30 Stories in 30 Days
an excerpt

2058

[EXCERPT]

Not everything in the basement was treasure. Someone had preserved food, or tried to; there were apples, peaches, corn, and many sweets. The glass jars were still intact, but the metal lids were corroded. It was a shame to throw away the maker’s good intentions.

There were books, too, but these fell apart so easily, the two decided to leave them mostly alone. Besides, only Chris could read. Once in a while they treated themselves to a story; he would read aloud to her, making up the parts where he didn’t know the words.

In the tool room there was one place which Chris warned her very carefully to avoid.

“Hold out your hands.”

Ever obedient, she stuck them out. He laid a heavy object in her hands.

“What is it?”

“It’s called a chainsaw. It does the work of ten men.”

“Why don’t you use it?”

“Look, see this?” He took the thing away from her and placed it back on the shelf. Now he was pointing to a boxy red thing with a yellow nozzle.

Layla nodded. “It’s a box.”

Chris shook his head. “No. It’s gas. It’s what makes the chainsaw go.”

“So what?” She failed to see the point.

“Layla, listen. This is important. People will do anything for this stuff. They will kill for it. No matter what happens, no matter who ever comes here, no one must ever know it’s here. If they find out, any chance we have to live here is over with. Okay? Understand?”

“Okay, Chris.” Layla trusted him completely. “But why don’t we just get rid of it?”

“We can’t. It’s poison.”

The discussion was over. It was just as well; the chainsaw and the gas made Layla uneasy. She wanted to get away from the damned things.

“I found something else!” she brightened.

The smile returned to his face. “What?”

She dragged him over to a spot near the books. “It’s a funny kind of paper.”

He took the clear plastic block from her hands and turned it over with awe. Whoever had lived here had wanted to be very sure that the encased paper would be preserved. It was big, about the size of two large books side by side.

“Can you read it?” she asked eagerly.

“I’m sorry, Lay. No, most of it, I can’t.” He pointed near the top. “This is the word ‘ninth.’ This must be page nine of something. Maybe we’ll find the other pages.”

He ran his fingers over the smooth surface, following the long horizontal lines. They marched in groups of five. Little dots and sticks decorated the lines. Repeated symbols curled down the left side at the start of each bar.

His eye fell upon the name at the top left. “Beth. No, Beeth. Oh! I know what this is.” He grinned at her. “It’s music.”

“That’s weird, why isn’t music written down like words?”

“I don’t know, that’s just the way they used to do it.”

[/EXCERPT]