The Release

The entire space was the size of a walk-in closet. Lucy noticed almost immediately that one of the shelves was empty. The cans their mother had carefully prepared over the summer had been moved to the floor. And the whole shelving unit was moved away from the dirt wall, giving just enough room for a body to slip behind it. Ignoring the tickling on the back of her neck, her warning beacon of intuition, she stepped over the grape jelly and peaches and asparagus spears and slid herself behind the wooden shelving unit. Up close, she realized that the wall was not dirt and earth, but wood. And there, sparkling brightly underneath the flashlight was a long, thin door handle.

“Oh my goodness,” Lucy breathed out in a gush. “There’s another room back here.”

Darla’s disembodied voice rose to her from the darkness, “Took Ethan ten minutes to find that door. Go ahead now,” she instructed in a small, sad voice. Lucy paused. It bothered her that Darla knew her family’s secrets before she did; she hated that Darla knew what was waiting for her in the next room and hadn’t made an effort to tell her, warn her, keep her involved in the story. What did Darla gain from being secretive?

She closed her eyes, her hand wrapping around the handle. It was cold against her palm.

In the dark, Lucy could make out the sound of Grant’s feet shuffling around, moving closer to the empty shelf.

“You okay, Grant?” she asked.

“I feel fine,” he answered with a subtle hint of contrition—as if he was sorry that the unknown nature of his future caused a burden.

“Are you coming?”

He paused and cleared his throat before saying; “I just think…I feel like…you should do this by yourself.”

She didn’t feel like arguing with a dead man.

That whole day, Lucy wanted to know the answers. Who and what? Why? But as she stood on the precipice of discovery, Lucy was sure she didn’t really want to know anything.

She was the child who went on massive searches around the house to discover Christmas presents, who always snooped out surprise parties. Her mind was finely tuned to disallow people from dropping startling revelations. She hated secrets and suspense. What lurked beyond the hidden door, in her mother’s fruit cellar, seemed far too overwhelming.

“Darla?” Lucy called again. “I need to know…I can’t go in…you have to tell me if it’s awful. You have to prepare me for this. I’m begging you.”

With a sigh, Darla spoke. “I suppose, in a way, it is awful,” she said in a near-whisper. “It’s petrifying. It’s devastating. Because all secrets are.” And then she paused, cleared her throat. “But then…it’s time to know the truth. You’re ready to hear it.”

“You didn’t actually answer anything,” Lucy complained.

Darla’s silence was her response.

Lucy turned the handle downward and door popped open. She adjusted her placement so that she could open the door wide enough to slide her body inside. Once inside, the door slammed closed and she spun; she had left Grant and Darla in the fruit cellar in total darkness. U

As she inhaled deeply, she instructed herself to calm down. The room was virtually empty except for a desk along one wall and a row of shelves along the other wall. Stored on the shelves were dozens of cardboard boxes. Lucy walked over and inspected a single box. On the outside in bright red lettering it read: Apack-Ready-Meals. She tugged one down to the floor and pulled open the top. Inside the box were more individual cardboard boxes marked with labels that read: chicken and feta; lasagna in meat sauce; cherry turnover sandwich; pepper steak; pot roast. And then in another box on the shelf, hundreds of pouches of purified water. Lucy held one under the light and gave it a squeeze; she could feel the liquid roll between her fingers.

She was standing in a doomsday shelter.

It was appropriately and secretly stocked with, what Lucy could gather, was at least a year’s supply of food and water. She pocketed the water and turned to the desk. Her heart was racing as she approached.

The desk was small and it had been pushed up against the walls (which were nothing more than thin panels of sheetrock). On the desk was a single piece of paper; its edges were crinkled a bit. And above the desk was a map of the United States, taped with crude strips of masking tape to the wall. There were no marks, no circles, no arrows. No messages. One corner had been lifted free from the wall and the corner was bent. She lifted the map upward and it revealed a small cubby cut into the wall, which contained a shoebox.

She started to reach inside, but then pulled her hand back and waited. Lucy recognized the box from a pair of shoes she had purchased a while ago—a pair of sequined flats that she begged her mom to get for her. Of course she had never missed the box, but here it was, inside a hidden cubbyhole in a secret room in the back of their fruit cellar. She closed her eyes. Everything inside the room seemed to be pointing Lucy toward the truth. Darla assumed that she was ready to hear it; Lucy doubted she would ever be ready.

She slid the box out of the wall and heard its contents roll and shift. She opened the lid and inside were two syringes and two empty vials. The masking tape labels across the tubing read: Ethan and Lucy. Here were the other two vaccines. Her thoughts went immediately to Darla outside the door and little Teddy upstairs. These were the vaccines that saved their lives. She held them up to the flashlight, searching for a fraction of leftover vaccine—a hope that there would be something for Grant, but they were light and dry.

Inside the box was also a note, typed, that read: Attn: Box Contents. Lab results. Photographic evidence of data. Instructions for Administering upon the following circumstances:If we failed to complete your immunizations for our trip to the Seychelles. Take immediately.

Lucy exhaled. None of that was new information and she braced herself for the next piece. She set her old shoebox down and shifted her attention to the paper on the desk.

She saw that it was a letter dated four months ago. Four months ago, when the biggest worries of her teenage life were winter formal and AP psychology tests, Salem’s boy chasing and Ethan’s clingy girlfriend issues. She almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it all.

The note read:

My dearest family, if you are reading this note it means that our plans have not quite gone the way I hoped. If you are reading this note and it doesn’t make sense to you, then perhaps the plan failed completely and totally. If that is the case, I can’t even begin to imagine my fate. There is a chance you are reading this letter too soon, but I feel very secure that this room behind the fruit cellar will go u