The tunnel at the bottom of the stairs extended in two directions, with metal casing on the floor, ceiling, and walls. My fears were no longer fluid, no longer intangible; they were rooted in this man-made tunnel buried underneath a town whose silver mine shafts had been remade into bunker-style passageways.
Roxy was probably far along on the interstate now, closing in on a gas station with a working phone. Whatever communication disruption occurred in the town when this kind of storm hit, it couldn’t happen all throughout the mountains. Once Roxy reached Tom, nothing would stop him from getting here.
If Verna was right, my grandson would be gone when they arrived.
I had to find William, convince him to come with me, and find our way back to Verna’s home. Even if she refused us, I would have to beg her to let us through so we could hide in Joe’s house until the storm was over.
The tunnel stretched before me, with no indication which way would lead to the hospital. I was terrible with directions anyway, and I had no idea in which area of town the hospital stood. All Joe had said was that it was on the outskirts.
Stepping around the stair lift that was obviously put in place to allow Verna easy passage up and down the long staircase, I moved into the tunnel, looking for any markings, any pattern of the lights that would indicate which direction to take. There appeared to be nothing—no arrows, no signs—nothing. And how did Verna get to the hospital? At the pace she moved, it would take her a day just to walk a mile. It didn’t make sense.
Just like in the snowstorm. One foot in front of the other.
I chose left and started walking. What if I encounter another security guard? What would I possibly say to explain myself? Did the houses of other hospital workers lead into this tunnel? I could feel heat, but I was still so chilled I kept my hood up and my hands in my gloves.
I passed another stairwell identical to Verna’s. At least hers had the stair lift, so it was clear which one I would need to take when I returned with William. If I returned with William—
The dead end came up so suddenly, I actually held up my hand to stop myself from walking right into the wall. Angrily, I hurried back down the opposite direction. How much time had I wasted?
Fifteen minutes later, another tunnel opened up to my right, snaking into a long darkness, again lit only by orange lights. How many tunnels were down here? Had the military used the same shafts of the miners? Or did they do all this as the town slowly declined into near abandonment, the locals unaware of what was being dug beneath them? There had to be questions as to why the workers at the hospital never left their homes but somehow got to work every day—
Stop it. Stop trying to make sense. Just find William.
I had no choice but trial and error. I could only guess the new tunnel headed towards town and the hospital was farther out. But how far? Yards? Miles? It couldn’t be; someone of Verna’s age couldn’t walk that distance every day.
I kept walking down the tunnel and noticed in the near distance how it began to expand quite dramatically, its walls receding into the darkness beyond the reach of the meager lights. The sound of my footsteps disappeared into the space without an echo. As the far end of the tunnel came into view, another metal staircase emerged, not off to the right or left, as had the others, but in the center. The answer as to how Verna arrived here each day was a golf cart parked to the side, right by another stair-lift chair. Verna didn’t walk to work. Someone came to get her.
As I approached, I could see, at the top of the stairs, a door leading to an upper level, somewhere above ground. I hurried towards it, looking up at the now familiar orange lights above.
When I reached the first step, the sides of the hallway suddenly flared with fluorescent lights. I stumbled in surprise, seeing now how the orange lights at the top of the stairs were also glowing brightly. I’d triggered a sensor of some kind.
A passing glance at the white lights coming from the walls of the hall revealed the man staring at me.
The greenish pall of the fluorescents weren’t coming from sconces on the walls, but from rooms with glass doors. I was so intent on reaching the stairs that I hadn’t even noticed the dozens of doors stretching down the corridor, or the face of the man looking out.
He was lying down, his head resting on some kind of bed. I waited for him to react to me or speak. Instead, he blinked, yet his blank expression remained the same.
I left the stairs and hesitantly stepped closer. Approaching the door, I could see his eyes were unnaturally glassy, and that he wasn’t alone. Dozens of rows—no, maybe hundreds of rows—of people on beds, all connected to tubing and machines, all dressed in white. All their eyes were open, faces either staring at the ceiling or turned to the side.
I stepped back to the middle of the tunnel, eyeing the doors, each with the same light. Did all of those doors lead to rooms full of comatose people?
I walked across the hall to a nearly identical sight, but this time, it was a young woman on the closest bed; beyond her were more rows of people. As she stared at the ceiling, I watched her chest rise and fall. An older man next to her appeared to be breathing as well. All had tubes going into their nostrils or mouths.
They’re vegetables, Verna had slurred. They don’t remember anything, Joe had said, not even how to tie their shoes.
William isn’t like them. There’s still time.
I propelled myself up the stairs, trying to ignore the pain in my knees. My heart was racing when I reached the top. This door had no window, no indicator of what lay beyond.
There was, however, a keypad.
I held up my hand to the orange light. My stomach sank as I saw how my hands had sweated in the gloves. The numbers were smudged a bit. I punched in 16-0-18-8-25-30.
The keypad flashed red.
I looked closer at my hand. Was that an 18 or 19? I tried it again. 16-0-19-8-25-30. No red flash, nothing. I looked closer at my hand, trying to recall the exact numeration—
The door unlocked and swung open an inch.
I pushed through it, momentarily relishing the familiar bright light of a hallway. Gone were the orange glow and the ghostly fluorescents, replaced with a stark white light illuminating well-traveled tile and undecorated walls.
I eased down the hall, looking all around for any signs of life. Verna had said something about William being moved to the second floor. But he could be anywhere, and I had no idea how large the hospital was or even where I was in it.
If William had been taken from his usual room here, were the other children from the park still here? If I did find another child, could I, in good conscience, ask for help finding William and leave that child behind?
I came to a door with a black sign reading “Stairwell.” I entered, cringing at the echo of my footsteps.
On the second floor, I peered out, seeing another empty hallway. I had no idea what time it was, but the storm must have emptied the place. The rooms here had no plates, only numbered plastic containers holding files and papers.
The windows in these doors were mostly dark, but as I walked, I saw one man sitting at a desk, his head resting on top of his arm. I stopped, wondering if I should knock. When he failed to move at all, I kept walking. Another window in another door revealed a woman standing directly in front of a wall, staring. I could feel the desolation without having to enter.
I started counting: twenty, forty, eighty rooms. I grew sadder with each step, as there were only first names on the folders; names likely assigned to them, like animals at the pound. I thought of Joe who, even without a memory, knew the name they’d first given him rang hollow.
William believes his name is Alan. Does that name sound wrong to him too?
I looked through each window, finding most rooms to be pitch black. If there was anyone inside, they were asleep. I kept moving. Room after room down the hall, no sign of anyone else awake. I prayed to Mother Mary, for soon I would have to start venturing into the darkness of each room, blindly looking for my grandson.
A faint light came from room 212. The lamp was bright enough, however, to show the red in the sheen of a boy’s hair, sitting at the edge of the bed, wearing navy-blue pajamas, his knees pulled up tight.
I whispered a thanks to Mary, forcing my hands to stop shaking and reaching deep in my coat pocket, finding the one thing I couldn’t bear to throw at the security officer who tried to kill us a few hours ago.
William turned when I opened the door and flinched when he saw me emerge. “Don’t be afraid, William.” I smiled, forcing back tears of relief. “Miss Cliff told me you’d be here.”
William didn’t move, looking so much like his mother that I found it difficult to speak. As I took a step closer, he slid a bit farther away on the bed.
“Honey, you don’t have anything to be afraid of—”
“My name is Alan. Miss Cliff told me not to pay any attention to you. She said you were crazy.”
“That’s before she knew who I was. Now she knows, and she told me where you would be. That’s how I found you. I’d like to show you who I am. Is that OK?”
He eyed me warily. I briefly glanced around the room, finding it completely empty. Two small bags were packed by end of his bed.
I took out the thin plastic photograph holder from my now-lost wallet and removed a single picture. “This is me and my husband, Tom. We live in a place called Nashville, Tennessee.”
William looked at it briefly, and I put it away, bringing out another. “This is an old picture of my daughters. That’s my youngest, Stella, there’s Kate, and my oldest, Anne. Want to see my whole family?”
The boy shrugged, and I took out another picture. “Look at how many of us there are! Do you see all the boys?”
With that, William leaned in closer. “I only have grandsons. They are bigger now, including the baby. Do you want to see what the baby looks like, the one sitting in his Aunt Stella’s arms?”
I swallowed and took out a final photograph. “This was taken last summer on the Fourth of July. That’s Anne’s family—that’s her husband, Chris, and her sons Greg, Brian, and William.”
William stared for a moment and then slowly reached out. I gave him the photo, letting him look closely. “That’s you, my sweet boy. I know they call you Alan here. But your real name is William. William Grant Chance. You are seven and will turn eight this summer. And we’ve been looking for you for a long time.”
“But I don’t know you,” he said, still looking at the picture.
“I know you don’t, and that’s OK,” I eased onto the bed. “Maybe you will remember us one day. Your mom, your dad, your brothers, your aunts, and especially your grandpa, they all want you to come home. I’d like to take you there.”
“I’m not supposed to leave my room. Plus, they told me I’m moving. They said I was leaving first thing in the morning. They said I’ll like it where I’m going. They said it’s warm.”
“Well, where I live is really warm. We have a new minor-league baseball stadium, and even have two different water parks because it gets so hot in the summer.”
“Two water parks?” William’s eyes lit up, but then narrowed. “Miss Cliff said not to go anywhere.”
“Maybe we can go see her right now, and while we’re walking to her, I’ll tell you more about your family.”
His eyes softened. “You really are my grandma?”
I couldn’t stop the tears from glistening in my eyes. “I am. And I have missed you every day.”
“Can I keep the picture?”
“Of course. You can have all of them if you want.”
“I just want this one. My shoes are by my suitcase and my coat is in the closet. Are we going outside?”
“I hope not. It’s so cold!” I forced a smile, trying to appear casual. I opened the closet door and found the jacket. I knelt on the floor and opened the suitcase, finding a heavy sweater on top.
“I want to wear my jeans,” he said, still staring at the photo.
I grabbed a collared shirt, jeans, a pair of socks, and a long-sleeved T-shirt.
“Do you have gloves?”
“On the hook by the door,” he said, throwing off his pajama top and putting on his shirt. “Will I get to say goodbye to Miss Cliff?”
“I hope so. I know she’d like to see you before you go.”
“Is Tennessee close to the mountains? I’ll miss my friends. Especially Todd, he’s funny. He wears red-high tops. I didn’t want to move, but they said it was for my own good.”
“I promise you, I will do everything I can for you to see any of your friends here again. But right now, I want to get you home.”
“What if they don’t want me, once they find out I don’t remember them?” he asked, slipping on his boots.
I wanted so badly to rush over and pull him into my arms. “Hon, we’ve all been waiting to see you for so long, it doesn’t matter what you do or don’t remember.”
“Then why am I here? How did I get here? All everybody says here is that we don’t have memories and they don’t know where we came from. But somebody has to know. Why did it take you so long to find me?”
I reached out and touched his arm. “I didn’t know where you were. Nobody did. And your parents would be here too, but I just figured it out first.”
“Figured out what?” he asked, his sweater now over his head.
“Let’s talk about all that when we get out of here. Can we go now?”
William clearly picked up on my nervousness. “I’m not supposed to leave my room, you know.”
“Well, Miss Cliff told me where you would be. She knew I had to get to you. Should we go see her?” I asked, hating the lie.
“Sure,” he shrugged.
“Let’s go quietly.” I put my hand on his back and carefully opened the door.
I led him out and we began to walk down the hall. With each door we passed, I fought the urge to grab him and run. He was coming willingly; I couldn’t do anything to spook him. I didn’t even dare hold his hand, although I wanted to desperately. I could see the sign for the staircase. We could be down to the first floor and out the door to the tunnel in a few minutes’ time. Roxy must have made the call by now, and Tom knows that William is here. I did put my hand on his back, hoping the gesture would move his little legs faster. All we had to do was make it down—
“Mrs. Roseworth.”
I closed my eyes. William quickly turned around, but I didn’t need to. I recognized the voice.