First Gear - Eve Langlais Page 0,8

them and yet your mission in life was to have an expedition sent?”

“Because it was the only place left. And I knew they were large, but this…” He waved at them.

Standing at the foot of a drive, seeing the backdrop of the mountains behind a small house, he couldn’t help but feel miniscule in comparison. No wonder Geoff didn’t recommend exploring them. Their sheer height made it more than a daunting task. The stone appeared unmarked by vegetation of any sort.

And yet, the wind off the peaks brought a hint of freshness, of air not yet completely tainted.

As they neared the house, Onaria frowned. “That’s odd.”

“What’s wrong?”

She pointed to a mound of dirt recently dug up. The right size for a grave.

“It’s probably nothing,” he stated, but the ball of dread in his stomach said otherwise.

Onaria flew to the door of the house, the once-white paint a peeling gray. She gave it a solid thump and didn’t wait for a reply before shoving inside. By the time he’d followed, she’d run through the house yelling her aunt’s name.

He found her standing in the kitchen, the cupboards clearly ransacked.

“She’s dead.” A statement spoken dully.

All he could do was hug her as she sobbed, her grief soaking his shoulder. As he stroked her hair, his mind furiously worked, wondering how they’d survive. They’d expected to arrive at a home with at least a modicum of food. Whoever had buried Onaria’s aunt didn’t leave anything to waste. If they buried her. He preferred to not think of the alternative.

By the time Onaria stopped sobbing, night had fallen.

“I’ll boil some water.” Because it was the only thing he could think of. The fluid from the tap didn’t emerge as gray as that in the city. The joys of being on a well. Filling a pot, he set it on the stove and headed outside, examining the yard with a critical eye.

“What are you looking for?” Onaria said from behind in a voice still wobbly from her grief.

“Something to make tea with.” He crouched down and pulled at some wilted leaves on a plant that belonged, at one time, to a garden.

“You don’t want to use that.”

Frustrated, he tossed it and scrubbed his face and hair. “What are we going to do?” There was nothing for them here. The air was fresher, but for how long? Judging by the foliage around, the taint was already here.

“Oh, Jool.” She hugged him, the woman grieving offering him comfort. “We’ll be fine. Come.”

She tugged him by the hand and led him to a pile of wood. He eyed it and said, “You want to build a fire?”

“That would be nice and cozy, but I’m more interested in this.” Crouching down, she grabbed the knotted protrusion on a log at the very bottom of the pile.

“Don’t pull on that, you’ll—” The warning about toppling the pile was never finished, as the entire stacked heap lifted on a hydraulic hinge, revealing a ladder leading down into a hole.

“Say hello to Auntie’s secret cellar. It used to be where my uncle brewed his wine and beer, but when he died, Auntie began filling it with food.” She descended the ladder, and he saw a light flare as she lit something.

He peered over the edge and saw a larger room than expected, lined with shelves and jars. So many jars of canned edibles.

They wouldn’t die of starvation. He almost cried in relief.

They ate by candlelight, toasting the aunt he’d never met, filling their bellies properly for the first time in ages. Later perhaps, they’d be more careful about rationing, but for the moment, it felt nice to ease the gnawing inside.

Then they spent the evening listening to the radio. The announcer had only dire things to tell. After a while, they turned it to a channel that played music. Neither really talking. Even here, they couldn’t completely escape reality.

The following day, with nothing better to do, he went into the yard and stared at the mountains, remembering the suggestion he actually explore them. In the light of day, it seemed impossible.

The edge of them began abruptly, jagged thrusts of rock emerging from the ground as if punched through the crust of the earth. They formed a veritable wall that, once scaled, led to another ridge of stone, then another. Nothing grew in any of the crevices. Not even a tiny bit of moss.

Craning his head, he noted the peaks of the mountains remained hidden by the smog. He wondered if they still