Between the Roots Read Free

land-hungry, dirty connivers who would do anything to get that prime riverfront property."
    "So, what is the Colony about?" Sammy asked.
    His mother said, "According to the records at City Hall, it's been here far longer than the town. It needs to be left alone. Enough said." She turned her back as if to say, "Discussion closed."
    The tension between them was a new thing.
    Changing the subject, she said, "Sammy, did you pick up the mail?"
    "It was junk mail. Are you expecting something?"
    "I wouldn't want to leave mail in the box." Awkward silence filled the room, and both of them ate for a while. She hesitated then added, "How would you like to go to the mountain and take a hike into Bear Lake?" Her suggestion seemed like she was offering a truce; she knew how much he loved the high country. He really wished they could go snowboarding, but it was too early for snow.
    "A hike might do us good," she said.
    Today he needed to contact Walt. The mountains would have to wait. "Could we go another time? I had some plans."
    "Of course," she replied but looked a little upset. Sammy knew she tried to make up for his not having a dad. Sammy's dad had died in a car accident eight years ago, so he and his mom found entertainment together: skiing, a movie, even the arcades. But lately she'd been so busy.
    "Are you okay with that, Mom?"
    "Sammy, it's fine. See—" she pointed at the laundry piled on the kitchen table—"the mountain has come to me. I'll plan ahead when we're both free."
    He flashed her a thankful smile.
    * * *

    The ride into the country seemed shorter this morning. The closer he got to his destination, the more anxious he became. All of his self-talk, trying to convince himself that the hooded people were nothing to be afraid of, wasn't working. Too soon the gray wall appeared ahead. What if Walt is nowhere around? What if no one is by the gate to tell Walt that he has a visitor? What if the group of strangers come after me?
    The absurdity of his ride struck him. What were the chances that the old man would be waiting here for him to come back?
    Sammy halted outside the gate, a foot still on a pedal so he could make a getaway. He kicked his foot against the gate, imagining it would swing freely open, inviting him to enter. But it held firm. No one was in sight. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, up his neck, beating on his eardrum. He leaned his forehead against the gate.
    "Walt," he called softly. "Mr. Walt, are you there?" Again he called softly, "Mr. Walt, Mr. Walt, it's me, Sammy." He called as loudly as he dared. No answer followed. He would have to return home, his trip a waste.
    Going home without answers was depressing. His promise to Walt was heavy. The more tired he became, the more difficult it got to separate fact from fantasy. Did I see a body being lifted from its grave? Had it been tortured and dug up to be tortured again? Maybe the hooded people weren't murderers or torturers; maybe they were rescuers. He desperately wanted to talk to someone about his strange adventure. If he could get a reassuring explanation, then, maybe, he could sleep.
    He knew he would return and try to find the old man soon. He dreaded the thought; it took so much energy being brave. So he reminded himself, It wouldn't take long—a short visit with the old man is all I need—maybe tomorrow I'll see him.
    Sammy vigorously pedaled along the quiet road as he mapped out his plans to return. Easing into his driveway he waved to Mrs. West, who looked over the low hedge that separated their property.
    "So, Sammy, I thought you'd be up in the mountains on this beautiful day," she called out. Her ample form dwarfed the bird feeder she was cleaning. Sammy's mom said her attention to outside chores gave her a good excuse to keep a close eye on the neighborhood. Nothing went unnoticed.
    "I'm waiting for snow, Mrs. West." A tiny falsehood, he knew. Sammy walked his bike through the side garage door. He could hear the