her corner making her emergency "Help!" prayer.

The noise went on for a few minutes, then something happened that we never would have dreamed; Dad opened the door and shoved Narnia into the cabin. She was bleeding on the underside of her belly, which was all spread out for the time of her delivery. She was stiff with fright.

Dad wrestled her to the floor and tied her tight to the table legs, spread-eagle style. He began to rub her underside with clean rags dipped in bleach,

"It was dogs," he announced. "It was hungry dogs that have gone into wild packs since the flood."

I whispered in Rooster's ear since it was nearest to my mouth, "I guess that's what happened to Black Beauty."

Aloud, I asked, "What will we do, Dad? How will we be safe?"

"Robinson Crusoe made a fence of poles, but that would take us all winter," muttered Scopi.

"Do they just come at night?" asked Mom. "Do they always attack under the belly?"

"Do they eat people?" asked Sol, in a trembly voice.

We all laughed, but nobody looked happy in the flickering light of the fireplace.

"JG, you've always had a strong stomach, I'm going to need you to help me save Namia's life. Her womb is punctured and the fluid is running out. If her baby dies inside of her, we'll lose them both. She's looking weak already. Get the paring knife sharpened up, and then wash your hands super clean."

The other guys pulled the covers over their heads, glad to be out of the action, but I was feeling pretty important.

I had to root around in the shadows for the whetstone, but I got the knife to a fine hone while Dad pried open Narnia's mouth and poured in a little cold coffee.

"Here," he whispered, "you hold the light while I make an incision." Then he called, "Mom, if you can do it, please find us some white thread and a needle. We're going to need the antibiotic salve, too."

Actually, the surgery in the half-dark was fascinating. After Dad made a neat cut right down the middle of the pregnant belly, the skin peeled back on both sides, showing the seeping uterus wall. I could see wiggling going on inside the womb.

Dad took a deep breath, held the knife close to the blade tip and made another long slice. Out came a slimy glob, with little hooves kicking off its covering. Dad helped with the knife, but, by then, here came another, and then one more!

"Work on them, JG, while I work on Narnia," he ordered.

I did what he had done, letting the babies loose from their sacks. One of them was not moving, it looked blue. I grabbed up a dishtowel and started to rub them as we had seen wild animal mothers do in the TV nature shows.

"Dad," I asked, "should I cut their cords?"

"No, let them alone. Maybe Namia will be able to do her part when I get her sewed up."

By now, several sets of eyes came out from under the covers to stare. "Triplets, boys. Triplets! We're rich!" It was Rooster, the optimist.

Mom offered to get some warm water and a pan, but Dad still hoped that Narnia could lick the babies and get them going in the natural way; and maybe she could, for she was struggling to get up.

Dad did his best to sew up long cuts. He laced the womb first, trying hard not to contaminate her insides, and then he pulled her soft stomach hide together. Before he let her stand up, he took a long, clean rag from Mom and wrapped it around the goat's middle like a binding, hoping it would hold her like a girdle.

Namia wouldn't accept any water. She went right into the job of licking each tiny body, even the dead one. Dad finally had to help her get the placentas loose. I bundled all the mess into a plastic garbage bag. Mom brought some warm water, and I was more than glad to wash up.

It took us a long time to relax, the drone of Dad's voice was the best sedative.

"Now, boys, we've done all we can. We'll let God take care of things while we rest. Don't get your hopes up too much. Try not to be disappointed if nothing works. We've done our best. And thanks a lot, JG, you were as steady as a rock."

"But, Dad, we've got to find some way to get rid of those dogs, "called Sol, the thinker.

Lying there in the dark, we could hear the sounds of tiny sucking, and we gradually fell asleep.

# CHAPTER 6 ENEMIES?

Narnia lived and so did one spunky little baby. We called him Billy the Kid and had a lot of fun out of him. He buck danced around, over, and on top of everything!

"Dad, how about if we build a tree stand like a deer hunter does and take turns staying up there all night? We could have a pile of rocks and cream anything that comes on our place. Please let us, Dad. Please let us give it a try," begged Rooster.

Probably the World Government was right in I taking away everybody's guns, but didn't some people actually need them? How is a policeman going to come and help you hunt wolves in the middle of the night? But then, how could we call them?

Dad listened quietly and weighed Rooster's idea. He knew, and we knew, that Rooster was the best shot in the family. It frustrated me that my younger brother could always hit the bull's-eye when we were practicing with rocks or homemade arrows.

"Do you think you boys could build it? How would you get the boards up there?"

JohnB burst in, "But, Dad, don't you remember how we got that huge birdhouse up on that slippery pole for you for your birthday? Of course, my chest hurt for a couple of months afterward, but you are looking at the man who can do it, and we have plenty of short boards lying around here."

Dad seemed convinced and gave a go-ahead nod, which sent us all out in the yard to yell and argue and try to use the hammer at the same time.

We did get a contraption nailed together by dark. Everyone wanted to be the first to sleep up there. I don't know why. One false move, and ....

We decided to draw straws and the shortest boy got the shortest piece. Sol was envied and given a lot of advice. I worried about him because he's the one who had dreams about flying off the roof, and sometimes we had to grab him and shake him into reality. But, nobody asked my opinion.

He took his sleeping bag and a few snacks while we all helped gather up a good supply of rocks. Narnia was tied to the tree under him, all innocent of her role in this affair. She was happy to have her little son jumping all around her. No rope was going to tie him down.

After a few bedtime stories, Dad started in on the history of Europe, which didn't put any of us to sleep. Then he tried us out on conjugating Latin verbs. That did it.

In the night, we heard the Encounter. Sol was yelling his head off while Narnia was bleating in a panic. Some sort of beasts were growling, until one let out an earsplitting howl of pain.

We all raced to the scene. Sol had dropped the flashlight; and, when we found it, we discovered a starved Collie-type dog knocked cuckoo right at our feet. It was bleeding on the head. His companions were headed up the mountain, yelping as they went. Sol shinnied down the tree in his underwear and threw his arms around the old mutt's neck.

"Dog, Dog, I'm so sorry I hit you. I promise I'll never hit you again. Oh, please open your eyes and tell me it's all right. You are a beautiful, wonderful dog. Oh, please don't die," walled Sol.

We looked from one to another, eyebrows raised, snickers stifled. It looked pretty obvious that we had gotten the wrong man for this job. What in the world were we going to do with the dog if it lived? In a few minutes it opened its eyes and started licking Sol's face.

"Oh, Dad," begged Sol. "Look at this poor dog. It's probably a very good dog if it had food. Oh, Dad, please let me keep him for my very own. I promise I'll take care of him. Can I, Dad? Please, can I?"

I was glad that I wasn't a father yet, because I could see that common sense was not what Dads need most. On the other hand, I have heard that dogs are a necessity for farmers and pioneers. Maybe we fell in that category. Did we need protection?

A few weeks later Sol had gotten that dog as tame as a baby rabbit. It followed him everywhere. We found it had one quirk it had picked up in its mysterious past. If we played cops and robbers and stuck out our pointer finger like a gun, it came flying through the trees and attacked us on the wrist. We were amazed by this, and thought that it must have been a movie stunt dog.

One night while we were sitting around our tire, the dog, lovingly named Prince Caspian, went racing down the hill, his fur spiked up along his backbone. In a couple of minutes we heard men's angry, loud voices and the sound of something rolling down the mountain.

Dad grabbed the dog rope and the flashlight, while we all hurtled along behind him. When we got there, Caspian was standing in one spot, guarding something at his feet. When Dad got near enough, he jumped back in surprise. There on the ground under Caspian's dripping jaw was a black heavy-duty pistol. We waved the light around in every direction but saw no one. Did we have enemies?

The kiss of a dog  
Is a kiss of death  
Its slimy old tongue,  
Will take away your breath.

by JG

# CHAPTER 7 THE BUILDING BUSINESS

Dad had cut a lot of good logs with the chain saw. There was beautiful virgin timber, growing on hillsides too steep to harvest. Ideally they would have seasoned all winter, but having the house ready before snow was our goal. We also built first, our outdoor toilet, and last, our sleeping porch. It was going to be a real home.

"I've never tried to build a fireplace out of rock, but if I can get to the library I'm sure that I can find the directions. There are plenty of rocks in the creek. Do you fellows think that you can help carry up the cement?" he asked.

I felt my legs getting weak at the thought, how many bags would it take?

After weeks of struggle, that chimney turned out to be a masterpiece and a great family victory. It really "drew," as Dad quoted from his directions.

Mom had been a good sport about camping all summer. She tried not to think of all the nice things that we used to have. She said that she turned a page in her mind and tried to never look back. But one time I found her crying out behind the outhouse.

"Oh, Mom, what's the matter? Are you sick?"

"No, no. Thank you, honey. It's not that."

"But, what is the trouble, Mom? Can you tell me?"

"Well, I'm afraid I might hurt your feelings. It's just that . . . I can't find any good preacher on the radio and . . . we have so much peace and quiet . . . and togetherness. I guess I miss my lady friends."

"That's OK, Mom. Cry on until you feel better. I won't tell anybody, besides, maybe we all feel that way," I confided. "But not Dad. He is in his glory up here!"

She smiled as she wiped her eyes on her sleeves. "I know you are right about that, JG." We shook hands.

At first we boys thought that we couldn't live this kind of life either. It was a new experience for us to clean up after our own meals and to work with Dad. We were rotten from being so spoiled.

Dad was determined to straighten us out. He told a lot of stories while we worked, and he asked hard math problems for us to figure out in our heads.

In his school days he had read the whole Book of Knowledge; he must have memorized every page of that old set, and now he planned to teach it to us! I could see, with Dad as our principal, there weren't going to be many vacations.

Our household routines took some imagination. Mom sloshed Rooster and Sol up and down in a garbage can full of warm water, using the same water later for mopping the house. She made us bigger boys go around the hill and use the ice cold waterfall we had been so happy to discover.

We had two metal trash cans at the corners of the roof to catch rain water for dishes and bathing. We hauled buckets every day from the spring for drinking and cooking. Sometimes we raced each other; spilling most of our load.

Mom sent us down to the river to do the laundry. We threw the wet clothes on bushes and then played around while they dried. There was no more ironing at our house.

We slept on the foam rubber mattresses; they had been easy to bring up. Dad bought plenty of good rope. He knew we would want a satisfying swing, hanging from a high branch. I spent a lot of my thinking time spinning around on that swing. Also we used tough rope for the pulleys, when we lifted up the logs on homemade tripods.

Our original boy-sized cabin became a good barn, woodshed, and tool house. It had a stall and milking stand to use for the goat after she delivered and her milk came in.

There was plenty of brush to cut and yard to clear, keeping everybody busy. Mom was eager to grow something and she needed lots more sunlight.

Dad used a brown paper bag to draw the plans for the house. When we all decided that we wanted a sleeping loft over the fireplace for our winter bedroom, he added a few more rounds of logs to his plan.

The tin roof was one of his best ideas; it put us to sleep up in our loft when we had a gentle rain. But one night it rained so hard that we all sat up in fright. We could hear large hailstones beating down on us; the noise was awesome. Rooster stuck his head out the window and jerked it in with a yell.

"That stuff could kill a guy!" he screamed.

Scopi put out his hand and gingerly brought in a sample. When we turned on the flashlight, we could hardly believe our eyes. Each hailstone was bigger than an egg.

"Will we freeze to death?" wailed Sol.

We hurt his feelings when we laughed.

"Do you remember how hot we all were this afternoon?" asked Dad gently. "Heat is one of the things that makes this weather. You'll see tomorrow. We will be sweating again like today."

But I could hear Sol mutter under his breath, "If we live till tomorrow."

And he had a point, because the next morning we found lots of dents in our tin roof On the radio we heard about all kinds of disasters; economies were crashing in different nations, major earthquakes were happening every few days, and new viruses were rampant.

We wondered how many new diseases there were going to be. Even back in the '90s, we used to hear of drought and starvation in lots of places. It would be a wonder if anybody was left on earth. Maybe some people would be sorry that they teased us about our big family. Maybe the World Health Department would get rid of their new law.

We spent all summer and fall working on the cabin until it was actually done. In good weather we boys spread out on the plank porch, taking turns looking at the sky with the telescope, listening to Mom and Dad as they talked softly in the dark.

One morning I got up early and saw that their bed was empty. Rooster was watching me with his bright eyes.

"Where are Mom and Dad?" I whispered. "It's still almost dark."

"They'll come back soon. Sometimes they go outside and sleep on those moss beds," said Rooster with a yawn.

"How do you know they do? Why do they do that?" I whined.

"They just like to see the stars. They do that lots of times. They don't have to ask your permission," he said. That was true, but it made me mad to find out from my little brother that they weren't always there with us.

# CHAPTER 8 GIRLS AND MORE

JohnB turned toward me in the dark and whispered into my ear.

"JG, I want to go see those girls from school who live over in Sandwich Hollow. I'm planning to go over the ridge to the gas well trail and then on down. It is your duty to go with me because I am the oldest, and I say so."

"What are you going to tell Mom and Dad? You'll get me in trouble for sure, JohnB. I don't want to get lost over on that side. Count me out. We've already had enough trouble."

I rolled over and put my fingers in my ears. I could hear him try the same approach on Scopi. They were still whispering when I finally fell asleep.

The next afternoon, when Dad called a halt to the work, they asked if they could go out exploring. Dad said Yes, and I knew it would be smart for me to keep my mouth shut. I sure was glad to be left at home. Those male hormones must be powerful when they hit; but as for me, I didn't even need deodorant back then.

We missed them at supper, and the rest of us had to do their chores. Mom kept up a good front by busying herself with this and that. Dad always whistled anyhow, but I thought his tunes were kind of monotonous.

It was late and dark when we really began to worry. I finally had to tell them about JohnB' s plans Dad had a faraway look in his eye, maybe remembering some of his own boyhood adventures.

We went to bed not knowing anything else to do.

Mom called to me out on the porch, "JG, did they take the flashlight?"

"No, ma'am. The flashlight is right here by my pillow."

"Oh. Goodnight again, JG."

"Goodnight, Mom."

I don't know if the others slept, but, for once, I fell asleep just like a person with a halo. I sure was glad to get out of that jam. As for JohnB, Mom and Dad had never realized how bad he actually was!

It was about nine in the morning when they staggered in, looking just like drunks and bursting out laughing every few minutes. I thought they should have been ashamed of causing us so much worry. Their legs were loose. I don't know how they ever got over the mountain.

Mom wondered if they had been poisoned by the way they sat and laughed, then stretched out on the ground and said all sorts of gibberish. Finally, they leaned over on each other and went to sleep.

Much later Scopi woke up and asked very humbly, "Mom, I'm real hungry. Is there anything to eat?"

"Me too, please," whispered JohnB. Dad took a seat and looked them right in the eye. "Boys, you have a lot of explaining to do. I see that you are in no mood to realize the anxiety that you put us through last night. JohnB, you see if you can explain yourself, and we will try to understand."

"Oh, Dad. I'm so happy. I don't know if I can talk. Can you, Scopi?"

No. He suddenly threw his hands in the air and talked like someone right out of the jungle. Then he laughed again and walked around in circles with his eyes shut, forgetting all about his being hungry.

"Dad, we went over the top of the mountain and down the other side to see some girls that we knew at school. We stayed too long and thought it was too dark to come back the same way. Oh, please excuse me. (More laughter.) We decided to come around on the road even if it was a lot longer. As we passed that little church out there, we could hear lots of singing and -- laughing. We peeked in and got hooked. Before we knew it, we were down at the front of the church, laid out flat, laughing and talking to the angels. We're sorry to worry you, Mom. Sorry, Dad."

Dad got up and brought his Bible back from the cabin, and looked very sober. He said, "This will take some serious checking out."

They told how the meeting went on all night and nobody realized it until they saw the sun coming up. They said the pastor got them headed toward home, but with these words:

"Our Heavenly Father has done this in the past as a strengthening of joy -- - before the storm. Serve Him well, boys."

As they were telling this, Rooster got very interested and hung onto every word, and, beginning with a little chuckle, something came out that turned into a river of laughter. Soon he was lying on the ground in a trance, saying all sorts of foreign words. I grabbed Sol and headed out to the spring. I didn't know if it was safe to go back.

Was this God? I didn't know that He would do things like that. I hoped this incident would pass and that we could go on with our regular lives. But about a week later, JohnB came out of the outhouse and beckoned for me with his finger.

"I have a message for you," he said.

"For me?" I asked. He looked sort of spacey. "Where did you get this message?"

"From God."

Oh, yeah, I thought. I wished he wouldn't always try to outrank me just because he's the oldest.

"God, our Father which is in Heaven, says for you to talk to Him more and to listen to Him more, both with your spirit and with reading His book, because you are destined to judge angels."

"Oh, wow," I said, partly skeptical of this too-well-known prophet, and partly overcome with the thought that there really might be Someone out there Who knew me and loved me.

Later in the day I slipped off into the woods, taking our tiny Bible, which was nearly ruined with rain, mud, and constant use. I opened it cautiously. It seemed almost dangerous as if it were hot with radiation. I opened at random and started reading at I Corinthians 6, verse 3. The words jumped off the page. "Know ye not that we shall judge angels?" I shut the living thing.

No, I did not know that.

# CHAPTER 9 EXPLOSION OR WHAT?

It was the very next night that we were jolted out of our sleep by a tremendous explosion. We could see the whole northern sky on fire, but it seemed to be far away. There were no airplanes or flashes of lightning.

Scopi cried out, "Is it just us, or is it the whole world? Is this what that preacher was talking about?"

Dad said, "Boys, get up and dress. Do quickly whatever Mom tells you to do."

She had a list in her mind, memorized for that moment. "Radio, flashlights and batteries, shovel, cups and spoons, can opener, washcloths, first aid kit." She paused for breath.

The sky glowed brightly. We could look all around as if it were daylight. We ran out into the yard gathering up our things, seeing no stars or enemy invaders -- - only a fiery shine on every tree.

"Hurry, but walk slowly. Don't take deep breath! Go to the coal mine, most of our supplies are in there anyway. We'll need jackets, underwear, socks, knife, broom, Bible. That ought to do it -- - no, get pencils, paper, and toothbrushes. Matches? No, there will be too much danger of gas inside the mine to make a fire. Grab your sleeping bags! Let's go!"

Mom sounded like a drill sergeant. If we hadn't been so scared we would have laughed.

Dad took charge of the animals. He let the goats out of their barn to run loose, and commanded Caspian to "Stay," which he didn't.

One by one we slip-slid down the hill. It was good that the path was dry. We could easily see our way, and we kept watching the sky, wondering if there would be a mushroom cloud.

As we crowded into the mouth of the mine, Mom began to give more instructions.

"The first twenty-four hours are the worst. Try to sit very still. If we are dealing with nuclear fall-out it will look like particles of dust. That's the dangerous part. Radiation can't tum comers, so, back in this cave, we ought to be safe. There's plenty of protection overhead."

"Is this the end of the world?" said a very small voice from inside the black hole.

"Oh, no, Sol," said Dad with a big smile. "This is probably just the wrath of old Satan before Jesus comes to take over. Let's have a few verses of 'A Mighty Fortress.' That ought to chase any bad stuff out of here."

It worked. That was one song that we all knew by heart, and it gave us courage.

Let goods and kindred go. This mortal life also;  
The body they may kill; God's truth endureth still,  
His kingdom is forever.  
(Martin Luther's song.)

"Mom, I think I dropped the radio; I was so busy looking at the sky. Do you want me to go back for it?" Scopi asked with a worried frown.

Mom winced, but tried to make him feel better. "You've done your part, son. This is the most important time to lie low."

"Daddy, please let Caspian curl up in here with me. I'm cold," Sol begged. "He'll be good. Maybe he'll help us to be safe."

JohnB cheered us up. "Look here! We've got the perfect place. We're totally shielded, and we've got all our supplies already piled up around us. Who's got the flashlight? Let's have a party!" He knew how to shift the mood of the whole group.

Somebody clicked on the light and Rooster started digging for food. It would have made a picture—all seven of us hunkered back in that cave, munching on peanuts, drinking ginger ale out of the bottle, peering out at the bright yellow sky with the reflection on our faces, and knocking those nasty flying bats out of our hair. Ugh!

We had no idea of what our future would be -- or our nation's, but we began to curl up in our sleeping bags to get off the rocky floor and to find warmth. Dad had a fatherly prayer that made us feel better; it would be all right for us to relax and let God tend to His own business.

On the third day, Mom asked me to hold my breath and sweep the dust away from our doorway. I was glad to have some excuse to stand up straight. There wasn't really any dust. The sky was dark and the sun looked like a big orange light bulb in a smoky room. I made short work of sweeping.

She and Dad were wishing for a hot cup of coffee. We had one mug and only a couple of spoons, but nobody was complaining. What we mostly wanted was news.

"Dad, would somebody want to bomb Capitol City?" asked JohnB. "Would the chemical factories be that much of a threat, or do you think we are looking at an explosion from as far away as Washington? Would that be possible?"

"I wish I knew," Dad sighed.

It would have been such a help to communicate with someone; the hardest part was just being so alone. We tried to trust God and be happy, but it was tough.

Sol rooted around in the mine. He was small enough to explore the farthest parts of the old diggings.

"Hey, Mom, look what I found." He came out slowly, crawling backward into our pool of daylight with something in his hand. "Here are some old jars full of pinto beans and a moldy Bible."

Was someone getting ready for this very time long years ago? Who would it have been and where was he now?

"Would it be all right if I use that Bible?" asked Scopi. "I was wondering if I could memorize Ephesians."

Dad grinned and handed it to him. "Go for it, son. I'll help you if I can." Sometimes I wondered about Scopi.

Since Mom had studied survival, she helped us set up a plastic garbage bag for a toilet. We took turns going out to bury the bag each day, trying not to exert ourselves very much. Yes, it was embarrassing to have no privacy. It was disgusting, actually; but we were past caring about things like that.

By the end of the fourth day we were all bone weary. Also we needed water.

"Rooster," asked Mom, "would you take these two empty juice cans and go down to the creek, please? Get them about half full. If we let the water settle for several hours it will be safe to drink. You are as fast as a squirrel and can get back here before any harm comes to you."

Rooster was happy to get some fresh air. In a few minutes he scrambled up the hill.

"Daddy, somebody is down there. Somebody is coming up the creek, up the path. He's a man, or maybe a boy. I can't tell," he said in a hoarse whisper, pointing below.

We all crawled to the mouth of the mine and stared. The man had on an ancient denim jacket with lambs' wool lining, and he wore a pair of cowboy boots. His dark eyes looked furtively around in all directions, especially behind, as if to be sure that no one had followed. What was he doing up here?

As he drew closer our hearts clutched with recognition and a bit of fear. It was Paul, our old foster brother, an orphan, and a runaway from the law. It had been months before the flood that he had left us, headed for who-knows-where. He was part Cherokee and had silent, private ways. Was he looking for us?

Dad called to him, "Paul, up here, Paul. Come on up. We are mighty glad to see you."

It would have made another good picture. He looked up and saw us poking our heads out of the mine, even the dog. He was more startled than we were. He cautiously turned our way, jumping over the creek and keeping his eyes fixed on us as he scrambled up the bank, hanging onto bushes.

We scooted around, making a place for him to crawl in, and then we bombed him with questions.

"Paul, where have you been? Did you hear that we got flooded out? Were you looking for us? Did anybody tell you that we were safe? Do you know what made the explosion?"

He made his little one-sided grin that gave him a special appeal and asked, "Could I have a drink of water?"

"Oh, sure, honey," said Mom. "But, wait a minute, our water isn't safe yet. Sol, please go digging and see if we don't have another can of juice or soda."

Sure enough, we set him up with a cup of pineapple juice, fairly cool at sixty degrees. We wanted to hear him talk in the worst way.

"I came to the other side of the river a couple of days after the flood, but I saw that everything was gone. I hated it that you were drowned. As I went downstream along the riverbank, I saw your house, what was left of it. Way on down, I found a smashed up trunk. It had stuff hanging out. When I went over to look, I found these metal things. Aren't they some of your Boy Scout badges?"

They were like the voice of a ghost out of our recent past. There was Scopi's Life badge, and my Eagle, still hanging onto its red, white, and blue ribbon. Muddy, of course, but showing the motto, "Be Prepared."

"Paul, those will mean a lot to us. It is kind of you to bring them," Dad said as he held out his hand and smiled.

"How do you live in here?" Paul asked, as he looked around the gloomy interior.

"We're not really here," explained JohnB. We all had to laugh. "I mean, we would be up the mountain at our cabin if it hadn't been for the explosion."

"Do you mean that you live in that cabin?" Paul asked in amazement. "I helped with that. Do you remember how we all worked on it that winter, for Sol's birthday?"

"Well sure, we remember, but you wouldn't recognize the place now. Dad has made it into a real home. We didn't have anywhere else to go," JohnB continued.

"How about you, son. Do you have any place to live now," asked Dad, "or are you still moving around?"

"Well, my sister let me stay with them. When everything blew up, I ran."

"Paul, do you have any idea what caused the blast?" Dad probed.

"Naw. It knocked me off the couch. It looked like everything was on fire, especially down by the chemical tanks."

"What became of your sister?" asked Mom.

"I dunno."

"Did you see anybody on your way here?" asked Dad.

"Just people screamin' and cryin'."

"Paul, our door is always open," said Dad. "We don't know what our future will be, but you are welcome to share with us; that is, if you want to." Dad had learned not to give a Cherokee too many orders.

Paul searched each of our faces, checking to see how we boys felt. Satisfied, he crawled over to Dad, stuck out his hand and they shook. We were actually happy to have his company.

I noticed how JohnB was eager to tell him about Jesus. It was embarrassing to me, but Paul ate it up. In a few days his face began to glow just like Rooster's.

He got so he could smile and think up funny things. He squatted there in the mine with us and gave us all new nicknames which we hated, of course: Egghead, Jughead, Biscuithead, Rughead, Bughead. He loved to see us get mad when he called us those names. It was like an initiation, and it was his way of coming back into our lives.

# CHAPTER 10 GERMS?

It was a very long two weeks, but finally Mom was content that we had followed all the instructions for nuclear attack. We left the mine and made our trip back to the cabin like returning refugees, each carrying some food and bedding. Paul was proud of our new cabin-house, and fit right in with the work and schooling.

Scopi had lots of sore throats, cheerfully going ahead with the work, but one night I heard him there beside me muffling sobs with his blanket. He was trying not to wake up anybody, but I told on him just as soon as Mom stirred.

"Honey," she whispered to him, "please tell me what hurts, or is it something else? Do you have another sore throat? Is it really bad?"

"Mom, my throat hurts a little, as usual, but it's my ankle. I don't know what I've done to it. It's throbbing, and I can't find any comfortable way to put it down so that I can sleep."

"Oh," moaned Mom, "I'm sure that we are out of aspirin. I'll see if I can find something else for you when we get a little more daylight. Would a hot cloth help, or a cold one?"

Scopi dried his tears from the comfort of human sympathy and Mom took her pillow and put it under the swollen ankle, giving some relief.

Soon everyone was up. Dad carried Scopi out into the yard so that he could make a thorough evaluation. It scared me. I had never heard a complaining word or cry out of Scopi before. He was always recognized as the brave one of us boys.

Dad laid him on a quilt in the yard and compared the two legs. He checked them for bruises and lumps, felt his forehead and glands, watched his breathing, and checked his pulse.

"Son, have you fallen off a rock, or jumped from a height?" he asked.

Scopi couldn't remember any sort of injury, but he told Dad that he had been having pains in other joints, only not as bad.

Mom stood there with her hand over her mouth, watching with anguish.

"Are you thinking something that I need to hear, Honey?" Dad asked.

"Rheumatic fever," was all that she said.

I had never heard of it. Was it fatal?

"You just lie here today and supervise the others," said Dad tactfully, helping Scopi to get his mind off his pain. "See if you can invent something fun to do while you are lying down. JG, could you spare a few pieces of your paper and a pencil for today? Mom, could you bring a cold wet towel?"

Sure enough, all those strep throats had finally done their worst. There wasn't any way to get him to a doctor without doing more harm. Dad monitored the bed rest, carrying Scopi into the cabin at night and on rainy days, hoping that total inactivity would do the healing.

Mom just grieved silently, but she said she had found a Bible verse that would carry her through. She's funny like that. To her, the Bible is more real than real life.

I could have predicted it; with those sheets of paper Scopi made the world's smallest Monopoly set. We all had to take turns playing with him. He and Dad had memorized all the prices and rents, so we got a lot of practice in real estate. It was hard on Dad to finally get beat by one of his own children.

When JohnB and Scopi were alone, they prayed together in those funny languages and raised their arms with their faces lit up. Once, I thought Scopi would jump up and start running around the yard, but JohnB held him down.

Sometimes I wished that I had gone with them that night to see the girls. I wanted to be in their club. Scopi kept saying that Jesus was going to heal him, in His time.

He was patient, listening to the radio even though he noticed that all the stations had the same news. He told us about hysterical things in the Middle East. It sounded as if Iraq and all its allies had attacked Israel, but God Himself had intervened. How else could their victory be explained, we wondered.

One day he called us to come and listen, for the newsmen were speechless. An important man was making suggestions for ending all wars. Everyone was talking about him, hoping he would become World President. Dad and Mom traded grim looks, nodding their heads in solemn agreement.

The hardest thing about the germs was that Mom was sick too. She couldn't figure it out, she was so tired. She got a blanket and lay down near Scopi, falling asleep in minutes. She stayed nauseated and bloated day after day.

Although everything she ate came up, she looked bigger. Dad called it "edema," the medical word for "swelling."

"Now, honey," he stated, wanting to put his foot down, "I can't feel right about your being sick like this. I think that I must get you to a doctor. Surely there is something that would help you."

"But those government doctors don't really do much," Mom stalled. "I don't have any confidence in them."

We began to have prayers for her healing, too, just as we did for Scopi.

It was hard for us to keep up a cheerful front and fix meals while she turned green and looked the other way. Was it an ulcer? How did people feel when they got cancer?

"But we did everything that the book said," she told Dad. "I don't see how I could be the only one to get radiation sickness and the rest of you not have any symptoms. What did I do wrong?"

"Honey," I overheard him say gently, "you know that the explosion might not have been nuclear. Caspian did all the wrong things, but he isn't sick. We all did the right things, just as you told us. Maybe our water is polluted and you've got parasites; that could make your stomach swell."

"But when the boys bring water, I always put the sixteen drops of bleach in every gallon, in sterilized bottles. I've been very, very careful," she objected,

"But, Honey, down at the mine -- maybe you got some bugs from that creek water those last few days. I'll wait a little longer, and, if you are not better, we'll get you to a lab and have you checked out."

I'm going to stop here and explain about Scopi. When he nicknamed himself for pi r square, it fit. He had to go to high school when he was twelve because he was so far ahead. He needed thick glasses like Dad. His front tooth got broken and the dentist capped it with silver, not worrying about a young boy's looks. When he wore his black winter jacket it reflected his black mood. He was always looking for something, trying to find satisfaction in food, for computer games, or books. Sometimes he acted up and pretended to jump off the bridge on our way home from the school bus. We didn't tell.

He searched for so long; but has recently become a different person. Was it such a relief for him that we got away from school? Or was it something that happened deep inside?

The next day, we were startled to hear Mom calling from inside the cabin, laughing and crying. "Honey, oh, honey, where are you? Come here a minute!"

There was more laughing. I stuck my head in the door, but she wanted Dad.

"I'll go find him for you," I said, happy to escape from the weirdness of the scene. My mom just didn't usually roll around on the bed, gasping with laughter.

"Dad, run quick and see what's the matter with Mom. She's calling for you, but she sounds happy." I thought I'd better add that part.

He disappeared into the cabin, and we thought our best bet was to stay out of the way. In a minute or two we heard them both laughing. What was the joke? Was it on us?

Dad came out with his cheeks flushed and a shy look. "Fellows, Mother has found out what has caused her sickness. It turns out that she is not sick at all. We both thought that she might have a tumor, but she has discovered that it kicks!"

"What kicks?" asked Rooster, always interested in sports.

"It. The It that is inside of her, a kicker that is growing inside her and getting her digestion all mixed up," smiled Dad.

"An It?" Rooster asked again.

"You know, Rooster . . . a baby," Sol explained soberly. We all went inside to stare at Mom.

"But we can't have a baby. We don't have any baby stuff," argued Rooster.

Mom smiled, "You'll see."

We bolted outside and did a wild Indian war dance around the yard.

"What a cure! What a wonderful cure!" we all shouted.

"Now, I know that I can't go to a doctor," murmured Mom.

We stopped our shouting, stunned by the new world rule; only two children for each couple.

"See?" said JohnB. "I knew it was best for us to live up here. Only God can tell a man and his wife how many children to have."

I look out at an ocean of fog,  
Settled in between us and North Mountain.  
Its wetness leaves beads of moisture  
Tacked along the strands of the garden fence.  
Noises hurry through this sea to my ears  
The hastening of a car out there in the valley,  
The clear song of a sparrow. And if I listen closely,  
The papery rattle of a few leaves left on a branch.  
A blue jay steers through that sea,  
Head casting right and left, wings stroking.  
His tail is a rudder and feathers bend  
As he paddles almost overhead.  
But he remains quiet, for I am unseen.  
What lies across this vaporous bay?  
Not silvery sands or starched palms.  
Just solid, dependable old North Mountain,  
Waiting to reaffirm itself when the sun bums the sea dry.

Outhouse meditation by Dad

# CHAPTER 11 THE ANSWER?

The man on the radio had a deep, compelling voice, "From now on there will be plenty of everything, and you will not give thanks to some invisible 'Santa Claus'? You will give thanks to me, for I am now the provider of all bread."

The announcer was excited, giving lots of evidences that this man really had the ideas and power to ensure peace. The newsman bragged, "Why, he has as much power as Jesus Christ!"

It was convincing to me. No one would have any more problems. All nations would give up their weapons. We would only need to pledge allegiance to this man and follow his orders. After that, we could relax and enjoy ourselves.

"Dad, isn't this what we've been needing? Haven't we all been hoping for a leader who could really figure out how to make us safe? Isn't that why all the nations voted him in?" I asked.

"JG, we've got to ask more questions. Are there some things that this man is not telling? We've got to be very discerning and read between the lines. He sounds like Jack Kennedy, Einstein, Hitler, and Churchill all in one," said Dad. "I believe this is the evil man that we have been expecting, men. He certainly isn't Christ. The fireworks will begin to pop soon."

I wondered what he was taking about; Dad is usually so businesslike. It seemed strange for him to have predictions about the future. Also, I wondered what he meant by "pop." Was that good, or bad? In the last few months he had done a lot of Bible study, and it had turned him into a deep thinker. I was going to have to get used to this new side of Dad.

As far as we could tell, things out there in the world had been getting more and more radical. Since there had been so many mysterious explosions and bank failures, everyone was terrified. One night we heard the usual theme song, a song that we used to sing in church, and then the Man had an announcement:

"The time has come for the ordering of the new world of peace, and plenty. Those who have not received their permanent ID will be expected to participate by next Thursday. Redistribution of the world's wealth will surely be worth one small prick on your hand or forehead. To receive all the benefits of the new world economic plan, everyone will go to their local post office, sign the necessary papers, and get their security chip. This is for the good of all people. After this, no one can take what is rightfully yours or evade the necessary taxes. The Plan provides that what's fair for one will be fair for all."

Dad heard the news with calm resignation. "Yes, this is it," he murmured. "We've got to have a meeting and talk over our options."

We boys didn't think much about his suggestion. We had no idea of any threat to us. Why should anything on the radio bother us?

We finished our supper and washed off our plates and spoons, hanging each set in its own sack on a nail to let them air dry. Paul wasn't grouchy about dishes now that we all did our own. Mom poured some hot chocolate, and then began the most serious meeting of our young lives.

"Family," said Dad ominously, "that man that we've been hearing on the radio has been voted in as the world boss. He has these great ideas for world peace and for straightening out the money mess. Everyone will be doing their business through the scanners at the store. No more money, no more crime."

I couldn't understand why Dad looked so sober. He wasn't one of those stick-in-the-mud old fogies who never wanted to try anything new, was he? Maybe one boss was the perfect way to world peace. How could nations fight with each other, if there was only one nation? We had learned at school to want to be citizens of the world even if it meant giving up our American citizenship. Our teachers had asked us, "Wouldn't you be willing to share?"

"This is the beginning of our last big test, " said Dad. If we go along with this plan, we will lose our souls. But if we don't we will probably lose our lives. I don't know if I will have the faith and courage to stand true to the Lord, now that the time has come. I will be torn by what the cost might be for you all. Maybe we should just turn ourselves in."

Sol got everyone's attention. "Doesn't it seem like a miracle that we are up here in this mountain with nowhere else to go? It looks as if God Himself is trying to hide us. Wouldn't it be like killing ourselves just to give up?"

We all had to agree with him, but would we be like refugees in our own nation, and probably hungry?

Scopi, who was feeling good again, leaned forward into the firelight facing Dad. "You will have me right behind you, Dad, if you decide to stick to God's Word. We all knew that it would come to pass sometime, we just didn't know that it would be in our time."

JohnB agreed, and so did Mom.

"Dad," I asked, "are you sure that this is a danger? Maybe it's just the thing we've needed since the world is in such a mess. Why not give it a try?"

"JG, that's a perfectly reasonable question, except for the Bible. God says that when the conditions are just as they are now, and a world ruler proclaims that we are all to be marked, 'rich and poor, slave and free,' then we can know that it is the time that Satan has been given control for his last big chance to be worshipped. If we willingly go over onto his side and give our allegiance to him, we will be rejecting the Lord Jesus Christ who will come soon after. If we don't go along, we will be enemies of The Plan and we will be beheaded, if they catch us."

"But, Dad, are you sure that this is it? Haven't people been wrong about this back in the past? What about in the nineties? Didn't lots of people predict that the church would be taken up to heaven before the new millennium? It all seemed foolish when nothing happened." I argued. I didn't want to be a fool if I could help it.

"That's why our decision tonight is so serious. It has to be by faith and obedience as best we know," said Dad.

"Well, can't we ask somebody who really knows?" I nagged.

"Who could we trust, JG? Everyone is going to be tempted to provide for his family and to keep food on his table. Jesus told us that this time would be so deceiving that even the elect would be confused. We have to answer to our Creator on judgment day . . . and to no One else."

I guess I had never thought of judgment day as an actual event. At fourteen, I was mostly thinking about other things.

Paul kept quiet, but we had found out that he was as smart as a genius once he got interested in anything. He was listening and listening hard.

Rooster chimed in with a surprise opinion. "Well, what if we do get beheaded. Shucks, it would just take a few seconds and we probably wouldn't even feel it. I'd a whole lot rather face that than to bum in the lake of fire forever. Count me in, Dad."

Then it was Sol's turn again. "Dad, I would rather starve to death on my way to heaven than to eat good on my way to hell, just like the preacher used to say on the radio."

I didn't want to be odd man out. "Sure, me too," I said, hearing the thumping of my heart.

"I'm grateful for your agreement," said Dad. "We'll see things a little better in daylight, and we do have a few days to get ready. I'd like to tell you the ideas I already have. I've been holding off about getting a truck because it seemed as if this news might be coming. We can survive if we can live without buying or selling or having to sign anything. I've got a lot of credit in the system now, and we can stockpile food and supplies to help carry us through.

"To the best of my figuring, we'll have about three or four years before we see Jesus' face. Can we make it, young brothers and mother? Can we be over-comers?

"I think our best bet is to all go to the dentist and the eye doctor. We can get extra glasses, Scopi, in case we break ours. Mom, we'll get whatever the baby will need and medical supplies, if we can. You all help me think of what it will take for us to live.

"We can stuff the cave full of food and clothes. If we run out, we'll just have to be like old Elijah sitting by that little brook, waiting for the Lord to remember us by airmail," he joked.

Oh well, it was better to laugh than to cry.

# CHAPTER 12 BE PREPARED

We spent hours working on the list.

"Could I have a sewing machine?" teased Mom.

"What's so funny?" asked Sol.

"You know," whispered Rooster, "you can't plug it into a tree."

"Oh, yeah. That's right."

"I know something good to get for me," volunteered Rooster. "How about a trot line and another fishing pole?"

"We really could use the fish," agreed Dad.

"What happens if we're the ones that get caught?" Paul asked, getting us off track.

"We'll make a quick trip to Heaven and come back on white horses with Jesus." That was Dad's answer and nobody laughed.

"How about me, Dad? Could I get some real traps and go hunting in the winter?" Sol suggested.

"We'll surely make a try for that, Sol. Good thinking. I could teach all of you how to make rabbit boxes like I used to do when I was a boy."

"Dad, I just can't live much longer without music," JohnB admitted softly. "Could I get a bunch of new guitar strings and a better radio, maybe a short-wave or one of those you crank?"

Dad smiled at him with compassion. It's funny how you can live every day with someone and not even know what makes him hurt.

This went on until the fire was nothing but coals. We picked up Sol and Rooster and laid them, sound asleep, on their sleeping bags. Mom made her last trip to the outhouse, and we all fell asleep in spite of the ominous plans for our large and last shopping trip.

The next morning, we were running in circles, getting ready to go. "Hey, where's Paul?" I asked, looking all around the house and yard. "Has anybody seen Paul? Wasn't he asleep with us on the porch?"

"Oh, Dad," Scopi cried, with real tears running down his face, "do you suppose he made his decision to go along with the . . . oh, you know what I mean."

He ran off toward the spring, grabbing a bucket on the way, sobbing hard.

"God lets us decide, children. He doesn't want us to be His little puppets. Paul is old enough to make up his mind."

We let the goats and Caspian loose. We didn't lock our door; there wasn't anything much to steal, but Scopi did hide his telescope under a quilt.

Down we went. It was Mom's first time across the river since the flood. It might have been dangerous for her in her condition, but she didn't want to miss anything. She thought the boat ride was neat.

We were in a holiday mood by the time we found some rides into town. We met at the doughnut place, our old favorite.

"Do you mean we've lived this long without fresh doughnuts?" we all asked. "How long has it been since we've had a bath?"

The waitress gave us a haughty look.

"Listen, lady," I thought way down in my heart. "Don't look at us like that. If you knew our whole story you would wipe that sneer off your lips." Our homemade haircuts and muddy shoes didn't help any, but still....

Dad made reservations for us at a nice motel. It seemed just like old times when we used to be rich and have special trips or vacations. Actually, what we needed was a place -- a place to bring in our purchases and make piles for each person.

At the courthouse he paid our taxes for several years ahead, hoping not to attract suspicion. Next, he got our medical visits lined up.

We went into a second-hand store with Mom to see if we could make our money stretch. We had to show all our ID cards. Everyone seems to be concerned about kidnapping or something. The lady frowned as she counted us.

"But, Mom, I don't like to sort through other people's old clothes," I complained at the rummage store. "Do we have to?"

"It's like a game, JG. You see if you can outsmart the money business. Sometimes you can find something really nice. Why pay a fortune for something just because it's new? We've got to have lots of clothes to cover your growing legs."

She was right. I wished for photography equipment but, there on a bottom shelf, was an antique typewriter. It didn't need electricity at all. It even had a good ribbon and a cover like a little suitcase. That's when I thought that I really could be a writer.

JohnB strutted around the store in a full-length fur coat. "I'm going to get you," he growled, chasing Sol and Rooster. They raced through the store squealing. Mom had to tame them all down. I guess we had gotten almost wild.

When Dad came, he pointed out to Mom a nice old flat-topped trunk covered in brown leather. "Honey, I'll haul this up the mountain on my own back if you would like to have another place for your treasures."

She stood and admired the looks of it, but politely refused. "'I don't think we'll be needing any sentimental keepsakes where we're heading," she smiled.

It sort of gave me the cold chills. Everything about our future was so real to her.

After a full day of shopping and a wonderful dinner in a big restaurant, we went to a movie. Dad kept his promise to show us a good time. We thought it was a war movie, A Separate Peace, but it was an oldie about boys our age at some sort of boarding school. I was betting that those boys would have been willing to pay their good money to see a movie about our school!

It took us three whole days to finish our work, then the truck came to drive us home. It took two trips to deliver most of our stuff and us boys. The last load was small. Mom and Dad rode with the driver, stopping at a grocery store. They bought up food until the last bit of our account was spent.

Dad said that the check-out ladies seemed irritated. They were looking forward to the big switch-over on Thursday, everything was going to be so much easier.

We were busy taking our stuff across in the boat and storing it back in the mine when we heard them coming. The truck driver was friendly and helped Dad unload. He took his pay and waved good-bye as he drove on shaking his head with a puzzled look. We hadn't told him our story. He was excited about all the new moves toward world peace.

Caspian was waiting for us at the river bank. Good old dog. At least we had one friend, but would we ever see Paul again?

I guess we were spoiled by our trip into the Real World, because the climb up to our home seemed very steep and very bleak. I looked back more than once with longing.

# CHAPTER 13 HOT TIME NOW!

The months passed and we came through our first winter. It was hard. The springtime made up for it all with the beauty of the woods. Birds were everywhere and Dad was delighted. However, in late May we were trying to do our regular chores but could hardly breathe. Were all the woods on fire?

In the old days our needy neighbors used to set fires so that they could get paid to put them out. Was that the problem now, or was it caused by a cigarette spark from a strip mine?

"Let's evacuate, team." called Dad. "JG, you hold onto Mom, and make it your business to get her safely to the mine. JohnB, take all the bedding you can carry. Sol, you help me with the kitchen stuff. Scopi, let the goats loose and get some water. I guess Caspian will follow us. Rooster, bring some of our schoolbooks and the flashlight. Tonight we'll be able to see the fringe of the flame and to find out which way it's traveling. Right now, we'd better scram."

The smoke smelled funny, like tar paper or like smoldering slag from the mines. It was freaky. We didn't see any fires nearby, but what we did see made us tremble. In the distance, it looked as if all of Capitol City was ablaze, just like before. We had heard reports of violence and riots on the radio, but we always thought it would be somewhere else.

Our stockpile of food took up most of the space in the mine, but we had eaten a lot of it, as growing boys will. Mom had been teaching us how to forage wild foods, making our supplies last longer. What would we do if we ran out? Being in the middle of my growing streak, I was hungry all the time.

Dad and Sol had remembered to bring the can opener and some spoons. It was a lot like the explosion except this time we could see our danger -- -- smoke. It was a relief to get back into the coolness of the mine and breathe the damp air.

"Look at the rocks scattered around, Dad. They weren't here when we came down to get food yesterday," said Rooster. "Where did they come from?"

"We might have had an earthquake and didn't feel it," said Dad. "Circle some of the rocks up near the mouth of the mine. We'll be wanting to make a cooking fire, if we can."

"Would an earthquake make smoke?" asked Sol. We all stared at him. Could it?

On the fourth day, we heard rain and everything outside began to sizzle. But then the sun came out, and the sky was bright blue behind the breaks in the haze.

"JohnB, please try to work your way uphill and see if the cabin is standing?" asked Dad. "We need to get back home."

"Boys, why don't you go to the river? It'll be cooler. Aren't your fishing poles there? Keep your ears open and your eyes. Don't let anyone see you.

When we came back at dusk, JohnB had returned too. Yes, the cabin was saved, but the outhouse had a new "window." The fire had licked up one side before the rain put it out. The clearing of the trees that we had cut around the cabin to give us some sunlight had made a safety zone for the house. Boy, was I glad. Building a new house is work!

We opened two cans of peaches and gave thanks. None of us wanted to spend our last days in the old mine.

"Dad, Dad," said JohnB quietly as he pointed down the hill. "Look, Dad. I believe it's Paul and somebody else. Come look!"

All of us wanted to see, even Caspian, and sure enough it was Paul, in the same denim jacket as before. Would he report us to the police?

Dad had gotten some water boiling on our little fireplace, so he called out, "Paul, here we are. We are in the mine again. Come on up and have a cup of coffee."

Paul smiled and beckoned to his buddy who followed him across the creek and up the bank. They crouched beside the coffee table we had made and Paul spoke, "It's not safe for us to be here. Well, it's not safe for you, either. I thought I might find you here since there's so much smoke. I wanted you to know what happened to me."

We scooted closer to our guests.

"Alter we had that talk, I thought that it was only right for me to tell my cousin Eric here and the others. I caught one of those wild ponies and rode on the gas well trails up to their house. They believed what you said, and we are all hiding out too. We don't know exactly where to find everything in the Bible, but we've found enough to know that you were right."

We gasped in astonishment.

"Paul," Dad said warmly, putting an arm around his shoulder, "you have made our day. We did you wrong to think that you wanted out, but everyone has that choice. It was so good of you to come. Is there anything that we have that you need? Where are you living?"

"We know how to survive," Paul grinned. "We Cherokee always have. We're camping out in the mountain, working on a better cabin for next winter. When we find ginseng, we just set down and chew on it. It tastes pretty good, kind of like chocolate. We used to get three hundred dollars a pound for it, but now we can't even sell the stuff -- without the chip."

"Son, it'll probably be about three years, and the worst is still ahead, but then we'll get the big payday. Please pray for us and we will be praying for you"

We all shook hands. Mom gave them each a big jar of peanut butter, then they were gone.

"Dad, we're fugitives in our own country. How did you know whether they were telling the truth, or if they were spying?" I wanted to know.

Dad replied, "It was the fingernails, JG. They are root-diggers, like us."

When Dad began to read to us out of the Bible that night, he knew exactly where it was told that there will be "blood and fire and vapor of smoke" before the end.

"The end of what, Dad?" Sol wanted to know. I was glad he asked.

"Not the end of the world, like turning out the light, but the end of the way things are and have been," said Dad.

"Well, maybe that time is now," mused JohnB. "I've never heard of a time in my history books that's like what's going on these days, have you, Dad?"

"There has always been sin, boys, since Cain killed Abel, but there has been a big turning away from God since those scientists thought up evolution. They said that we were the same as animals, and that's about how we've been acting!"

"But what about us, Daddy? What did we do?" Rooster begged, fidgeting around on his rocky perch.

"Mom and I were about like the others, although we still had the idea that God was real, our relatives laughed at us when we said that God was the Creator. We were old-fashioned even when we weren't very old."

"Dad," said Scopi, "you know that night that we visited those girls? When the Holy Spirit came down on me, I just knew that God was the Creator of the universe, and that no amount of so-called evolution was going to change Him. I'm glad that we got away from my school teachers. I think they were brainwashing me."

"Me too," agreed Sol.

Their words helped me. I had always wanted to believe in God, just as He is in the Bible. Why do people have to make it so complicated?

In the night Mom was very restless. In her awkward shape it must have been more than uncomfortable to sleep on the hard floor.

Oh, come all ye young fellas,  
So young and so fine;  
Seek not your fortune  
In the dark, dreary mine.  
It'll form as a habit,  
And seep in your soul;  
`Till the stream of your blood  
Runs as black as the coal.  
Where it's dark as a dungeon  
And damp as the dew;  
Danger is doubled --  
And the pleasures are few.  
Where the rain never falls,  
And the sun never shines.  
It's dark as a dungeon,  
Way down in the mines.

by Merle Travis

# Chapter 14 WELCOME SPIKE!

Mom and Dad whispered a lot in the night.

"Boys, this morning I want you all to go up the hill and to spend the night at the cabin on your own. Take some food and the dog. Tend to the goats and SEE if you've learned how to take care of your selves."

I could figure out that it was time for the baby to be born, and Mother Bear wanted her cave all to herself I was perfectly happy to oblige. I didn't know if I'd ever be ready to be a husband and father.

If something went wrong, how would Dad ever be able to forgive himself? But what could he do? I tried to think of how many babies in the world never saw a doctor or a hospital. Cats do it. Dogs do it. Dad had said that Mother was good at having babies, so she had her chance to shine. Still, I really felt sorry for them. They had to be so brave, with nobody on their side to send any cards or baby gifts. Would our relatives be happy? How could we ever let them know?

We took up a load of bedding and food, checking our water hole, outhouse, cabin, and plantings. We raked smoking underbrush away from the house, hung up our damp sleeping bags on the clotheslines, and straightened up inside. We dared each other to go to the waterfall and take a Tarzan shower.

It was great to be clean again. We whooped and splashed as much as we wanted. It was a real tonic for our sore bones.

We weren't sure if we wanted to build a cooking fire after all the danger we had been in. We decided to eat our can of pork and beans cold. It was a joke about beans. Yes, they made a lot of methane. With our parents gone, we could really show off

As we went to sleep, we were all wondering how things were going for Mom and Dad. Well, I don't mean that we all went to sleep. Rooster was as excited as if it were Christmas Eve. He just couldn't stand the suspense. He jittered most of the night.

It had been ten years since he had seen a new baby in our family, and then he was too little to realize it. He was just the kind of boy to be a real baby lover.

At daylight Dad appeared at our door, grinning like a 'possum, "This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us be glad and rejoice in it. All hands on deck. You have a new brother. Some babies we have to throw back, but this one is a keeper!"

We came tumbling down into the yard. "Hip, hip, hooray! All boys in our family! Can we call him 'Spike'?" asked Sol. "Me and Rooster have been wanting a baby brother that we could call Spike."

Dad looked doubtful, explaining that he and Mom had decided on a very formal, understandable, regular name. I bet that "Spike" will stick, in spite of Dad. Every kid needs a good nickname.

"Did you bring him up?" asked JohnB. That lazy lout! He should know that you don't take a new baby away from his nice, warm mother just to save a hill climb.

We pulled ourselves together and took the slide down the mountain. Sol was making up a song as we went. "I'm not the baby. I'm not the baby. I'm not the baby anymore." He was thrilled.

It was dark back in the sheltered part of the mine, and Mom looked frazzled. The baby was brought out in a bundle for us to inspect. He looked around like a pup that had just opened its eyes, staring at each one of us with approval. His skin was pinkish tan, and his eyes were the regular murky blue. He had plenty of fingers and toes and a little shock of brown hair. I hoped that he was going to like it here with us.

"Please, can I hold him, Dad?" asked Scopi softly.

I stood amazed, wondering what was going on in that smart brain of his. Did Scopi want to cuddle something soft and little? Did the rest of us feel that way, too, and just didn't want to show it?

He stood there, sort of rocking our baby in his arms, making little singing sounds. This was a whole new side of family life to me.

Dad got the others started on fixing breakfast while he let me, the psychiatrist of the family, talk to Mom.

"Were you scared, Mom? Did you feel really nervous about not being at the hospital?"

"Well, honey, I'll tell you a secret. it's not the doctor who delivers the baby: it's the mother, every time. Doctors are a big help in emergencies and for comfort, but the mother does all the work. I promised myself that I would love this baby even before it was born and accept whatever was involved.

"Did you ever wonder who delivered Jesus in that stable? It was dear little Mary, and she was just a woman like me. Did you know that she had lots of children after that? I can't wait to meet her in heaven."

I was thinking to myself, "And Mary will be glad to meet you, a woman of faith, who also gave birth in a cave in order to obey her God."

# Chapter 15 VISITORS

We were clearing up from our lunch when Caspian began to growl. The hair stood on the ridge of his back and his white teeth were bared, he kept looking up the mountainside, at nothing.

But soon we heard rustlings and low talking. It seemed to be two friendly men smiling as they cautiously approached, backing off from Caspian as they waved. They were in jeans and flannel shirts, without weapons or even walking sticks. They had come from over the top of the mountain, somehow, briars and all.

Dad was cautious and aloof, but trying to be gracious as always.

"Welcome, strangers. What brings you out our way? Would you like to sit and rest? We have some hot tea left from lunch," he said in a friendly tone.

I watched his eyes. I can tell when he's praying at the same time that he's talking. He was taking an awful chance, but what else could he do?

The blond was the talker. He sounded like a grown-up country boy and was easy to like.

"The word is getting around about you people. We like your spunk and wanted to visit you and let you know that you aren't alone. You must have a lot of grit to take a stand even though it involves your family, and some of them quite young."

"Well," said Dad, "we just happened to be here when the dam broke, and now we find that it is best to stay, the way things are."

"That's what we heard,'° said the blond while the darker man agreed by nodding his head often. "We didn't know if we would be able to find you, but we just kept praying and it looks as if God has brought us to you. We thought you might need some encouragement and maybe some sort of help that we could offer. These fine boys seem to be pretty tough and making the best of it with God's help and protection."

Dad's eyes filled with tears. How wonderful it was that these men had come to offer human fellowship. "Well, since you were led here, let's just thank God now."

The visitors looked startled, but they bowed their heads and began talking to God about the times, the nation, and the Future.

Afterwards, Mom passed the warm tea. She apologized for having no sugar and took a seat beside Dad. I could see that she had on her suspicious look; one of her gifts was the ability to smell a "rat." Did their prayers not seem genuine? She was bristled up for protection of her brood.

The blond took up the conversation, "Seems pretty lonely up here. Do you ever see any of the others?"

Dad answered sadly, "Well, I think we've fallen out of favor with the others. They don't agree with our position and have decided not to associate."

The blond thumped the other fellow on the back and crowed, "I knew that we did right to take the trouble to come here. Now don't you people worry about being all alone. We all feel that way in our individual groups, but together we make a powerful force."

Dad nodded his head in agreement but looked puzzled. "Oh, we know that when Christ comes, everything will tum out right. The meek shall inherit the earth, just as He promised."

Now, the other man looked confused. "Well, we don't want to be too meek when we are up against a violent and oppressive government, do we? We wonder if you have a good place for your weapons, and if you need more."

"Do you mean guns?" asked Dad. "We're not into guns."

"You don't have any guns?" the man barked in disbelief.

"No. We don't like guns and we don't need them," Dad said with strength. "Besides, they are illegal, as you know."

"Well, how do you expect to stay safe up here? What's your gimmick?" the men asked.

"To tell the truth," replied Dad, "we're just waiting here until Jesus comes. People have been expecting Him for so long that we believe everything that's taken place lately is just the way it was predicted to be."

"Oh, lunatics are you?" the blond growled.

"Well, maybe so, but maybe not," chuckled Dad. "Time will tell."

"What are you planning to do about these boys and their education and medical care?" the dark one asked in a mean voice.

"We are putting our trust in Jesus, sir. Have you ever heard how Jesus saves human beings out of sin and gives people like us and like you eternal life?"

"No, I've never heard anything like that," he responded irritably.

"Well, that's what church people used to talk about," said Dad, "before all this other stuff came in. We've had a chance to really search the Bible since we've been up here. We may seem weird to you, but we don't know any other answer to the problem of sin and death."

"Do you mean that you don't belong to any organization -- you know -- to protest the government?" asked the man in amazement.

"We think we belong to the real Church and that we are going to be the winners at the right time," said Dad. "God in Heaven knows what He is doing. He'll only let things go so far, and this time He is going to send Jesus to take over the world and make everything right. Come on and join us and see for yourselves -- or are you already marked?"

"Well, of course we are marked. Everybody is marked. We have to eat, don't we?"

Dad said, "You two might be secret agents, sent here to spy on us, but we cannot take the mark and lose our souls. We are up here, waiting for Jesus, and eating anyhow."

The two men slowly rose, shook their heads, refused Dad's hand, and started up over the mountain.

"We know that you have one gun," the dark man yelled back.

"It's lying right where it fell," shouted Dad.

We watched as they disappeared over the ridge of the mountain, never looking back.

Dad slumped heavily on a log, laying his head down on his knees, and sobbing unashamedly. We stood by, nervously wondering what to do.

Mom intervened, "Just let him cry. It's too overwhelming to hear that everyone has been marked -- that they are doomed for eternity."

# Chapter 16 JOHNB'S JOB

"Sol, where's JohnB?" asked Dad.

"I don't know, sir. I've been out checking my traps."

"JG, do you know? Was he here when we got up?"

"I really didn't notice, Dad. I've been out to the spring to get the water, I don't think I've seen him." "Scopi, did he tell you what he had on his mind?" asked Dad. "Was he talking about seeing those girls again?"

"Dad, he hasn't mentioned girls since our last trip. He's not given me any clues about today."

Rooster chimed in, "Maybe he went off to fast and pray by himself like he did those three days up at Buzzard's Rock."

"But, wouldn't he tell us?" Dad asked.

We hardly knew how to have any fun without JohnB. We always depended on him to tell us what we're going to get into next. He is the only blonde in our bunch, and the oldest. Mom and Dad gave him his nickname from a TV boy they watched when they were kids. We had to think up our own projects that day after we had finished with our school work.

It was nearly dark when we heard him coming up the hill, whistling just like Dad always does and carrying two big bags of stuff. After the hugging and questioning, we sat around the fire watching him pour out his loot while he explained himself.

"Dad, I hope you'll understand. I felt that there had to be some way to beat this marking business. This idea came to me in a vivid dream last night. I went to the new store and asked Mr. Thompson if he would let me work for him in exchange for things that they were throwing out. Mom, you were always telling us about that -- how people could live without money just by swapping things.

"He remembered us kindly. You know how his wife always bought our things that we had to sell for the school? He said he didn't really care about politics or religion and was willing to try my offer. He knew what I meant, about not being marked."

After sweeping, stocking shelves, and carrying trash, JohnB was to help himself to anything that was being discarded. That first night, along with the rotten bananas and stale bread, he brought a pair of tennis shoes. They were exactly my size. They were out of style, but had leather sides, and would have been expensive. It made me feel really humble. Was God watching out for me? Just for me?

The boat was a big help in shuttling the bags and boxes of salvage across the Bad OId River. We had to dump out the water sometimes, but the cable was still strong and he could pull himself back and forth without any help. When he got over to our side, he chained her up to the shaggy tree. If the water was high, she had enough slack to let her go up and down.

What we had been craving even more than goods was news. We made JohnB tell us every scrap of information that he could remember.

"There is a lot of talk about the fabulous New World President. It's against the law to say anything negative about him or anything," he reported.

He brought in an old newspaper that explained more about the gigantic earthquake that had hit, throwing everyone into a panic. The radio story had been sketchy. It was probably true; we had seen the black skies. It seemed that fear made people ready to accept anything that would quickly solve their problems.

"But, JohnB, what about the Christians? Did you see anyone that we know from our old church?" asked Mom.

"Mom, the church people go right through the scanner as if nothing had happened. They've all taken the mark. I asked one of the men about it, and he made fun of you, Dad. He said that a computer chip isn't a mark. They didn't bow down to any false Christ to get their chip, all they did was to pledge allegiance to the man. They think we are stupid fanatics. "

"Oh, Dad, we're not, are we?" cried Sol, running to grab Dad around the knees.

"They told me that it couldn't be the mark in the Bible, because we will all be raptured by then. They say God is too good to let anything bad happen to His people."

When we went to bed we were a very sober bunch. Out on the porch we whispered back and forth. Were our parents crazy? Were we the only ones holding out against the chip? Worse yet, should we split from Mom and Dad for our own survival?

JohnB was too tired to talk. He prayed a short prayer, asking God, our heavenly Father, to help us know what to do. He then he rolled over and went to sleep. It took me longer than usual.

The next day was boring. Why couldn't I go out and do something useful for the family? Why did Mom and Dad drill us in math and stuff that we would never need? What was the use of it all?

When JohnB got home that night, we sat around the fire and heard his news and checked out his bags. I could see that he was itching to tell something special, Dad noticed it too.

"What is it, son? Has something happened?" asked Dad.

"Well, while I was out behind the store, flattening and stacking boxes, Mrs. Thompson sort of sauntered by. As she passed, she muttered to me, 'I'm on your side,' and then she went to her car."

"What side did she mean? She's not hiding out, is she?" asked Mom.

"Well, a couple of hours later, she brushed past me while I was stacking cans on the shelves. She bragged on my work and smiled. She made a quick look around and then slipped me this note."

"Let us see it, JohnB. Read it to us," we begged.

I was desperate for some kind of answer that made sense. I'm not always sure about spiritual things like prayer. That's the trouble, they're spiritual. I'm not sure if I can trust my parents. We might have all lost touch with reality.

"Here, JG, you read it -- for all of us," JohnB said with a grin.

I unfolded the piece of delicately flowered note paper, and began, "My dear, brave brother in Christ. Do not be confused. Do not be shaken. You and your family are under the Shadow of the Almighty. I am under the same, only I am protected by my head, my husband, who does not believe and will not have eternal life with God, but he provides for me, as I have not taken the mark. You are not alone. I go to the meetings, but as a spy of sorts. I go to see prophecy being fulfilled. The 'church' services are a mixture of all sorts of religions. They are mostly about love, mindcontrol, and positive thinking. The Bible is all watered down. No one reads it anymore, except for formalities. I will be helping you all I can. Look for white bags in the garbage with green twist-ties. Bless you, young brother. We don't have much longer to endure. Please give my love to your family, and please save my neck by your secrecy. In living hope, your sister."

God had really answered JohnB's simple prayer! That was all I needed to know. Were we kooks and alone? No, we were not.

# Chapter 17 OH, NO!

JohnB came puffing up to the cabin with his daily "pay." I wondered why his pants and shoes were wet.

It had been so much better since he got his job. If we craved fruit, that's what he would have in his bags. OF course, it was half rotten, but we had long since quit caring about little things like that. We just learned to look at the other half and to be thankful. We were always eager to see what he had brought. When we began to look in his bag this time, he held on tight and asked Dad anxiously, "Where are Scopi, and Rooster, and Caspian. Did you send them down to meet me?"

"Yes, Rooster was so restless I told Scopi to take him down the hill to play and wait. Didn't you see them?"

"Oh, Dad, maybe that is what I heard. I was so hoping that I was wrong. While I was at the store, two policemen or soldiers came in -- you know -- with those blue hats. I could hear them talking to Mr. Thompson about looking for 'Dissidents.'"

"What does that mean, JohnB?" Sol wanted to know.

"They were looking for people who don't want to go along with The Plan," he explained.

"Oh."

"I was stocking shelves in the back. I hid behind the canned vegetables and began to pray, and soon the Spirit was praying for me. It was such a relief to see them give Mr. Thompson a salute and leave.

"They stood outside and talked with some of the men standing around. One of them pointed this way. When they drove off, I could see that their truck had a long trailer with a real guillotine laid down in the back. I was scared stiff."

"Did Mr. Thompson lie for you?" I asked.

"I heard him say, real casually, 'Nope, everybody around here is all signed up.'"

"That was brave of him," murmured Mom, "even if he did lie."

"Well, he didn't want to give any hint that would lead them to his wife, either," said Dad, with feeling.

JohnB continued, "I left earlier than usual. I felt all shook up. As I got near our path, I could see cars and that same trailer with the thing on it. It was standing up, about ten feet high. I thought it was Rooster's voice that said, so cheerfully, 'That's OK with me.' Then, I thought it might be Scopi, or you, JG, that said, 'We're ready.'"

"Then a man said, 'You dumb kids. Why do you want to be so stubborn? Come on. Everybody else has."

"But it must have been Scopi. He said, 'No thanks. We've got our hope in another king who is coming soon.'"

"'Where are your parents? Who is feeding you?' the voice demanded. But there wasn't any answer. Never mind. They'll show up eventually, just like you.' Then I heard a slide, a whack, and a thump. It happened again. Men were cheering, and I heard a dog howl in pain. Oh, Dad, I think I'm going to throw up."

"JohnB, here's a wet cloth for the back of your neck. Why are you all wet?" Mom asked, with quiet dignity.

Dad cleared his throat, wiped his eyes and asked, "Honey, will you tend to Spike and the fire? I know that you are not the worrying type, but please stay here and pray for us as we go down to the river to find out."

He nodded for us to come along. We could have used a flashlight, but then other people would have been able to see us. There was no moonlight, yet the sky was shimmery.

"What is the thing -- - the thing on the trailer, JohnB?" Sol wanted to know.

"It's a neck-whacker. Do you remember how Rooster said he wouldn't be scared of getting his head chopped off? We thought it was funny and brave back then. He said it wouldn't even hurt."

I could tell that JohnB was getting Sol ready for the worst.

"But why does anybody want to?" Sol prodded.

I began to whisper since we were getting close to the river. "It's the devil and the ones on his side. The devil loves to kill, steal, and destroy. I read it in the Bible."

We could look down across the valley and see the trailers off to the left where our school used to be. There was the usual noise and banging of doors and children's voices. We could see a few cars passing each other on the highway. We could also see people and cars and lights at the dump. Was it a party? Or a meeting? People didn't usually want to be noticed hanging out around there.

The four of us hunkered down in the bushes, watching the show. We couldn't tell what was going on, but there were people talking and several lights flashing around. Finally, one by one, they drove off and all was dark.

We crept down, trying not to kick up the newly fallen leaves. When we got to the riverbank, I whispered, "Didn't you bring the boat across, JohnB?"

"Somebody has cut it loose," he replied.

"Let's forget about keeping dry," said Dad. We waded into the river quietly -- - pants, shoes and all. Sol is usually the first one anywhere. When he climbed up the riverbank, he headed for the place where we had seen the people.

I'll never forget the sound of his gasp and muffled cry. He came running back and threw his arms around my waist, burying his head into my belt and sobbing. I got him to give me his hand, but he wouldn't lead me. He just sat down and bawled, as quietly as possible. No wonder. As it turned out, he had lost in one night both his wrestling buddy and his dog his two best friends.

Dad, too, turned back with his hands over his eyes. He dropped to the ground, face down. He had stumbled over one small body and could see the other nearby.

The terminator trailer had been pulled in where the cars came to the dump. It had done its dirty work and then gone on down the highway. We had heard all this threatened on the government radio, if people didn't comply with the new order, this is what they would get. This New World President was showing that he had a very dark side. What sort of monster would chop off the heads of two boys?

I wanted to find someone to punch, or to jerk up a tree by the roots, or throw something big in the river. I was sick of all that peace talk. I wanted to fight.

Taking the lead, I crept toward the scene, stepping very carefully. I came to a sudden stop; a shaggy lump was at my feet. We hadn't been strict about haircuts. I didn't want to touch it, but someone would have to do it. When I grasped the hair and turned it over, I was stunned to see the face of our Rooster with an absolute smile and eyes wide open. It scared me out of a year's growth.

Holding tight by reflex, I went back to Dad and fell down on the ground too. We didn't know if we could take it.

"Oh, God our Father, help us, help us," Dad moaned. We joined in with our own words and noises, feeling like we were all alone on an island of misery with no comforters coming.

Finally, Dad rose and said, "Now, we've got to do it. Come on, sons. God will help us." We farmed out, searching the dark ground with trembling knees. It was my luck to be first. I picked up Rooster's shell in my arms and started back toward the river. Dad and JohnB got Scopi by the feet and shoulders. I didn't think Sol could help, but he did, he got both hands full of hair and held on tight, blinded by tears.

"It's good there are four of us," he noted.

At the river, we waded back across. Who cared about wet clothes? Who cared about anything? What was the use?

That trip up the steep hillside was a sad and heroic climb. We could only take a few steps then stop and rest. I guess I just showed my rebellious side when we got about halfway up; I yelled for Mom. Why be quiet? I yelled as loud as I could, over and over.

"Mom! Mom! We're coming, Mom." And then I found that I was sobbing too. What kind of crazy world was this? Would somebody please stop the train and let me get off?

When we got to the top, Mom met us at the path. There were Rooster's threadbare tennis shoes, his patched jeans, his red and blue striped T-shirt and -- nothing. Mom retched, taking a few steps to a nearby bush. In a few moments, she turned back to us, her face chalk-white. I thought she might be having a heart attack.

JohnB broke the silence. "We found them, Mom." She said quietly, "Lay down your burdens, dear ones. Sol, please look in the cabin and bring back two of our good blankets."

In the awesome moments after he returned, Dad got us all around the shoulders, like a football huddle, and either he comforted us or we comforted him. It was wonderful to have each other.

All that Mom really said was, "It won't be long now. I am so proud of being the mother of two believers who have graduated, and so thankful to have some left to squeeze. Let's have a cup of tea." She put on the kettle and gave us each along, hard hug. Spike slept on. Babies have it easy.

She and Dad held hands while we took turns digging the holes, side by side. We were glad that we didn't hit rock. We wrapped our brothers in the blankets, gently laid them in their new beds, and covered them over with black dirt. That part was the hardest thing you could ever imagine.

Dad said some Bible verses and had a real good prayer. He started with Mom and then he hugged each of us. We took his lead and each hugged the other. Slowly, we headed to our own beds. What else was there to do?

As I lay there, staring up at the misty sky, my imagination began to go wild. How would it be to sail around the stars, checking out the angels? Would my brothers know each other? Would they see other people that we knew? Would the streets be gold?

"Have fun, boys. Tell God 'Hi' for me."

# CHAPTER 18 HUNGRY!

"Can we, I mean, may we go fishing, Dad? I promise to listen for cars," I begged. Mom and Dad are still hoping that we will learn grammar, but I don't know why.

"We'll be quiet, and stay in the bushes. Please, can we?"

JohnB seconded. "I'll take good care of the others." He wants to do something helpful since he quit his job at the store.

The fishing poles bought for Rooster have been a good investment. Dad lets us go to the river sometimes, and we feel safe because we can hear anything that comes our way.

"I know you guys are hungry and have been cooped up too long," Dad agreed. "Go give it a try, and while you are down there see if you can spot a turtle or get some cattail roots."

We don't have any food left in the mine. Our oatmeal has gotten bugs in it, so we fed it to the wild chickens. Later, we caught the chickens at night while they were sleeping in the bushes -- and we ate them. Our dried beans have gotten wormy, but we don't mind. It was very hard having to eat the goats. We were hungry enough to be more grateful than sentimental.

The wild berries were shriveled up the same as the apples. Only Mom's little tree, planted near water, gave us a tasty crop. Wild greens are tough and bitter late in the summer, but we have to eat them even if they give us the "runs."

Mom has learned how to save seeds. We've gotten green beans, squash, and tomatoes for two years, but now the ground is too dry. She cuts the "eyes" out of old potatoes, in the spring, planting them and eating the rest. We watered them and got a pretty good crop. That forest fire last year actually gave us a bigger and better garden spot.

When we get up enough energy, we hunt ginger and spicebush for tea. Sometimes we daydream about sugar, not to mention soda pop, ice cream, and hamburgers. But this life has almost tamed our appetites.

Sol keeps hoping to trap a rabbit; he's been so faithful about setting his boxes and checking them. We all crave something solid.

JohnB hooked a biggie. "Help me, JG. Help me bring in this baby. It's going to swallow my line and pole. Oh, boy, look at that! There's our winter meat. Just look at the whiskers on that kitty!" We pulled in a monster of a catfish, with a lot of shouting and fun.

Of course, it wouldn't take a genius to guess that once we got down to the river, us boys, that is we boys, sometimes went from serious fishing to frisking around in the river like otters. The water holds you up even if you are weak. But I had a terrible scare.

I went down under a big root, planning to slide my body under it and come up on the other side; but, as I went under, I got stuck at my hips and couldn't get through. I could look up at the surface of the water only a foot or two above my head. It seemed an eternity. My lungs were screaming before I realized that I could go back out the way I came in. Head pounding, desperate for air, finally bobbing to the surface, I called out in tremendous relief with a huge gasp, "Here I am!"

I wanted someone to understand how terrified I was. I needed someone to care. I had come so close to death! When I crawled up on the bank, still panting, Sol put his hand on my back.

"Why did you stay under so long, JG? Did you get stuck? That was real scary."

I know that boys aren't supposed to be sissy, but I hugged my little brother with tears rolling down my cheeks. He had just the right look on his face to comfort me.

"Sometimes I cry too, JG, when I'm in bed. I want to wrestle with Rooster so much," he murmured. It was getting dark and time to go. We had about a dozen bream and the cat. They would taste good even without cooking oil or hushpuppies.

Then JohnB had the idea that we should check out the garbage pile before we made the climb. "No one will see us. They'll all be at home eating their supper and watching TV."

Those words made us feel even hungrier, and so we gambled our safety on the chance of a find. There were the usual dirty newspapers, old clothes, cereal boxes, and meat wrappers: but not as many as there used to be. It seemed to be a wasted search when JohnB suddenly whispered, "Look, boys!" He was holding a white plastic bag tied with a green tie tag. It was lying to the edge of the crud.

"Look inside. Hurry, JohnB. Is it something real? Is it from you-know-who?" pumped Sol.

"Let's take it home and look at it there." JohnB insisted, even though we tried to make him see how silly it would be. "It's my find and I say let's take it home first, like a surprise."

I growled under my breath "Yeah, surprise." It was a heavy bag, we took tums with it. Sol hopped along in front, carrying a bundle of old newspapers.

We could see the smoke from the chimney as we got up to the level part. It wasn't much of a home, but it looked good to me after my near disaster. Mom was stirring something in her big iron pot -- more greens.

JohnB burst out, "Dad, I found this bag down the hill. Yes, we did go to the dump, but it was nearly dark, and we thought we were safe enough. Look, Dad, it looks like Mrs. Thompson's bags used to look. I was wondering if she had found out a way to help us after all. Do you want to open it? I feel sort of scared of being fooled."

Dad frowned at us. Were we getting careless? He decided it wasn't a time to scold, but to do a better job of warning us next time.

He felt of the bag. "Probably it's not too smart to hope," he agreed. He loosened the tie and poured out the contents on the homemade table so that the firelight would let us all see at the same time.

That whole bag was full of candy bars! Mom could hardly believe the answer to her own prayers. Did God feed His people on candy bars? She had always been so careful to give us only healthy stuff. What a wonderful joke!

"It's a great idea, to pack so many delicious calories into so small a bundle, that dear lady was really thinking right. Look how so many of them have nuts -- - to fill us up. I love nuts," she admitted.

Dad made us clean the fish first and grill them over the coals. He said a special blessing.

When we finished, each one picked out his dessert. Dad warned us to nibble slowly; our stomachs couldn't handle anything very rich. Spike was given tiny bites which soon produced a chocolate grin for us. It was a real party. I had the feeling that we would never worry again about survival.

Mom thumbed through the soggy papers, reading with interest, although she knew that The Plan authorities controlled all the news and told only whatever suited them.

"Listen to this -- - how could this be? Here's the list of the Eliminated Dissidents and Mrs. Don Thompson is the only one. But this paper is old! How did they find out about her? Oh, I hope she didn't suffer. How could the bag be from her?"

"Maybe it was angels," chirped Sol. "That's how God did it for other people."

"Could the bag have been out there all this time? We haven't been looking, but it's so fresh and clean," wondered JohnB aloud. "It's tied just like she used to fix them up."

"Maybe it was Mr. Thompson, in memory of her," I said. "He could get whacked, too, if they catch him. Would he have risked his own neck to help us?"

"I'm sticking to angels," muttered Sol, licking the chocolate off his lingers.

And maybe he is right, because that bag has never been totally empty.

I stand at the edge of night.  
Darkness crawls in from afar.  
"Fear not!" calls the voice of truth.  
"With night comes also the star."

Made up by Sol

# CHAPTER 19 THE END

We're wondering if our time is about up. There's this haze that gets thicker each day. The sun is visible, but there is no sunshine, and the moon is dark red. We haven't seen any stars for a long time, even when we try to use Scopi's telescope. Everything smells smoky and the animals are all mixed up. The birds don't sing.

Dad has always had a special love for the wild things. He says that they will be liberated when we are. Sounds good to me. We all know that the world of nature can't go on like this.

Even Mom is acting strange. She always wants to wear her red bathrobe. Her hair has grown long, it's way down her back. She used to talk and laugh a lot, but now she is real quiet and just smiles. It's spooky.

Dad is extremely interested in the weather. It's beginning to get cool and the leaves are falling. We are all wondering if we can make it through another winter.

Maybe I can't keep up my writing. Each trip to get water is a pain. Our spring and creek are dry, and I have to go halfway down the hill to the well at the old farmhouse site. Each time I let down the bucket, I use more rope. I'm getting weak. I hate to tell it, but it's a big effort to get back up the hill.

When it does rain a little, we are almost scared to use the water because of its bad smell. We hardly have any desire to keep clean. We look like some of those primitive people in the geography book. It is just lucky if we have a pair of pants and a shirt to put on. Brand names and styles don't mean anything now. I guess I've learned my lesson.

Old Johnny Appleseed had the right idea of people's needs; the Bible, human company, and apples. I wish he could stop by. We're really lonely.

I can't believe the change that has come over me; I didn't want to go to hell, of course, but I couldn't see much sense in bowing down to a higher authority, especially from an old moth-eaten book. To tell the truth, I didn't really mean to be much of a Christian, or a saint, and certainly not a martyr; but things look a lot different now. I didn't know that I would have to give up everything for Jesus, but what else matters? This Savior Who used to seem so invisible and so far away is really my only hope and my truest friend. Who else would suffer to save my soul? Still, I have some pangs of self-pity when I think that I will never be a husband or father.

Here I've got all these muscles, but who cares? It was a different world back then when we used to get so worked up over sports. I guess I've become an old man at sixteen, with no car, no license, no chance of a girl, or a movie, or a Coke or -- oh, who cares?

Dad has been doing a lot of study even though his Bible is in shreds. He's pretty sure that everything is falling into place. He says, "Come on, boys, we're just about to the top of the hill. Soon we'll see the view. All we have to do is to endure to the end."

We're still living on our miracle candy and whatever is growing. As long as Mom eats, Spike eats, that's a relief. I found him gnawing on a tulip bulb that had poked out of the ground. He looked up at me with dirt all around his mouth and said distinctly, "I like God." Maybe I was wrong, but he does say lots of words these days. He went right back to gnawing with his sore gums.

The long summer evenings have been good for our schooling, but will we endure to the end?

Dad asked if I would read my "book" to the others tonight, I felt pretty shy about it. It wasn't meant to go public, but, it might give them some entertainment.

Maybe I shouldn't have read this story. Mom has gone off to bed, crying. Was it that bad? Was it good?

Dad stuck his head out the door to call to us on the porch, "Boys! Get up and wash your faces and hands. Comb your hair. Hurry! Get your typewriter going, JG. This is it!"

"Why, Dad? Why? It's the middle of the night?" I whined, rolling over and curling up in a ball.

"We're going to a wedding," he grinned, humming as he brushed his own hair. Honestly, I thought the strain had finally cracked him.

OK, I'm dressed and washed, sitting out here in the yard, trying to wake up.

There's so much noise, but it's different from The Blast. This sounds like the blowing of a huge trumpet with lots of shouting. The whole sky is aglow; I can see to write. The thick cumulus clouds are all shades of pink and rose, light streamers are pouring through the holes. Everything is getting bright -- too bright!

"This is the moment we've been waiting for -- \- for almost two thousand years," announces Dad. He's gone to stand over near the graves. Mom has joined him, in her same old red bathrobe. She's holding Spike who is looking around with his big, wide blue eyes and sucking on his thumb. JohnB and Sol are coming out of the cabin, tugging at their ragged shirts.

There are white flashes like lightning that hurt my eyes and huge swells of music coming from everywhere.

My log is trembling. This old typewriter always was shaky, but now it is jumping. I wish the trees weren't in the way. It looks like maybe millions of angels, but I can't quite tell. There's a whirling mass like a huge crowd of something. Is it people?

Yes, there He is! It really is Jesus! He really is riding on a big white horse! He is shining so bright that I can hardly look at Him. He's way up there where all of our part of the world can see him at once.

Dad has jumped back. The ground has opened up. There they go! It really is Rooster and Scopi! They have just sailed off -- no flapping of arms or wings, no looking back, no words: just pulled up to Jesus as if He were a super magnet.

Dad shouts, "We're next!"

Good-bye readers, if there are any. I'm sticking my whole pile of papers under this log. When we come back, to take over the earth, maybe I'll· be assigned to this area and I . . .

This small story is made up from things prophesied in the Bible. The details may not all be accurate, but the message is true: Jesus IS coming. "And when these things begin to come to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh. " Luke 21:28

About the Author:

Mary Rice Somerville wrote this book for her six sons, to capture some of the memories of their old home place in Boone County West Virginia. Its plot is set in the future, which of course we do not really know, and is written from the viewpoint of son Jim who is an Eagle Scout, with badges in the trunk, each one bearing the motto:

BE PREPARED!

She was born in 1933 in Asheville, North Carolina, and has always been a homemaker.
