THE CAR SETTLED momentarily on the tracks before it tilted to the right and slammed the boys against the heavy door.
"Quick, get over to the other side!" Sammy yelled. They wobbled across the car, and fell against the wall as the car see-sawed under their weight. "We need to stay low in the middle of the car."
Walt shook his head. "We gotta get that door open!"
"But not all of us at once. We'll have to try the door between the wind gusts," Sammy said.
"Is it wind or water that's moving us?" John asked.
"Both! But we're surrounded by the river!" Sammy yelled above another blast of wind.
"It can't be the river; it hasn't rained that much!" John yelled.
"Snowmelt. The rain in the mountains has been melting all the snow," Sammy said.
"How do you know that?" John asked.
"I don't know, I just do." How many times had Sammy said that? It was his line, day after day.
When the car stilled, John signaled Sammy to help him force the door open. While one of them pulled, the other leaned his shoulder against the door and pushed. It budged about four inches on its rusty track. They tried again, but it remained frozen. Again and again they threw themselves against it. Still, it refused to budge. A gray sky unleashed another blast of heavy rain into the dark car.
Their situation had worsened. The partially opened door exposed them to the cold and wet. Their shelter was now their prison. It threatened them with its rocking motion as the water continued to rise against the huge wheels. Soon they would no longer be held fast to the track. If the river continued to rise, the boxcar would float downstream.
It was growing dark, from both the storm and failing daylight. Fear stabbed through Sammy's belly. "Is this what my end is supposed to be like?"
"Listen!" Walt threw his hands outward as if that movement could calm the whole situation. "Do you hear that?"
"What is it?" Sammy asked.
"It's distant. I can't tell which direction it's coming from." Walt was now standing in the center of the car, legs spread far apart, absorbing the rolling motion of the water against the large wheels. "I can't tell if it's the river or something else."
John flattened his face against the small opening in the door. "Look, just beyond the bend!"
Sammy came up and took his place. With one eye turned toward the opening, he could see the tracks that allowed cars to be moved in and out of storage. A rotating light appeared in the distance and illuminated the fence's wire web, flashing against the bluff, and then returned to light the yard.
"What's there?" All three of them were now trying to look out the partially opened door. The car rebelled, listing under their weight.
"It's a train. No, it's two engines, one behind another." Walt maneuvered his head to see oncoming locomotives. "They're bearing down on the outside track together."
A switch on the main track guided the powerful steel beasts onto the side track leading to the yard. The screech of metal on metal competed with the moaning wind and lashing rain. They could hear the train headed in their direction.
The set of powerful engines stopped. Two men jumped to the ground. The bright engine lights silhouetted the men; water circled them knee-high. They waded in halting movements against the river's current. When the moving spotlight caught the men, Sammy could see their faces contort, yelling directions, none of which could be heard inside the boxcar. They reached a large metal security box on the gate. Working together, they freed the lock and, pushing with the current, forced the gate open. Then they returned to the lead locomotive.
"Are they coming into the yard?" John asked.
"We're the first car. Geez, if that engine hits us!" Sammy yelled, trying to be heard above the noise.
"Get down, flat!" Walt said as he forced his body to the floor. "We're going to . . . "
Thud, screech, clang, clang! The impact of the engine's nose against the boxcar sent Sammy and John slamming down. Cards, pretzels, and the two forgotten candle stubs rolled around with them. The boxcar lurched backward, then remained still, anchored in a strong hold.
"We're hooked onto the engine," Walt said.
"Do they know we're here?" asked John.
"Of course not, but I'm dang glad they are. Quick, let's tell them." Sammy fumbled around in the dark, trying to find the flashlight.
They were all on their hands and knees, patting the floor, bumping into one another. Again the car moved as the engines pushed it further down the track.
"What are they doing?" John yelled. As if in answer to his question, they felt a heavy impact on the other side of the car that dropped them off their knees, flat to the floor.
Sammy said, "They're picking up the next car behind us. Did you hear the coupling connect?"
"How did they do that?" John asked.
"The impact forced the connection." Sammy had a strange feeling, déjà vu. He kept explaining. "They'll only take the two cars before they make another switch to get the ones on those parallel tracks."
Another jolting movement told them that the engines had reversed and were backing up, pulling the two boxcars with them. Light from the engine filtered through a freshly cracked board on the back wall of the car. Sammy dug at the splinters, opening a peek hole to the stormy outside scene.
"I found the bag!" Walt cried. "Darn, the flashlight isn't in it. I must have set it on the cloth."
Sammy groped in the darkness for the cool feel of plastic, fingers and arms spread wide. "Got it!" Walt cried out again. Immediately he turned the flashlight on.
Sammy grabbed the flashlight to wave it across the newly formed opening. Even as he did, the light grew dimmer. "Darn, the batteries are shot."
"It's no use." John sounded discouraged.
"The tablecloth! John, get off the tablecloth!" Sammy hollered.
"Geez, man, what's wrong with the tablecloth?"
"We can use it like a flag. Look, I'll push part of it through the door. They ought to see that."
"Good thinking, Sammy," Walt said. Sammy yanked the cloth off the floor. Cards flew into the air as the tablecloth whipped free. He stuffed it into the narrow opening. The wind caught and flopped it against the outside of the door. The engine lights shone on its glossy wet surface.
Sammy could barely make out the animated shapes of three men inside the locomotive. When the flapping signal appeared in the lights, all three engineers stared in disbelief, pressing themselves against the window inside the roaring engine. Sammy could tell they were yelling at each other, surprised by the signal flag.
A man leaned out the side window of the giant cab catching rain as he shielded his face. Even above all the noise Sammy could hear one accusing word: "squatters!"
The massive power horses continued pulling the two boxcars toward higher ground.
"Hold on!" yelled Sammy. "They're taking us through the gate."
They cleared the security gate, continued up the incline toward the main track, then stopped. Sammy watched two men jump to the ground. They hurried to the car. One grabbed hold of the cloth and yelled at the intruders. "Who's in there?"
"We are," John yelled back. "We want out!"
"Cripes, it's a couple kids." He turned away from his partner. "What are you kids doing in there?"
"We're stuck; the door won't open," Sammy yelled. Walt shrank toward the back of the car. In the light of the crew's powerful flashlights, Sammy saw a guilty look on Walt's face. He was a boy at heart and his look spelled misery.
"I know those guys, Sammy. The tall guy is Dave, the other one's Craig. They're from the Colony. Man! Am I in big trouble again!" He scooted himself deeper into the shadows.
Both men tried to move the massive door, but it remained frozen.
"Hold on, we'll have to get a crowbar. We'll have you out of there in no time." The taller one's voice sounded reassuring. Craig returned to the engine, while Dave shone the light up and down the narrow opening at them.
"So how long have you boys been in there?"
"I don't know. Since around noon, I guess," Sammy replied. "We were just having some fun, playing a little cards."
"Having a little fun on private property. You know, you're not supposed to be here." This was the lecture Sammy knew was bound to come.
"We didn't mean any harm, just wanted a little adventure."
"Yeah, sure. But this better be the last time you do it. You're just lucky we came along."
Craig returned and immediately inserted the bar under the door, forcing it upward. As he worked, Dave pushed the door inward. "You kids push towards us and we'll get this thing to loosen up." With the men working on the outside, and the boys pushing on the inside, the door moved. In seconds, it was opened, filling the car with light from the powerful engine.
"So, you're not alone. What are you doing in there, old man?" Dave's voice lost its friendly tone as soon as he saw the third stowaway. "Walt? Is that you? What in heaven's name are you doing down here, Walt?"
Walt didn't speak. His eyes raced over Sammy's face, waiting for him to take the lead. Sammy hesitated as questions surfaced.
"What's going on here? Walt, have you been up to no good again?" Dave's voice was firm. "Do you know these boys, Walt?"
"'Course he knows us," John responded. "He's our . . ."
Sammy interrupted, "We're friends. We just wanted to give an old man one more adventure."
"I'll be darned. What were you thinking?" Dave pulled Walt from the car and led him away from the boys.
"Thanks for all the help," Sammy called from the open door. He was already gathering the remains of their card game, stuffing everything into the backpack. Craig helped them from the boxcar onto solid muddy ground.
Craig said, "So where are you fellows headed in this weather?" He sounded more sympathetic than his partner, who was returning a dejected Walt to the group.
"We've got a car up on the bluff just beyond that trail." Walt pointed in the direction of their earlier descent. Both men shook their heads, obviously disgusted.
Sammy reasoned that their rescuer had no idea he and John knew their secret. To them two boys from town were on an outing with someone they thought was a regular old man.
"Get yourselves home," Dave demanded above a renewed blast of wind. "We have to get these cars out before the river crests around midnight." He gave Walt a final scowl.
Ascending the bluff was more difficult than the descent a few hours earlier. They used the vine maples growing along the trail as guide ropes and found footholds on stray grass tufts. The rain had abated, but the heavy, water-filled branches overhead soaked them. At the top of the trail they could see the old car waiting.
Now that the danger had passed, Sammy realized how late it was. "Yeah, man, let's get home. I'm going to be in big trouble."
"You think you got troubles; what's AnLillie going to say when she finds the car missing? I'll probably be stuck at the Colony for a month."
"Heck, I'll probably have to babysit my little brothers and sister for the rest of the year. Maybe for life," John said. He jumped into the back and slammed the door.
"Look in the glove box. There should be a cell phone in there. All our vehicles have to carry them."
Sammy dialed his number. Better to let his mother know he was safe than to keep her worrying. The phone rang, again, again, and then the answering machine responded. Sammy's message was brief: "Hi, Mom, I'm on my way home. See you."
John leaned over the backseat and said, "No matter what happens next, it was worth it. Walt, you did a good job."
First, Walt dropped off John. When he approached Sammy's house, everything was dark. It wasn't the welcome Sammy had expected; yet he felt relieved. He wouldn't need to use the story he had been practicing. He would hurry in and erase his phone message.
"So, I'll see you when you get out of prison," Sammy said when Walt stopped the car in the driveway. He wadded up the poncho and stuffed it on the seat.
"Funny. Maybe AnLillie was too busy to notice the car was missing."
"And maybe frogs can fly," Sammy replied. "Thanks for the adventure."
As Walt drove away, sadness flooded Sammy. So many days he had come home, and waited for his mother's return from work or from one of her meetings. When he opened the door, the familiar loneliness greeted him. The house was cold. He knew his mother had not been home all day. She would have turned up the heat and left at least one light. But it was pitch dark and chilly. There were no tempting smells coming from the kitchen promising dinner. He turned on the kitchen light and scanned the counters. There wasn't even a note telling him where she was. The recorder was blinking, reminding him to erase his message. There were two messages flashing on the lighted pad. Sammy listened to the first one. A hauntingly familiar male voice spoke in an agitated tone. "Jane, come quickly. There's trouble. You need to be here. Bring Sammy." As Sammy absorbed this second message, his own voice spoke: "Hi, Mom, I'm on my way home. See you."
He went into the bathroom. It occurred to him that this was the first time since noon that he'd even thought about normal stuff like taking a pee or being really hungry. The phone rang. He tried to hurry, but relieving himself was not a hurry-up job. Let the phone get the message, he thought. Before he left the room he ran warm water over his cold hands. It felt incredibly soothing; his hands were colder than he had known. Even skiing he'd kept his hands warmer than they felt now. That's it! The voice. That's where I've heard that voice. The guy from the slopes sounded just like that. Sammy allowed the warm water to bathe his hands: it ran over his numbed fingers to coax blood back into his fingertips. Where had she gone? What should he do? Too much tension from the last few hours was slowing his thinking. He grabbed a towel, wiped his hands as he returned to the phone.
The light was blinking. He listened to the machine. "Sammy, I'll be home as soon as I can. Check in with Mrs. West. I love you." His mother's voice sounded weary. He played the recording again, hoping to detect a hidden meaning in the message. All he needed was a clue to set him at ease. Why didn't she say where she was?
Sammy headed down the hall to her room. Perhaps she had left some clue in there, anything to set his mind at ease. The door was open. Nightclothes were flung on the bed, along with her slippers. Sammy lifted them up, and tossed them aside. The slippers fell to the floor. He picked them up, carried them to her closet, and set them neatly in the shoe rack on the floor.
In the closet he saw it, wrapped in a heavy, clear plastic bag. He picked it up and rolled it over in his hand. A rush of disturbing memories came back to him. The bag contained a man's brown leather shoe, an object that somewhere deep in his childhood meant sadness. He recalled a voice saying, "Please, Daddy, me go too, okay?" Now he heard it coming from his own lips. So real were his recollections, he could hear the answer. "Not today, son. Come here, big boy. Give your daddy a big hug!"
Being older, he knew why his mother had held the shoe shortly after that, rocked back and forth, and cried. As he stood there experiencing the past flood over him, the phone rang again.
The noise jolted him back to the present. He answered the phone. "Hello, Sammy here."
A frantic voice croaked, "Sammy, we need you, we need everybody. Can you get John? The river is flooding us! We need more sandbaggers. Even 'the others' are being called. The river is threatening the germinal forest."
"I'll be there, Walt. I'll find a way." A click on the other end of the line meant hurry!
Sammy dialed John, giving him the same urgent message. He heard John pleading with his parents. He waited and listened to the broken debate in the background. Then, "Dad says he'll help, too. We'll pick you up in a couple minutes."
When Sammy returned the phone to the cradle, reason began to set in. He would call Mrs. West and tell her his plans. The line was busy, she didn't believe in modern phone-message services. He would have to leave a note. Where could Mom be? What was going on with her?
He didn't have time to write a long explanation, just a short note. While he looked for paper and pencil, he thought of food. Sammy found leftover pizza in the refrigerator and stuffed it into his mouth while he rummaged around for something else he could eat fast. The refrigerator light went out, and the condenser went quiet. Sammy closed the door, surprised that the entire room had gone black. He edged past the counter, groping for the light switch on the far wall. It didn't work.
Gusts of wind and rain beat against the front door. A honk followed. Sammy didn't have time to write. He felt his way to the hall closet and groped around till he had boots and his winter raincoat. He got them on, then bolted down the steps toward the waiting car. Rain pelted him.