light beam shiver, and then, in the darkness behind Shep, he heard Lem laugh nervously and say, “See?”
~ * ~
They stopped two hours later for the night. By Shep’s watch it was 10 o’clock. The flashlight had gone out again, and this time it was the batteries but Shep took the batteries from the other non-working one. They were tired and hungry, thirsty and hot. The wagon was serviceable but now made a loud squeak with each turn of the front wheels. The handle had been bent, but Lem forced it back into shape. They’d found everything but one can of pop, which Monk promptly stepped on when they set out. He smelled like creme soda, and his friends didn’t let him forget it.
“We’ll need the batteries for tomorrow,” Shep said solemnly. He had found a flat wide place to stop, a kind of hitch in the slope. Ahead of them was only darkness.
It was hot and close and sticky, and they felt a vague heat drifting up at them from below.
“What happens when the batteries run out?” Lem asked.
“We’ll have to conserve them,” Shep said.
“But what happens—”
“Be quiet,” Shep said, at the same moment Monk snapped, “Shut up, Lem.”
They ate in darkness, and drank warm soda and un-iced tea, and listened, but there was nothing to hear. No rats, no nearby roasting fires, no dripping water, no sound of any kind. Just the silent sound of heat getting hotter.
“I hope we’re close,” Lem said. “I want to go home.”
“Home to what?” Shep answered. “If we don’t find something down here…”
The rest went unsaid.
They sat in a circle, and moved closer, the flashlight in the midst of them like a doused campfire.
Shep laughed and said, “We never finished talking about Angie Bernstein, did we?”
Lem laughed too. “Or how your pits smell!”
“Or your mustache!” Shep shot back.
Monk was silent.
“Hey, Monk,” Shep said, “you shaving your lip yet?”
“And using ‘ B -Oderant’? You smell like creme soda, but do you also smell like a horse ?”
Monk feigned snoring.
“Hey Monk—”
The snoring ceased. “Leave me alone.”
Lem hooted: “Creme soda boy!”
“Horse pit boy!” Shep laughed.
Monk said nothing, and soon he was snoring for real.
~ * ~
Shep woke them up at seven o’clock by his watch.
At first he couldn’t move; it was hard to breathe and so hot he felt as if he was under a steam iron. He knew it was growing impossibly warmer. He could feel and smell and taste it, just like he had in the tree-house.
“We have to find the end today,” he said, grimly.
They ate and drank in the dark, just like the night before. Now there was no talking. Lem was having trouble breathing, taking shallow ragged huffs at the air.
“Feels…like…we’re…in a…barbecue…” he rasped. “Hard…to…breathe…”
They turned on the battery radio and there was hiss up and down the dial until the one strong local channel came on. It was the same announcer, only now all of the chirp had gone out of his voice.
“…hundred and ten here this morning, folks,” he said. “And it’s September first! Local ponds are steamed dry, and the electricity was out for three hours yesterday. Same all over, now. Ice caps are melting, and in Australia, where it’s the end of wintertime, the temperature hit 99 yesterday…”
They snapped off the radio.
“Let’s go,” Shep said.
~ * ~
Lem began to cry after a half hour.
“I can’t do this!” he said. “Let’s go home! I want to swim in the pond, and get ready for school, and look at the fall catalogs and feel it get chilly at night!”
“It’s not much farther,” Shep said evenly. He was having trouble breathing himself. “This is something we’ve got to do, Lem. If we do it maybe we can have all that again.”
Shep pointed the flashlight at Monk, who was trudging silently, straight ahead.
~ * ~
The flashlight began to fail as they reached a wall of fallen rocks. Ignoring the impediment for the moment, Shep
~ * ~
They stopped two hours later for the night. By Shep’s watch it was 10 o’clock. The flashlight had gone out again, and this time it was the batteries but Shep took the batteries from the other non-working one. They were tired and hungry, thirsty and hot. The wagon was serviceable but now made a loud squeak with each turn of the front wheels. The handle had been bent, but Lem forced it back into shape. They’d found everything but one can of pop, which Monk promptly stepped on when they set out. He smelled like creme soda, and his friends didn’t let him forget it.
“We’ll need the batteries for tomorrow,” Shep said solemnly. He had found a flat wide place to stop, a kind of hitch in the slope. Ahead of them was only darkness.
It was hot and close and sticky, and they felt a vague heat drifting up at them from below.
“What happens when the batteries run out?” Lem asked.
“We’ll have to conserve them,” Shep said.
“But what happens—”
“Be quiet,” Shep said, at the same moment Monk snapped, “Shut up, Lem.”
They ate in darkness, and drank warm soda and un-iced tea, and listened, but there was nothing to hear. No rats, no nearby roasting fires, no dripping water, no sound of any kind. Just the silent sound of heat getting hotter.
“I hope we’re close,” Lem said. “I want to go home.”
“Home to what?” Shep answered. “If we don’t find something down here…”
The rest went unsaid.
They sat in a circle, and moved closer, the flashlight in the midst of them like a doused campfire.
Shep laughed and said, “We never finished talking about Angie Bernstein, did we?”
Lem laughed too. “Or how your pits smell!”
“Or your mustache!” Shep shot back.
Monk was silent.
“Hey, Monk,” Shep said, “you shaving your lip yet?”
“And using ‘ B -Oderant’? You smell like creme soda, but do you also smell like a horse ?”
Monk feigned snoring.
“Hey Monk—”
The snoring ceased. “Leave me alone.”
Lem hooted: “Creme soda boy!”
“Horse pit boy!” Shep laughed.
Monk said nothing, and soon he was snoring for real.
~ * ~
Shep woke them up at seven o’clock by his watch.
At first he couldn’t move; it was hard to breathe and so hot he felt as if he was under a steam iron. He knew it was growing impossibly warmer. He could feel and smell and taste it, just like he had in the tree-house.
“We have to find the end today,” he said, grimly.
They ate and drank in the dark, just like the night before. Now there was no talking. Lem was having trouble breathing, taking shallow ragged huffs at the air.
“Feels…like…we’re…in a…barbecue…” he rasped. “Hard…to…breathe…”
They turned on the battery radio and there was hiss up and down the dial until the one strong local channel came on. It was the same announcer, only now all of the chirp had gone out of his voice.
“…hundred and ten here this morning, folks,” he said. “And it’s September first! Local ponds are steamed dry, and the electricity was out for three hours yesterday. Same all over, now. Ice caps are melting, and in Australia, where it’s the end of wintertime, the temperature hit 99 yesterday…”
They snapped off the radio.
“Let’s go,” Shep said.
~ * ~
Lem began to cry after a half hour.
“I can’t do this!” he said. “Let’s go home! I want to swim in the pond, and get ready for school, and look at the fall catalogs and feel it get chilly at night!”
“It’s not much farther,” Shep said evenly. He was having trouble breathing himself. “This is something we’ve got to do, Lem. If we do it maybe we can have all that again.”
Shep pointed the flashlight at Monk, who was trudging silently, straight ahead.
~ * ~
The flashlight began to fail as they reached a wall of fallen rocks. Ignoring the impediment for the moment, Shep
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