Love, Ashley

The ground was pliable, which could mean any number of things, but he hoped it meant a bunker. She was asleep in his arms, her head awkwardly turned against his shoulder. The masks made it difficult to rest one’s head on another, but the comfort of her slowly breathing body was worth the awkwardness of the position. He laid her down gently in the grass, adjusted her mask, and walked the few paces back to where he’d felt the soft ground. He knelt to it and pushed against the softness with his hands. There was a significant demarcation between the solid ground and the soft soil. He followed that demarcation with his fingers. It formed a small rectangle, in the shape of a door. His sweat ran down his forehead, and for the first time in a long time, he felt his breath beating back at him beneath his mask. His fingers continued to dance upon the grass until they came upon a latch hidden beneath a clump of wet leaves.

The latch came loose without much effort, and a small plank of plywood rose up from the ground. A staircase descended into the darkness. He pulled the lighter from his pocket and, once lit, descended into the blackness of the hole. It was a slow movement. You could never tell if the structure would be flimsy, or if the area below was as infected as much as that above. The light of the flame was limited, so he moved slowly, aware of the walls around him. They were sweating. The earth was damp and ran through with water. With each step he saw more of the room below. A long tunnel, shelves lining the walls. But at the end of the stairs.

He turned his head away.

Funny how you can expect such things, but still be appalled by them. His heart hitched for a moment, but then he turned back and inspected the body.

She was young, much too young. Younger than his daughter. Her dress was frilly and pink and soiled. Attire appropriate for a fallen princess. Her skin had deteriorated to the point he could see the muscles in her jaw line, the prominence of her naked clavicles. She clutched a paper in her hand.

He blessed her, kissed his fingers and laid them on her forehead. And took the note. It came grudgingly. Her skin still wet, for however long she’d been lying there, little fragments of flesh came with the paper as he pulled it from her hand. He choked back his gorge and opened it.

Dear Daddy—

Why won’t you come home? I don’t know what to do. You left it here, but I don’t want to take it if you’re not here. I thought you’d bring back more and we could find mommy. I kept the door shut and I’ve been eating the beans, but I feel bad. Bad bad. I feel it in here with me. I’m going to leave it for you, and I hope you come home and take it. But remember when we played that game at Aunt Trudie’s? I want to play again too. So, go find my favorite book!

Love

Ashley

He removed her from the end of the stairs, took a blanket hanging on the adjacent bookshelf to cover her body. The tunnel was long and narrow, and each wall had a multitude of shelves adhered to their surfaces. Nothing extreme; the shelves were full of simple canned goods that would prove to be important for he and her over the next few days. A close inspection set him at ease; the space was empty aside from the canned goods.

And books.

A whole wall of books that were swelling from the dampness of the space.

He went to her.

She woke and asked questions with her eyes he could not answer, but they descended the staircase together, her feet firmly planted on each stair. He reached and shut the door, covering them in darkness. He flicked the lighter and guided her downstairs, taking her first to the wall of books, if only because that was what the little girl wanted.

So many. Hemingway, Thoreau, Faulkner. Niche and even Kant. A section of Shel Silverstein, Dr. Seuss. A set of Encyclopedia Britannica. An odd collection of how-to manuals covering a number of things including how to snake a pipe, how to flush an engine, and, amazingly, how to cook the perfect Thanksgiving dinner. He looked at the collection. He looked to her.

He asked her which she would pick.

She pondered for a moment. Her hand, seemingly of its own accord, selected The Cat in the Hat.

He withdrew it from the shelf but didn’t open it. He weighed it in his hand and looked at her. Too slight, too malnourished. A mask on her face bigger than the size of her head. Not truly understanding the dire of her life, but still remembering her childhood. His heart had broken so frequently of late, but something about his daughter so serenely choosing the book of her youth caused him to choke back tears and turn away. He flipped through the pages and for a wonder, on her favorite part, another note.

“It’s fun to have fun, but you have to know how.”

Dear Daddy—

I hope you made it here. I always liked this part the best. You always know how to have fun, even when we can’t. I liked this one almost as much you liked Alice in Wonderland. You know that part, daddy? Where she dives through the trees and chases the rabbit? You always said that you liked diving down the rabbit hole. I really liked diving down it with you. I miss you, daddy. I want to tumble down the rabbit hole again. But if we can’t together, I think you should on your own. I love you.

Love

Ashley

He didn’t know how to tell her what it meant, he wasn’t even sure if he knew exactly what it meant. But the clever little girl in the soiled pink dress was leading her father somewhere, and by virtue of him being there with his own, mightn’t he do the same? He took her hand and they went down the tunnel.

The air was getting thin, and he reasoned that, if all was lost, now might be the time to breathe as much as they could. He took off his mask and took hers from her, even as she beat at his hands as he did so. He took their masks and threw them into the corner.

He handed her the book and strove forward into the dimly lit corridor.

After some time, he came across a pickaxe and a hole in the wall. There was a note attached. It read: “the rabbit hole.” He looked back at her then, understanding that there were precious few in this world he would give anything for.

He’d give it all to her.

He paused for a moment, using his lighter to light a lantern so that she might sit beneath it and read. She snuggled into the corner of the room, her Dr. Seuss laid upon her lap, and she nodded to her father, and returned to her own little world.

He picked up the pickaxe and went back to the soft ground near the note. He could feel the air coming in him with each swing of the axe. It was in part a luxury, for he hadn’t breathed real air in years, but with each pull into his lungs he knew the end would come soon. And amongst all of this, why follow the clues of a little girl who was lost without her parents? Because she’d have done it, and he was as much hers and him to her, as the world was to them both.

He dug into the littlest of little crevasses. He heard her reading behind him as he descended into the soil. The more he dug, the more her little voice resounded in his ears. It pushed him forward, it gave him life. He knew that he’d reach the end even when there wasn’t likely any ending. He’d get there and find a little girl’s joke dug into the earth. A last joke. Maybe a little doll, or maybe a ruby. But nothing that would get them out of the squander of their current predicament.

Yet, he dug. What more could he do? There were supplies to keep them alive, but no air to do so in the long term.

So, he dug.

And after a long while, he could feel the earth becoming less firm, as if someone had dug here not to recently. If he’d been paying attention, he’d have realized the earth had been moved long before. The echoes of her voice rang down the corridor, and he was guided by her light. He dug, further and further, even as his breath arrested his lungs, he dug. So far it seemed. As if he were creating Alice’s tunnel for her.

But her little voice continued to ring out.

And as the air became suffocating, as the air threatened to end his life, the end of the pickaxe landed upon something. Something that sparked and made him halt in his endeavor. He set the axe aside and dug at the earth with his fingers. The soil was wet, it felt good against his skin. And before too long, he happened upon the thing that struck his axe cold. Something dull, but something bright. He dug the earth around it and finally clasped it in his palm.

It was a locket, spun of gold, in the shape of a heart.

Attached to it, by either spit or glue, was another little note. He took a moment to breathe, and ripped the note from the locket, unfolding it and reading it the light of his lighter.

Dear Daddy—

I hope you made it this far. I love you. I just thought it shouldn’t go to waste. I thought it should go to you. I’m glad you remember the games. I hope you had fun finding it. I love you, daddy. Take it and make the world like you said. Somewhere we can all live.

Love

Ashley

He opened the locket and saw it’s inside. Without so much thought, he turned and went back out the tunnel, coming to her as she lay gasping.

He opened locket and put the pellet into her mouth. She gasped and rasped but sucked the pill down.

And as he lay dying, she strung the locket around his neck.