Chapter 11 - The Refugees

It's a good thing we get along! - The Swiss Family Robinson

In moments we had reached the other side of the government building, dropped Thad like a load of bricks, and waited, hands on our knees, for the train to pass. Jonathan kept his face peeked around the edge of the building, waiting to sight the locomotive.

“Good times, Dewey,” he called back at me, as he leaned against the corner of the building. “I'm so glad you've invited us to join you in this grand adventure.”

I ignored Jonathan and looked to Kenzie. “What do we do now?” I asked.

Kenzie thought about it for a moment, then said, “Well, we get back to the cart, and then we start heading north again, once that train is out of sight.”

“Sounds good,” I replied.

Aly had been sitting in the grass, leaning against the government building. She spoke now, “Do you think they are all gone?”

“Who?” asked Kenzie.

“All of the people in this town. Do think the train just gobbled them up?”

Kenzie bit her lip and glanced nervously at me. “I don't know,” she said. “I don't know what else might have happened to them.”

Aly frowned. “Did you see when the next train was supposed to arrive?” she asked Kenzie.

“Not until tomorrow morning,” Kenzie replied, “but I don't think that means we need to stay around and look for people. By tomorrow morning I want to be as far away from those tracks as possible.”

“Ditto,” said Jonathan, not turning his head from the corner. Aly chose not to reply.

“Do you see it?” I asked him.

“Yup,” he said. “You know, just looking at it still gives me the willies, but at the same time I can't help thinking, 'Hey, it's just a train. What's the big deal?'”

I did not reply. His point was a good one. Had I really just been acting childish earlier, when we ran across that main street? The voices, the signs, the empty buildings all suggested one very sinister thing, but there was no reason to think that the train would just jump its tracks and try to eat people.

A few minutes later, Jonathan turned away from the corner and indicated that the coast was clear. Breathing a sigh of relief, I grabbed my piece of Thad, and my cousins did the same. Now that the threat had vanished in the distance, we felt much safer and proceeded slowly to our cart, taking breaks as necessary to relieve the strain of the surprisingly heavy Thad.

When we reached the cart, Heppy flew up into the air with joy and, I suppose, relief, then settled himself on Thad's chest and would not move. We heaved the man into the back of the cart. Jonathan, Aly, and I lumbered up onto the seat, and Kenzie took the fore, pulling at Nestor the mule's bit.

As the wheels began to move, Aly spoke up. “Guys,” she began, “I just don't feel right, leaving this place. Can't we at least take one quick look around?”

Kenzie and Jonathan said nothing. I sighed and thought of Madison. She would agree with Aly. To leave this town without making sure there were no people we could help would be wrong. I imagined the face of Maddy contorted into stern disapproval. I wanted to leave this place with all of my soul, but to do so would have been wrong. I spoke up. “She's right, guys. To just leave now without at least taking a few seconds to look around would be exactly the opposite of what Abraham wants us to do. We are out to save lives. Leaving now might do exactly the opposite.”

Kenzie groaned. “The key word there, Dewey, is 'might.'” She kept walking for a few moments, but I already knew I had her. If she disagreed, she would not have said anything at all. Finally, she stopped. “OK. If this is what we have to do, we'll do it. You've got one hour, Dewey. I may be stupid, but I'm not suicidal.”

Somehow, I knew an hour would be more than enough. Aly and I climbed down from the cart. Grumbling, Jonathan followed. The four of us walked through another alley between houses, and this time found ourselves in a town that was empty, but no longer evil and terrifying. It simply seemed like a place where everyone had decided to pack up and leave one day.

“So what do you suggest we do?” Kenzie asked me.

I thought about it for a second, then said, “Where is the one building in this town that is guaranteed to have bars, heavy doors, locks, and possibly a few weapons?” Kenzie and Jonathan looked at one another, then looked north. Aly and I followed their gazes. “The government building,” I said.

Jonathan replied, “If you had said the train station, I would have punched you.” He did not sound like he was joking.

As we walked up the dusty street, I got my first good look at the government building. Like the bar Thad had been staying at, it was two stories. The similarities ended there. Where the bar had been open and inviting, this building looked stern, businesslike, and dark. Every window had thick, wrought iron bars. The front doors were a dark, solid oak that must have been imported. The rest of the buildings in town were made of cracked lumber. This one was stone. In other times it might have been an high security prison, guaranteed to keep the inmates in. Now it looked like an imposing fortress or castle, buttressed against the evil onslaught of Dekancy Cagree.

When we neared the mighty oak doors, I was reminded of The Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy Gail and her companions arrived at the great gate of the Emerald City. Except the Emerald City was made of stone and wrought iron; we were still in Kansas; and Kansas had creatures that could bite far more viciously than any bunch of flying monkeys could ever hope to. I thought of the train again and shuddered.

“How do we get in?” Jonathan asked, after a few moments of fruitless pushing on the oak door.

I blinked. “I have no idea,” I said, feeling my cheeks grow warm with embarrassment.

Aly spoke up. “Why don't we just knock?” she suggested. She climbed the two steps that led to the door and rapped her tiny fist three times against the massive doors. They made a small, muffled sound.

The doors did not open. Jonathan started to scoff. Then, from the other side of the door came three massive booms. Jonathan jumped back. Aly stared calmly at the door in front of her.

After a moment, we heard a voice. “Who's there?” The words were short and deep.

“My name is Aly. What's yours?”

A beat and then, “Henry?” The voice seemed nervous and surprised.

“Well, Henry, we are here to save you,” Aly said. “We're headed north. We have a cart of supplies. You and whoever you might have with your are welcome to come along.”

Jonathan started making strangling sounds during this speech. I could not blame him. Henry did not sound like Dekancy Cagree or the old man, but that did not necessarily mean he was a great guy.

The pause this time from behind the door was lengthy. Perhaps he was as startled as we were by Aly's announcement. It suddenly dawned on me exactly how Aly's world worked. I had known for quite some time that everyone loved her, but I never knew why. The simple answer was everyone loved her, because she expected them to love her. They had no other choice. To harm her after she shoved her trust and her life into your hands would be almost worse than harming yourself. I wondered if she had any idea how special she was.

When Henry spoke again, he sounded hesitant, but no longer fearful. “So... so you are the... you aren't with the... the train?” The word “train” sounded harsh and strained, like a forbidden word uttered in a church.

“What? You mean Dekancy Cagree?” Aly said innocently.

“SHHHH! You can't say that name! You've gotta keep quiet! It... he could hear you at any moment!” As the man frantically whispered these words, he threw open the thick, oak door, almost as if he had forgotten that he was guarding them.

Aly had a knack with people.

Henry realized his mistake the moment he saw the four of us, but Jonathan had propped the door open with his foot, barring the man from closing the doors again. Knowing that he was caught, the man put up a brave front and called, “If you folks are with that blasted locomotive, you may as well try and kill me. That's the only way you're getting through these doors.”

Kenzie rolled her eyes. She was good at this and had been perfecting it since she was five. “Look, buddy, we were telling the truth. The train is gone for the day. We're heading north. We decided to take a look around town, just to see if anyone else wanted to come along.”

Henry furrowed his brow for a moment, thinking about this and staring suspiciously at Kenzie and the rest of us. After a few moments he said, “OK. I guess there's no point in arguing any more. If you really were with the train, you'd have taken me and probably everyone else in this building. Follow me, and close the door when you are through.” His voice strained as he said this last part, and I felt the hairs on my back jump up. Henry did not sound relieved that the train had left for the day. There was something the four of us did not know.

After locking and barring the door from the inside, we followed Henry into the foyer. We introduced ourselves and briefly explained everything that had happened to us today, while I looked around. The room opened into one hallway on the left side of the room and one hallway on the right. Also on the right side of the room was a stairway leading to a second floor balcony with four doors, two on the north wall and one each on the east and west walls. The room itself seemed as dry and windswept as the rest of the town. As I looked at the wooden walls that were suffering from dry rot, I realized that I had had nothing to drink that day since breakfast. My mouth felt leathery and parched.

Henry led us into the left hallway, which had three doors on the right side and a blank wall on the left. We stopped at the first door.

Kenzie whispered, “How many are there of you here?”

“One family left,” Henry replied.

“What happened?” she asked.

“The Denver-Kansas City,” he said simply and opened the door. The room was small and reminded me of the turf home shared by Jim and Madison. Two beds lay in the rear left corner of the room. Two children sat upon one of the beds and played quietly together. On a dresser beside them rested a pocket watch. Along the right wall stood an open chimney. A woman with tired brown hair stood in front of a pot that hung in the chimney. As I had not seen smoke rising from the building as we approached it from the outside, I assumed a fresh fire had just been lit. Perhaps these people knew the train schedule as well as we did. Near the top of the back wall, well above anything we could reach, stood a single window.

When she saw us, the woman started and backed into the corner, her eyes wide like a deer, frantically passing from us to her children. Henry rushed to calm her. “It's fine, dear. They're just children. They aren't with the train. We're not in any trouble.” After a few moments soothing her, Henry pulled away. The woman seemed more relaxed, but still tense.

“Honey,” Henry began, “These children claim to be heading north. They offered to give us a ride, if we liked.” He introduced us. The woman was his wife Ruth. His children were named Isaac and Jacob. They were six and seven. It was at that time that I realized something had happened to me. These children were the same age as me, and yet they looked so much younger. Though my body was still that of a child, I felt aged inside. In another world the game of patty cake they were playing might have seemed fun. Now I felt pity and sadness well up within me. These children had lost and seen so much. Yet that pity did not extend to me. I too was a child, but I did not feel the need to return to the little games of patty cake and hide and seek. The world had changed. I had changed.

I looked at Ruth and began to explain our plan, but she cut me off. “You four must be thirsty and famished,” she said. “Would you like a bit of lunch before we move on to more serious business?”

Much as I felt the pressing need for swiftness, I found that I could not say no to the woman. She reminded me too much of my own mother. My cousins had already rushed over to her pot, which was now wafting the strong scent of beef stew. I eagerly followed. As Ruth handed me a bowl and ladled in some of the stew, an uneasy stirring of recognition struck me.

While Henry and Ruth displayed only a passing physical resemblance to my parents, their mannerisms and words matched almost frighteningly. As I sat, leaning against a wall and staring at the two sharing their bowls, I could not help imagine my own parents in their place. My eyes began to well up, and then the tears started to roll down my cheeks. I hid my pain by looking down into my stew.

Only now did I realize how much I missed my parents. I missed the comfort and solace that my mother could give with a simple smile and hug. I missed the silly confidence of my father's grin. The time passed quickly out in these open plains. I could not remember now how long it had been since we walked through that door at three A.M. The amount of time did not matter. My parents and I were separated by something far more terrible than time. A universe stood in the way. A galaxy, a door way, a swarm of grasshoppers, and a train barred my passage home. Until my time in this place was done, I could not go home.

When I had gotten control of myself, I looked up again. No one noticed my momentary weakness. I looked at Henry and Ruth again and was struck again by a wave of sadness, but this was a different kind. It must be truly terrible to hid within these stout walls, knowing that your children could be snatched away at any moment. Once again I saw my parents sitting there, sharing their soup, occasionally glancing with love and sadness at their own children: Isaac, Jacob, myself.

What kind of world was this? Why had nothing been done to help these people? How could that evil old man overcome the good will of Abraham so terribly? As I watched Henry and Ruth at their meager meals, a new resolve filled me. This journey was about more than saving Matty. I wold make this journey now to save the people of this beautiful, windswept prairie. I would make this journey for Maddy and Jim, for the Prairiea, and for Henry, Ruth, Isaac, and Jacob. And I would make this journey for myself.

When we finished eating and Ruth cleared our bowls, Henry signaled for everyone's attention. “Kids, Hon,” he said, “I think it's time to leave this place.”

Ruth interrupted, “Leave!” Her eyes grew wide. “Henry, it's out there still. It ain't left. You know it ain't left. It got the Badens. It got the Carswells. They thought they were safe too. They thought it would be fine this time. They were wrong, Henry!”

Henry struggled to respond to this. I opened my mouth to help him, but he signaled me to stay quiet. “I know, Ruthy. I know 'bout them. We all know 'bout them. They was wrong. But this time I ain't. This time we got something they ain't got. This time we got them.”

Henry waved at the four of us. I was startled. What was special about us? “Hon, do you know what they did? They saw the train! They saw it, Ruthy. They saw it, and they ran! And they lived!” At these words I glanced sharply at Henry. What did he mean by, “They lived.”

Jonathan asked this question. “What? What are you talking about?” he said.

Henry looked at us. “This is Newton,” he said. “This used to be the Port of Kansas. There was a time when this town thrived, when people came from all around to trade, to sight see, to get a new start. Newton was rich with the mining and cattle trade. Then something happened. Something bad. The train changed. I don't know how long ago this was. Some days it seems like forever. Some times, like it was only yesterday.”

For a time no one spoke. My cousins and I watched Henry, waiting for a story with what we knew would be an unhappy ending. Henry in turn watched us, his mind hidden somewhere within his own thoughts. After a while he seemed to come to a decision. He began.