Ruled By Fear (7 page)

    
“Keith,” he said his eyes pleading for understanding, “we can talk tomorrow.  Please, go get some sleep.”

    
Keith’s eyes shifted back and forth and the corners of his mouth twitched in agitation.  After a moment, he managed to calm himself, and then caught Aaron completely off-guard by giving him a quick embrace.

    
“You better be here when I get up,” he said, and before Aaron could respond Keith slipped quietly into his room.

    
Aaron stood dazed outside the door to his room.  After a few minutes, he realized that his brother’s anger was a reaction to his fear of losing him.  He smiled softly and then entered his room.  His eyes had become so accustomed to being in darkness that he was able to make out the various shapes inside.  Making his way over to the water pitcher, without a moment’s hesitation, he drained it dry.  His leg was on fire from where the creature had scratched him and he knew that he should see to it, but overwhelming exhaustion took hold, and he barely managed to make it to his bed before he collapsed.

    
Aaron’s dreams that night were kind to him, and allowed him, for a short time, to be home once again.  Near the comfort of a friendly fire—surrounded by a loving family.  Their cook was busy in the kitchen fixing a mouth-watering meal.  His father sat at his desk working on the ledgers, and Keith—Keith was safe, sitting with his feet up on the coffee table, just like always.  Keith looked up at him and Aaron smiled.  It was then that he noticed, Keith was mouthing some words to him and he leaned in closer to hear what he was saying.  Suddenly, the words became clear, and he groaned loudly as they registered in his ears.

    
“Aaron, time to get up,” Keith said, giving him another slight shake.

    
Aaron slowly opened his eyes.

    
Had it already been two hours?

    
“Keith,” he croaked.  “How’s your arm?”

    
“Not bad,” Keith answered.  “There was a bucket of water inside our door this morning.  Tom said they leave one every now and again so we can wash up a bit.”

    
Aaron looked toward his door and was relieved to see a bucket had been placed there as well.  He drank until he thought he would burst, and then with Keith’s help, cleaned the wound on his leg from the night before.  He had a few long scratches that, thankfully, hadn’t gone too deep.  Keith ripped one of the sleeves off of his shirt and used it to wrap up the leg as best he could.

    
“There, now we match,” he said with a lop-sided grin.

    
At breakfast that morning, they were greeted with more than a few curious glances, and a pile of fried potatoes on their plates.  They ignored the looks and dove into the food with a vengeance.  The potatoes were half raw and half burnt, but once again, Aaron thought he had never tasted anything so good and, after polishing off his plate, he glanced at Tom.

    
“I don’t know if I’ve got the strength to pull off a full day’s work in the mine without Cody and Doyle to help,” he said.

    
“Don’t have to worry about that today,” Tom answered.  “You won’t be in the mine.”

    
Tom pointed to the board and Aaron turned in confusion.  He didn’t know quite what to think of their assignment for that day, but surely anything must be better than the mine.

C
 

hapter 7

Five hours later, Aaron decided that this job was just as bad if not worse.  He and Keith had been assigned to what Tom had called the hot house, and while it was not as physically demanding as working in the mine, it carried its own forms of torment.

    
The hot house was a crudely constructed shack, no bigger than his living room back home.  The one room building had a door on each end, but no windows and in the center of the room was an enormous round stone fire pit with two giant cast iron pots simmering at all times.  One pot was filled with boiling water, which Aaron and Keith soon found out was for washing mounds and mounds of stinking, filthy sheets, blankets, and the ugly grey uniforms they all wore.  The other pot contained a lye mixture that was similar to what they used back home to make soap.  Only this concoction was much stronger, and left their eyes stinging.  On top of that, it burned fiercely when it came in contact with their skin.

    
When Aaron recognized the mixture for what it was, he had insisted that he and Keith clean their wounds, in order to avoid infection.  Keith had balked until Aaron had threatened to dump a bucket of the mixture over his head.  The soap worked itself in deep and both brothers struggled to hide the tears that involuntarily sprang to their eyes.

    
Tom had come as close to laughing as Aaron had seen yet when Keith yelped over Aaron’s tender ministering’s.  It seemed that Tom and his brother had become their permanent work partners, and Aaron was glad.

    
“Every so often, they let us wash things,” Tom explained.  “This is the third time I’ve been scheduled to the hot house.”

    
“Yeah, usually it’s the girls,” Philip said shyly.

    
Aaron listened to Tom closely as he explained that they needed to get all the laundry washed before quitting time—the water and soap would both be gone the next day.  Aaron wondered, once again, how it was that Tom seemed so knowledgeable about this place.

    
“How long have you both been here?” he asked, motioning toward Tom’s younger brother.

    
Tom’s face took on a mournful expression as he watched his little brother work.

    
“We were brought here last fall,” he said.  “Philip was almost eleven.”

    
Aaron watched as Tom’s eyes suddenly turned hard and the man squared his shoulders.

    
“Too long,” Tom said through gritted teeth.

    
Aaron gazed after him as the man stormed across the room, roughly grabbing up a basket of washed clothes.  They had devised a system early in the day that would allow each team to get out of the steam filled room every so often.  It was Aaron’s turn to go outside and hang clothes on the line but, as much as he wanted to get out into the fresh air, he knew that Tom needed some time alone.

    
“It’s my fault, you know?”  Aaron was startled when Philip came up beside him.  “I’m the one that convinced him we should take the short cut through the canyon.  I wanted to get home in time . . . in time for my birthday.”

    
Before Aaron could respond, Tom called for his brother, and Philip raced out the door.

    
“I know exactly how he feels,” Keith said walking across the room.  “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me.”

    
“Keith,” Aaron said, turning to his brother, “this isn’t your fault, any more than it’s--.”

    
“Then whose fault is it, Aaron?” Keith demanded.  “Who is it I’m supposed to blame?  I sure haven’t seen anyone around, have you?”

    
Aaron sensed that his younger brother had finally reached his boiling point and, rather than trying to calm him down, he decided, instead, to release the cork.

    
“Go ahead, Keith,” he said calmly.  “Say what you need to say.”

    
“All right, fine!  I will,” he answered.

    
Despite his brave words he hesitated, moving his jaw in aggravation.  Finally, his body tensed, and he spoke the words he’d been holding back.

    
“The only one I see keeping us here is you,” he accused, taking a step back and waiting.  When he received only silence he continued.  “Why are we still here, Aaron?  You said yourself the front gate isn’t even locked.  We can sneak out tonight.  We’ll take Emily and we can get some help and come back for the others and-”

    
“And you’d most likely get yourselves and Emily killed,” Tom said, stepping back into the room.  He shifted his gaze between the two brothers, fixing them with a fierce glare.

    
“Don’t you think we’ve tried to get away from here?” the man asked.  “We’ve all tried, over and over again.  The last one to try was Emily’s father, and trust me . . . nobody should have to die like that.”

    
Aaron noticed a slight movement near the door and looked up to see Emily standing there.  Her eyes filled with tears and confusion.

    
“What do you mean?” she asked, setting down the buckets she had brought for them.  “You . . . you told me he didn’t suffer.  That . . . that it was over quickly.”

    
“Emily,” Tom said, taking a step toward her, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were there . . . I”

    
“No!” Emily shouted, pulling away from him.  “Don’t come near me.  What happened?  You have to tell me!”

    
Aaron watched in amazement as the usually calm and quiet girl stamped her foot, her eyes blazing.

    
“I . . .” Tom began, then lowered his head and whispered softly, “I . . . can’t . . . I’m sorry.”

    
Emily turned and fled the building, her tortured sobs causing Aaron’s gut to twist inside him.  The room was absolutely quiet for several minutes as each man worked to reign in his emotions.

    
“You two take the next batch out to dry,” Tom said after a while, then silently turned to continue the washing.

    
Aaron and Keith grabbed the heavy basket of wet sheets and, as they passed through the door, Aaron nodded toward the buckets Emily had left.  Keith reached inside and took two bundles.  Aaron didn’t feel much like eating, but knew that he and his brother needed the nourishment.  As they ate their meal silently, Aaron worked on what he should say to his brother.

    
“Keith,” he started, “I know it’s not easy for you, waiting I mean, but that’s exactly what I need you to do right now—just wait a little longer.  I’ll come up with a plan, but we’re gonna have to be careful.  Please, promise me you’ll give me a little more time.”

    
Keith turned away and Aaron could see that his gaze was focused on the gate that was so close, so tempting.

    
“For four days, Aaron, I’ve done everything you’ve told me,” he said finally, never taking his eyes off the gate.  “I’ll try and be patient, but I’m not going to make any promises.”

    
He turned then and looked straight into his brother’s eyes.

    
“Not this time.”   Jumping up, Keith grabbed the basket, heading for the huge lines where they had been stringing things up to dry.

    
Aaron watched him and, for the first time since they’d been there, fear overwhelmed him—fear for his brother’s life.  He thought about what Keith had said.  Could it be that they’d only been there four days?  He felt as if they had already spent a lifetime inside this miserable prison.  He wished he could tell Keith it wouldn’t be much longer.  That their Pa, and probably a whole posse were already out looking for them.  But, he knew it would be another two weeks at least before his father would even begin to expect them home.  No, if anyone was going to rescue them, it would have to be him, and he knew he needed to come up with something fast, or Keith was going to do something stupid.

     Aaron continued thinking all through the rest of that long tiring day, his mind becoming as weary as his body, as he tried to come up with an answer.

    
They were just about done for the day when Aaron reached down to grab the last few items that had fallen on the floor.  He pulled his hand back with a gasp, cursing the tiny creature that had caused him pain.  Sticking his thumb into his mouth, his eyes searched the room, looking for something he could use to kill it.  That’s when he noticed a small box lying half hidden near the floorboards.

    
He crossed the room, as the ugly, yellow scorpion made its escape and, forgetting all about his thumb, he quickly picked up the tiny box and checked inside.  It was full of matches.  He had no idea what he was going to do with them, and it was such a small thing, but for some reason it filled him with hope.  He wished he had a pocket as he shoved the matches into his waistband, then his head shot up as a sudden thought occurred to him.  The book!

     Aaron figured he must have dropped the book while they had been running back from the mine, and scanned the ground carefully as they made their way back to the house, praying that the book had fallen out somewhere along the path.  Luck was running on his side that day and he spotted the book almost buried in the dirt.  He pretended to stumble as he came upon it and, in one smooth motion, it discreetly joined the matches.

    
“You all right?” Keith questioned, reaching out to help him up.

    
Aaron hesitated as Grant came up alongside them.  Had he seen the book?  The large man looked Aaron over, then slowly turned back to the line of people, his expression unreadable.  Aaron gave Keith a wink and they proceeded to the dining room.

    
Since coming to this place, hunger had become a constant companion, and the meals were always silent as people concentrated on filling their empty bellies.  Aaron watched Keith as they ate that evening, and was filled with concern.  Keith looked noticeably thinner, and the dark circles under his eyes stood out in stark contrast to his pale cheeks.  It was the slight flush of red on those cheeks now, which was causing him concern.  Since his brother had been a baby, it had always been easy to tell when he was sick.  His eyelids would droop and his cheeks would flame, matching their brightness to the intensity of his fever.

    
Keith caught his brother watching him, and quickly cleared his throat.  He immediately changed his demeanor, holding his head higher and reaching for his cup with more enthusiasm than was necessary.  That’s when Aaron knew for sure that his brother was coming down with something.  He continued to keep a sharp eye on him throughout the meal, and could tell that Keith was forcing himself to eat.

    
On the way up the stairs Aaron turned to him.

    
“Hey, Keith,” he started.

    
“I’m fine, Aaron,” Keith cut him off.  “I just need some sleep.”

    
Aaron nodded his head, but as they went their separate ways, he couldn’t help but worry.  Worrying about his younger brother was a part of him, a part of being the oldest, and it was impossible to let that part go, even though his brother was quickly becoming a young man.

    
Aaron sat gingerly on the edge of his bed, taking out the box of matches and the book.  It was much too dark to see anything, but he opened the book anyway, almost hoping that it might suddenly spring to life and start answering his questions.  This book held some answers, of that he was sure.  Wishing again for a pocket, he tucked the items back in his waistband.  He didn’t feel safe putting them anywhere else.

    
As tired as he was, sleep didn’t come easy.  His hands were cracked and bleeding from working with the harsh lye soap, and the scorpion sting on his thumb was causing it to throb and ache.  He’d heard that in some places, a sting from a scorpion could be fatal.  He rolled over on the lumpy mattress and hoped that he was close enough to home that this sting wouldn’t be any worse than the others he had received growing up.

    
When sleep finally did come, it was filled with vivid dreams of dark tunnels and a great, black beast.  As the beast chased him, it took on the shape of a scorpion, and grew until it was almost too big to fit through the tunnels.  It was chasing him back toward the cavern of stone, toward the torture chamber.  The scorpion swung its tail, and he quickly dove inside, his bare feet sliding across the smooth floor.  He fell and hit his head on the stone table in the center.  As he opened his eyes, he saw the blood seeping into the ground from a wound on his head, and his blood soon mingled with the stains of all the souls that had been there before him.

    
Aaron woke with a start as he hit the floor, having tossed and turned his way right of bed.  He felt blood trickling across his lips and carefully touched his tender nose.

    
You’d think I was five-years-old.

    
He was becoming accustomed to the various sounds that surrounded him, and hearing the other prisoners begin their preparations for the day, he stood and stretched slowly.  His clothes were covered with the blood that had dripped from his nose, and he sighed loudly, heading for the water pitcher.  It was then that he noticed a new set of clothes, folded neatly on the stand.  Grateful for the chance to get out of his soiled clothing, he quickly changed and after a moment, realized he had a problem.  The new pants were much looser at the waist than his old ones.  There was no way that he would be able to keep the book and matches hidden.  A sudden thought occurred to him and he quickly un-wrapped the soiled sleeve that was wound around his leg.  The wounds looked much better after their bout with the soap, and he hoped the fresh air would do more good than harm.  He then ripped the other sleeve off his old shirt and, slipping the book and matches inside, he used a series of knots to tie the sleeves around his waist.  He didn’t have a mirror to check himself, but the new shirt was baggy enough that he was sure no one would notice the small lump.