Everything Under The Sun

It was an impressive sight, made of perfectly-cut logs and a set of skilled hands; a giant porch wrapped around the structure. Like the supply cabin, a portion of the treehouse was blanketed by vines, the summer months helping camouflage it with fully-matured branches with dense, green leaves. The treehouse must have been built before The Fall; it was far too detailed and professional, made with the best materials that could never have been found after The Fall.

There was movement on the porch; a shadow slipped over the cracks in the surface of the porch’s underside, and I heard the padding of shoes going over the planks, and then shortly thereafter what sounded like the cranking and screeching of something that needed to be oiled; the buckling and cracking of wood being separated from an enclosure. A portion of the porch floor opened up a square, breaking apart from the rest of it as an elevator slowly lowered by a thick, strong cable wire.

“Wow,” I said, nearly breaking my craning neck as I looked up, bumping into Atticus behind me. “Did you build this?”

“Years ago,” Esra answered, “before Jeffrey’s daddy died—he was our oldest son.”

“Samuel was just like my Esra,” June said. “Always preparin’ for the end of the world. Was a good carpenter and architect, my Samuel. Died o’prostate cancer couple years before The Sickness.” She shook her head. “I sure do miss ‘im.”

“He also helped build the house we lived in just over the way”—Esra pointed to his left; the roof of a burnt-out structure peeked through the trees—“but them wicked people came through here and burnt it down ‘bout five years ago. Told us we better come down from the treehouse or else they was gonna destroy our house.”

“They was threatenin’ to burn us out o’the treehouse,” June added, “but really they wanted the treehouse for themselves. Was goin’ to move right on in and send us over the bluffs.”

“I was down to two shotgun shells by that time,” Esra said. “There was four of ‘em down there, and they was keepin’ to the trees—I had already shot one of ‘em dead. My last two bullets had to count, and even if they both did, there’d still be two more to deal with. Didn’t know how I was gonna pull that off.”

“We thought for sure we was gonna die that day,” June put in. “Even if they didn’t kill us, we was worried they’d go runnin’ and tellin’ their friends about our place here.” June looked back at us. “We cain’t never let any of ‘em live for that reason. It’s just us three livin’ here, and we can only take on so many from the treehouse.”

“So, what happened to the four people?” I asked.

The elevator made a snapping noise as it continued to descend, but only Atticus and I looked up in startled surprise; judging Esra’s and June’s disinterest, the noise was a common occurrence.

“I took the shots when I could,” Esra answered. “Jeffrey took care of the other two. He had climbed down the tree from ‘round the back where they couldn’t see ’im. Beat ‘em over they heads with his shovel.”

The elevator stopped, barely touching the ground. A door had been attached to the front, the frame made of wood, and the cover made of chain-link fence with two wooden slats across the center.




ATTICUS




My thoughts were stuck on the ammunition count. If they had only two shotgun shells left, did that mean Miss Mary was empty? And if so, if that happened five years ago, how in the hell were they still alive now?

“Tell me again,” I spoke up with suspicion, “how you’ve survived this long out here. No one can live long without some kind of weapon. And seeing as how I don’t take you for the hand-to-hand-combat-type, guns must be your only means of survival.”

Thais elbowed me lightly in the ribs, her way of telling me not to be rude.

“Guns is our means o’survival,” Esra said in his old whiskey voice. “And I got enough ammunition to last me ‘nother year or so.”

“I thought you said you were down to two bullets?” I pointed out. “Even if you took the guns and ammo off the people you buried at the base of the bluffs, there weren’t enough of them from what I saw to have been carrying much. Ten, fifteen bodies—I doubt each of them were carrying an arsenal. No one has an arsenal anymore.”

Unless you’re in Lexington City.

June flipped the lock on the elevator door and pulled it open. She braced her hand to steady her awkward balance and then stepped inside; the elevator swayed with her movement.

“You’s a sharp one,” Esra said, and stepped into the elevator with June. “Well, we did take a lot of stuff off the dead ones,” he admitted. “As for the rest of my stockpile, that was also Jeffrey’s doin’.”

He closed the elevator door and locked it; the chain links rattled in the frame.

“It ain’t strong ‘nough to carry up more than two at a time. Wait there and we’ll send it back down for yens.”

“I don’t like this,” I whispered as June and Esra were lifted into the air. “I say we leave now.”

“No, Atticus”—Thais’ hand touched my hand eagerly—“they’re good people; I just know it.”

“Like you knew with the farm family?” I didn’t mean to sound so accusing…then again, maybe it was what Thais needed.

She made a face, and sighed.

“Look, I know I tend to have higher hopes than I should about things sometimes, and I know I was wrong about them, and Mark Porter, but I’m not wrong this time. The truth is, I didn’t exactly feel safe with David and Emily—I was just letting hope dictate my instincts. The same with Mark Porter—I didn’t trust him for a second; I was scared to death of him, Atticus.” She lowered her eyes momentarily. “I was…well I was just afraid you were going to kill him. So, I let my hope dictate my instincts again.”

Her words stung me—if she knew in her heart that Mark Porter was bad, why was she still afraid I would kill him?

“I thought you”—I stopped, gathered my composure—“Thais, you told me I did the right thing.” I knew it had to be done—killing Mark Porter—but it still turned my chest to ice to hear her admit mercy for a man like that.

Thais cupped my cheeks in her hands; her eyes softened. “And you did,” she said with a smile. “You did. Atticus…I just haven’t gotten used to killing people—I don’t think I ever will.”

I shook my head.

“I fear that the day I get used to the killing…well, it’ll be the day I lose myself. The day I become like Mark Porter and the people in Lexington City.”

I felt a stabbing in my heart, but I somehow kept a straight face. For a moment, as the elevator creaked its way up the tree above us, I just looked at Thais. Did she have any idea what she just admitted? Did she realize on any level how much her words hurt? I didn’t think so—if she had, I knew she never would’ve said it. I was used to death and killing. Did that make me like the people she’d described? Maybe it did, I thought, and I couldn’t blame her. Maybe it did…

“My instincts are fully in control this time.” Thais pushed up on her toes and kissed the side of my neck because she couldn’t exactly reach my mouth. “They’re not going to hurt us. This time I know it in my heart. Can you trust me? If you never trust me again, trust me now—they are good people.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

“Okay…we’ll go up and talk with them some more. Maybe they’ll barter with us for some things. Besides, I’m curious about this Jeffrey.”

Thais lit up.

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