The Green Rising

Prologue

The Near Future

West Virginia

It was a twist of irony that I was the one who felt dead, the one unable to live freely. Six feet underground, I felt entombed, though it was with a heart that still pumped blood violently through my veins. Frigidity and darkness threatened to settle into my bones as I raised a hand to my mouth to silence its chattering. Too much noise and my heart would beat no more; that was a certainty threatening to come to fruition with each sound that reverberated off the stony walls around me.

And truth be told, I knew that death beckoned me to him, that perhaps he'd been cheated by me one time too many.

I rolled a flashlight between my fingers and shined it around the room. Four sets of terror-filled eyes that undoubtedly reflected my own stared back at me. I raised my forefinger to my mouth to shush their voices, and walked over to the bed where they sat.

I placed the flashlight onto the mattress, lifted my baby from his cousin's arms, and brought him close, hoping that my presence would calm him. He began to stir and I threw a cover over him to muffle his imminent cries. I needed someone to mollify the screams that tore at my inner depths, someone to make the turmoil go away.

My daughters, Rosabel and Maggy, heard my unspoken pleas and snuggled up against me, while Jessa draped a comforter around us and scooted into our huddle, where we sat -- afraid to move or breathe -- for what seemed an eternity.

We weren't the first terrified family to hide in this room built by my husband's ancestors in the 1840s. According to Luc's family members who knew of its existence, it had served its purpose well; hundreds or thousands of slaves sought refuge successfully at this stop on the Underground Railroad. But those numbers were insignificant today; the slaves were long gone, as was anyone who knew of the room's existence. Or they'd be here with me.

Ever since the massacre, it served my purpose.

The room itself had dimensions of about thirty feet by six feet and it had been updated over the past several decades to include plumbing and electricity, which amounted to a non-working toilet and sink since the electricity worked about two hours per week.

I reached for the flashlight and guided it across the room to make sure the outside entrance was secure. My stomach rumbled as the light passed over our food and water supplies on the way to the tightly closed door.

When the light touched the guns and ammo, I considered grabbing them as the wooden floor creaked in the stone cottage above us. But that would further alarm the children. I'd only go that route should the intruders find one of the well-concealed entrances.

"Mommy, I'm scared," Maggy said as voices filtered down into a garbled murmur. Noah stirred anew.

"It's okay, Maggy, but you must be quiet. It's like we practiced," I whispered to the three-year-old as I lifted Noah to my breast and made a stab at relaxing while he latched on to nurse.

The wind howled through crevices in the stone block that served as our outside exit. Masking every breath, it was our protector today. And because of its cold ferocity, I was certain it had saved our lives a few minutes ago, when I’d insisted the children remain inside before I'd left to replenish our water supply. Otherwise, they would have been outside, and we all would have been discovered.

"But we've been cooped up all day, Aunt Lily," Jessa had argued as I reached for a pail and some gallon jugs.

"I wanna go outside too," Rosabel, my six-year old, had whined after I'd shaken my response.

"It doesn't matter. If you get sick, I can't take you to a doctor. We don't have that luxury anymore," I said with a gulp as I'd headed outdoors. "Tomorrow will be better, but for now, you can play upstairs."

I'd dipped the pail into the well as the wind cast dust particles into my eyes. I was blinking to rid their razor blades when the sound of an engine purred in the distance. It had been weeks since cars, or any sound of human life, had whispered through the mountains. Only the enemy had business here.

I'd lifted the bucket from the well and drained some water off the top to avoid spillage before I carried it to the cottage and staggered inside. Yelling for the kids to hurry into the room, I set the pail down as I pulled the door closed and slid the lock into place, panicked there wasn't enough time to secure it from the outside with the padlock and that weighted my coat pocket. I'd grown too complacent over the past few days, and now we would all pay for my miscalculation.

"This isn’t the time to cop an attitude," I'd yelled as Jessa stood with her arms folded to her chest. "Get the kids downstairs and don't let them make a sound."

Once the urgency in my voice had dawned on her, her eyes widened in horror as she grabbed Noah and ushered the girls downstairs. I did a quick sweep of the upstairs to make sure no stray sock or toy might betray us then descended the stairs, bucket and flashlight in hand. A quick flick of the light illuminated a clean basement.

I had stooped through the secret entrance and shaken my head in disgust. In my haste to make sure no telltale signs of us could be found in the main house, I'd forgotten to lock the back door. A shudder escaped me at the same moment the door clicked into place; the darkness would conceal my terror as I tried to protect my family.

A few minutes later, the start of an engine broke my reverie. Gravel kicked up in the driveway, then the only noises for the next ten minutes were the occasional burps and gulps from my baby as he suckled my breast, and the sounds of our own puffs of air.

"Aunt Lily," Jessa whispered, while I jumped at her words. "I think they're gone now."

But would they stay gone? No. Their contingency plan in the event of their leader's failure was seventy years in the making. They would hunt me until I gave them what they wanted. 

Or until I was dead.