The Fox Run Page 8

  “It’s going!” a woman enthused.

  It did. With a resounding thud, the entranceway swung fully open and landed on the rough ground. The men nearest the door had to scramble backwards to get out of the way in time.

  A huge, dark, gaping hole was revealed.

  The Family members broke into spontaneous applause, evincing their appreciation for the effort exerted by the men on the ropes.

  Plato’s hands were shaking from nervous anticipation.

  “What now?” Blade, wearing a faded, patched fatigue shirt, was standing at Plato’s side.

  “We’ll need torches,” Plato directed.

  Blade faced the Family. “Would some of you get some torches?”

  Eight of the Family hastened to comply, entering F Block. Each Block was well supplied with torches constructed by wrapping layers of birchbark around the top, or broader, end of a length of oak or maple. The Family’s supply of candles, sparingly used over the years, was dwindling despite efforts to conserve them. Carpenter had stocked an enormous reserve of candles and matches; the Family still had cases of candles and matches stacked in the underground chambers below the Blocks, secure from the elements and the nullifying effects of moisture. While most of the original supplies were depleted, a few stockpiled items, such as the weapons, candles, and several other items, if stringently preserved, would last for years to come. The Family’s population was not a factor in consumption. Carpenter had started his Family with fifteen couples, and over the decades the population had grown to only seventy-three. The harsh lifestyle, a high mortality rate, and the creeping senility had all combined to limit Family growth and expansion.

  The torches were brought. Plato took one and indicated another should be given to Blade. “You and I will venture down first,” he said as a woman lit his torch. “The rest of you will wait until we come back up.”

  “Need a back-up?” Hickok as at their side.

  “Thank you,” Plato answered. “I don’t believe we’ll encounter any danger your guns could dispatch. Still…” He eyed a pile of coiled rope on the ground near his feet. “We will tie this rope about our waists before we enter the chamber, and several of you will play out the rope as we advance.

  When we stop on our own, we will yank on the rope twice. If the rope should go completely slack, and we haven’t given the signal, haul us up as quickly as you can.”

  “What’s this for?” Blade asked as he tied one end of the rope around his middle.

  “There is the slightest possibility of encountering toxic fumes,” Plato replied. “We must take every precaution.”

  The Family was now crowded around the entranceway.

  Jenny peered into the hole. The waning sunlight illuminated a ramp leading down into whatever lay below. “You be careful,” she said to Blade.

  Blade smiled, then led the way, holding his torch aloft with his right hand.

  Plato paused before entering and looked at the faces surrounding him.

  “If the Spirit is willing,” he announced, “our expedition can proceed as planned tomorrow.”

  Blade and Plato descended the ramp, their flickering torches enabling the Family to follow their progress.

  “There is a musty, dusty scent down here,” Plato remarked. “Not surprising, when you consider the last time this chamber saw the light of day.”

  The ramp angled lower, the torchlight reflecting from polished walls ten feet away on either side, and from the ceiling twelve feet above their heads.

  “This ramp shouldn’t be very long,” Plato commented.

  Blade was peering into the darkness ahead. His feet suddenly touched a flat surface, evidently the floor of the underground chamber.

  “See what I meant?” Plato grinned.

  They stopped, pulled on their ropes twice, and raised the torches as high as they could.

  “Will you look at that!” Blade exclaimed.

  “Absolutely incredible!” Plato agreed.

  The chamber was relatively small, only twenty feet by twenty feet. Along the walls were stacked various containers. Their fascination was prompted by the object resting in the center of the chamber, undisturbed since parked there a century ago.

  “What is it?” Blade asked.

  “Your father told me it’s called a SEAL.”

  “A seal? You mean like that aquatic animal we have pictures of in the library?”

  “Something similar,” Plato smiled. “The word of mouth, passed down from Leader to Leader, was that this transport vehicle was called a General Motors Prototype Solar-Energized Amphibious or Land Recreational Vehicle, otherwise known by the acronym of SEAL.”

  “Did they give all their vehicles such long names before the Big Blast?”

  “Some, apparently. I saw a picture of a large white truck called a Sanitation Retrieval and Disposal Conveyance Unit, a vehicle manifestly disliked by some people.”

  “Why do you say that?” Blade wanted to know.

  “Because someone had scrawled the word ‘garbage’ across the face of this photograph. Quite puzzling.”

  They fell silent, gawking at the SEAL, the first motorized vehicle they had ever seen. Carpenter had provided two trucks and a jeep for the Family, all three vehicles maintained for nearly twenty years after the Third World War. Eventually, parts had worn out that couldn’t be replaced, and the vehicles had been hauled into the woods and abandoned.

  The rusted hulks were only five hundred yards from the Home, and it was a special treat for the small children to be permitted, under guard, to trek to the junkers and stand in the presence of this reminder of prewar industry and mechanization.

  The SEAL had been Carpenter’s pride and joy. He had known his trucks and jeep would last only so long as fuel was obtainable and the parts could be replaced. The beauty of the SEAL was its power source, the very sun.

  The sunlight was collected by two solar panels attached to the roof of the SEAL, the energy converted and stored in a bank of six revolutionary new batteries stored in a lead-lined case under the SEAL. The experts had told him that, if the solar panels were not broken and the battery casings weren’t inadvertently cracked, the SEAL should never want for power, unlike the fossil-fueled cars, wagons, and trucks. Additionally, the solar collectors on the SEAL were prototypes, designed to function at a more efficient rate than any previous collector. Carpenter had personally financed the research for the SEAL. The financially strapped automotive executives had welcomed his support, confidently predicting that they were developing the recreational vehicle “of the future.” Carpenter had never revealed his ulterior motive for insuring the SEAL was constructed according to his specifications, incorporating unique capabilities and unusual functions. The automakers had assumed he was another strange eccentric with enough money to purchase whatever he wanted and indulge in flamboyant toys. Little did they realize the SEAL was not intended to be a plaything, but a salvation.

  Carpenter had projected several assumptions, and derived conclusions from the thorough consideration of all possible and probable contingencies. If the Home was spared from damage or destruction in the world-wide conflagration, and if the Family could survive and persist to subsequent generations, and if it become necessary for it to venture from the Home, a typical conventional vehicle would be out of the question, lacking an adequate fuel source and being hardly rugged enough to endure the structural strain of the undoubtedly altered terrain. The idea of regularly tended asphalt highways being maintained after World War Three was ludicrous.

  The SEAL, Carpenter had hoped, would enable his latter-day followers to overcome such obstacles.

  Carpenter had been aware of the temptation the SEAL would pose. If it were left above ground, with ready access, someone might be enticed to take it for a spin, as it were, and thereby jeopardize the Family’s one shot at a successful extended trip.

  Carpenter had appreciated the risk he took in directing the information concerning the SEAL’s existence to be passed on by word of mou
th from one Leader to the next, but he had believed it was a gamble worth taking.

  He wanted the SEAL intact and fully functional when the Family would need it.

  That time had come.

  Blade was mesmerized by the SEAL. He had seen the junkers, the trashed trucks and the jeep, and had studied photographs of various vehicles in the Family library, but this was the first operational transport anyone had laid eyes on in eighty years. He searched his memory, trying to recall if this SEAL resembled any of the pictures he had seen in the books he’d studied. There was one photo, of a vehicle called a van, the SEAL bore a likeness to, but not in every respect. The general contours were similar, but that van was constructed of metal with windows built into the center of each wall panel. This SEAL appeared to be made entirely from some sort of glass. Blade reached out and touched the front section.

  “Is this glass?” he asked Plato.

  Plato touched the substance. “No, it isn’t,” Plato answered. “This is a special plastic. I was told it is heat-resistant and shatterproof. You could shoot a Magnum at it at point-blank range and the bullet would not penetrate the substance.”

  Blade held his torch closer to the SEAL. “Why can’t I see inside?”

  “The plastic is tinted, enabling those within to see out. Anyone outside, however, can not see in. A sensible security precaution.”

  “Is the whole thing made of this plastic?” Blade inquired.

  “Only the shell.” Plato began circling the SEAL. “The front, sides, back, and roof. The floor is a metallic alloy. The engine is air-cooled and self-lubricating. If everything I was told about the SEAL is true, and I have no reason to doubt it is, then I know you’ll be astonished and delighted by the numerous distinctive features built into it. I envy you.”

  Blade followed Plato. “You envy me?”

  “As Hickok correctly noted,” Plato said, running his left hand along the SEAL, “just think of the adventure! Yes, I envy you a great deal.”

  “I must admit, despite my concern for Jenny, that I’m excited at the thought of what we may find out in the world.”

  They stood at the rear of the SEAL. Rungs of a ladder, imbedded in the plastic, led to the roof of the SEAL.

  “You can climb up to inspect the solar collectors,” Plato commented.

  “Solar collectors?” Blade was puzzled.

  “I can see I have a lot of explaining to do,” Plato said. “Let’s check the interior.”

  They continued their circuit of the SEAL. Plato stopped next to a door on the driver’s side. He slowly reached for the handle, hesitated, then pulled. The door swung quietly open.

  “Wow,” was all Blade could say.

  “Wow indeed.” Plato leaned into the SEAL. “Ahh. What’s this?” There were several items lying on the driver’s seat.

  “What’s what?”

  “These.” Plato removed two folders and a set of keys.

  “What have you got there?”

  Plato studied the folders. “One is labeled ‘Operations manual for the Solar-Energized Amphibious or Land Recreational Vehicle’.”

  “Couldn’t they have just said ‘Instructions’?” Blade asked.

  Plato grinned. “This second folder is from the Founder! I’ll need to read it first.”

  Blade gazed over the outline of the SEAL. “I still can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it.” Plato knelt and scrutinized the undercarriage. “Everything appears to be intact. Now if it’s only functional…”

  “Don’t you think it will work?”

  Plato was examining one of the four huge tires, the one nearest the driver’s door. “If the Spirit smiles on us, it will operate as designed. Hmmm.”

  “What is it?”

  “I wonder what this tire is made of? I had read that rubber was a prime component, but this is not rubber-based.”

  “I bet the others are getting antsy,” Blade announced.

  Plato attempted to rise, but his knees pained him, his right leg lanced with an excruciating spasm. He started to fall.

  Blade silently grabbed Plato by the arm and lifted his mentor to his feet.

  “My gratitude,” Plato thanked him.

  Blade nodded and led the way toward the ramp. “The Family will go crazy when they hear what we’ve uncovered,” he predicted.

  They stopped shy of the hole, removed the ropes, then exited. Plato briefly informed the Family of their find, and pandemonium erupted.

  Everyone began talking at once, asking questions, pressing towards the ramp, wanting to see for themselves. Plato was crowded to the edge of the ramp before Blade intervened, stepping forward and placing himself between Plato and the rest of the Family. He raised his arms over his head, glaring, and they stopped.

  “Calm down!” he ordered. “Calm down! You’ll all see it soon enough.”

  Hickok positioned himself beside Blade, his hands on his Colts. His presence, despite the fact they knew he wouldn’t use his guns on a Family member, promptly sobered them.

  Geronimo joined them.

  “Please, loved ones!” Plato asserted control again. “We have a lot to do before the Alpha Triad can leave tomorrow. We must remove the SEAL

  from the chamber and bring it up here.”

  “What do you want us to do?” a man called Sinatra, the best vocalist in the Family, asked.

  “As many men as possible should go below,” Plato directed. “We will push the SEAL up the ramp.”

  “I’ll pick the men,” Blade offered.

  “Fine. While you’re engaged, I’ll peruse this manual.”

  Blade selected a score of the strongest men. He led them below, half bearing torches.

  Plato walked to a mound of dirt and sat down, resting his sore joints and tired muscles. He opened the Operations Manual and began reading.

  Time passed. The setting sun was touching the western horizon.

  Blade emerged from the passageway, his face a study in consternation.

  Plato looked up from his reading, anticipating what was coming.

  “Problems?”

  Blade sighed. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  “Such as?”

  “Don’t take this too hard.” Blade was frowning. “I know how much you were counting on the SEAL, but it’s broken.”

  “Broken?” Plato suppressed an urge to laugh.

  “I’m sorry. We’ve tried our best. We pushed and pushed and couldn’t budge the thing one inch. The SEAL just won’t work,” he said sadly.

  Plato laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Blade was confused.

  “I just read a portion of the instructions pertaining to your difficulty.”

  Plato handed Blade the keys. “Before the SEAL can be moved, you must insert one of the keys into something called an ignition, located on something else called a steering column attached to the steering wheel.

  Turn the key towards you until it clicks. This won’t turn the engine over, but it will permit you to engage the transmission by slipping a lever into a position marked with a large N for neutral. Once accomplished, you should be able to push the SEAL to the surface.”

  Blade held the keys up. “These things certainly were complicated.”

  “It’s my understanding that every aspect of prewar society was vastly more complicated and nerve-racking than any reasonable person would have a right to expect,” Plato commented. “I thank the Spirit daily I was not born in those times.”

  “You’re happy where you’re at?” Blade had never broached this subject with Plato, and he was surprised Plato would make such a statement.

  “Quite content actually,” Plato said.

  “With all the hardships? The clouds? The mutates? Wouldn’t life have been easier before the Big Blast?”

  “Easier?” Plato mused a minute. “Who ever said life should be easy?

  Hardships might intimidate the average and cower the fearful, but they rightfully should inspire you to greater heights of spiritual
awareness. Ever remember, Blade, life is a study in contrasts. How can any person claim to aspire to unselfishness if he or she isn’t constantly engaged in conflict with an ego clamoring for attention? How can anyone develop loyalty if he or she never faces temptation? How could we develop a love for truth if, by contrast, error and evil weren’t waiting to ensnare us? How could you appreciate the exquisite bliss of love if you hadn’t known the tormenting pain of loneliness?” Plato stared off at the sun, half hidden from view.

  “Yes, life was easier before the Third World War. I could argue that this very ease was responsible for an atrophy of the human potential for growth. Ease promotes complacency, and complacency is deadly for society and the individual. I readily admit our lifestyle leaves something to be desired, but I prefer living in the here and now.”

  “Never thought of it that way,” Blade said.

  “You’d better hasten below,” Plato advised. “We want the SEAL up here before nightfall.”

  “Right.” Plato watched Blade descend the ramp. The poor youth had so much to learn before he could assume the mantle of leadership.

  Experience was the best teacher. If the Alpha Triad and Joshua survived the trip to the Twin Cities, they would return wiser and no worse off for the wear and tear.

  The tip of the sun protruded above the horizon.

  Not much light left. Plato resumed his reading of the manual.

  The Family was still posted around the pit, waiting for the SEAL to emerge. Meals had been prepared and distributed among those waiting.

  No one wanted to miss the greatest event in recent Family history. The entire Family was on hand, except for the Warriors guarding the perimeter of the Home.

  Plato suddenly remembered the folder from the Founder. He had completely forgotten it in his haste to understand the functional operation of the SEAL. He placed the Operations Manual on the ground and picked up the other folder. On the cover, written in Carpenter’s own hand, were the words “To The Leader.”

  Plato opened the manila folder and began reading:

  “I feel peculiar writing a message to someone who will live decades after I am gone. To you, and to the rest of those left, I extend my love and my prayer for your continued safety and survival. This letter will be buried with the SEAL. I’ve hired a construction crew to bury the SEAL before any of those I’ve selected will arrive at the Home. I don’t want anyone to know about the SEAL. They might want to see if loved ones in New York or California survived, and I can’t allow that to happen. We must stay isolated if we’re to have any chance at all. It’s coming, and coming soon.