Scarlets and Emeralds

3 | Spencer

When I got to the long, fallen oak, I knew what I had to do—I'd done it countless times before, and I knew I'd do it countless times in the future. I followed the log to its roots and pushed aside the pile of bramble, where I saw what I knew I'd see: a hole. A large, gaping hole, large enough for a person to fit inside.

And I went. I pulled bramble back in front of the hidden hole, and darkness enveloped me. But I wasn't afraid or anything—I knew the way.

Forward.

I crawled carefully through the black, musky air inside the wide, hollow trunk, using one hand to feel the ground in front of me before I stepped.

Finally my fingers found what they had been searching for: not dirt, but air. I scuttled closer and then let myself drop down, one limb at a time, into the hole, using the ladder leaning against the dirt.

About five feet deeper, I entered the tunnel where light shone. It opened up into a large cavern, where lamps lined the cement walls, and where Emeralds strode around happily, knowing that they were safe down here in the secret bunker—where they could exchange crops, produce, and other goods for things that they needed, as well as spend the night in the chambers attached.

I had always loved the shop; no one knows exactly who created it or how it came to be. But we didn't need to know, either—all we needed to know was that we could use it to hide from the Scarlets. I pushed my watch up my sleeve.

I spotted a man sitting on a stump holding a plate filled with separately wrapped loaves of bread. I made my way over to him.

"Sir," I smiled. "Carrots for bread?" I asked, offering him three slender orange carrots Mother had tied up with a sting.

"Carrots," he said, nodding, as he took them from my hand. "Welcome to me bread here. Needed some carrots."

"Thank you, sir," I told him. I took the bread and headed over to the attached hallway, where I found a door with the sign turned to "OPEN". I pulled the door and stepped inside the small room, where a lumpy cot sits. After switching the sign to "OCCUPIED", I close the door and fall onto the cot, dropping the sack of remaining carrots on the ground beside me. The cot is terribly uncomfortable, but I don't mind, since I'm used to it after all these years—and the one we have at our cottage is much more uncomfortable. And I was tired. So tired . . . even though not much had been done today. I was always tired.

Mother said that it was my thoughts that wore me out.