Fourth Dimension Read online

I turned to where he was pointing. There was a goat, and there were a couple of sheep in the other corner of the yard.

  “Yes, we have some guests—about a hundred of them,” Chris said. “They were part of the petting zoo and we thought they’d be better off here.”

  “That’s just smart,” my mother said. “You can get milk from goats.”

  “A surprisingly large amount. Not to mention the three cows that came along. They were part of the little operation that was run to show city kids what a farm is like. There were also almost a dozen chickens and a rooster. We haven’t needed an alarm clock with all his crowing in the morning.”

  “So you now have goats, sheep, cows, and chickens,” my mother said.

  “And a few other animals—I won’t ruin the surprise. Keep your eyes open.”

  Both Ethan and I looked around. I didn’t see anything, but I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. Maybe there were a couple of horses, or a mule?

  “Here we are,” Chris said as she ushered us inside her cottage.

  The table was set with dishes, and there was music! There was a record player in the corner and it was playing an old vinyl record. I didn’t recognize the singer, but still, it was music to my ears!

  “I see your solar panels are working well,” my mother said.

  “Quite well. Please sit, and I’ll get you something to drink and a bite to eat.”

  “Do you have any more of that lemonade?” Ethan asked.

  “Ethan,” my mom started to chide him, but Chris just smiled and went into the kitchen. We could see her through a little opening in the wall between the living area and the kitchen.

  “When the power goes out here, the city has never been in any hurry to fix it,” she continued. “You probably don’t know the history between the city government and our little community.”

  “We just moved to the city a few months ago, so really don’t know much at all,” my mother said.

  “These islands are all technically park land,” Chris explained. “And about twenty years ago the city decided that nobody should live in the park.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” I said, and then caught myself. “But what do I know?”

  “Your opinion was the same as that of most of the people in the city. So they decided to try to evict us.”

  “But you’re still here,” my mother said.

  “Did I mention that we’re stubborn?” She laughed as she poked her head through the opening. “We met every legal challenge with our own legal answer. It’s not like we just stumbled here overnight. We were here long before this was ever a park.”

  She brought out a tray that had steaming drinks—it smelled like coffee—two glasses of lemonade, and a plate with crackers and cheese and slices of bread covered with jam. I couldn’t believe it.

  “The cheese is from our goats, the jam is from crab apples that were picked last year, the bread is baked here from ancient grains.”

  “I don’t imagine the coffee is local,” my mother said.

  “Or the lemonade,” my brother said as he took the glass and had a sip.

  “Not quite, but we do have locally grown tea, if you’d rather,” Chris offered.

  “No, coffee is wonderful. We’re almost out of coffee.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not out of most everything.”

  “We brought out everything we had, and we’re being careful and adding from local sources.”

  “I’ve caught a lot of fish,” Ethan explained proudly.

  “A good fisherman hardly ever goes hungry. Now dig in.”

  None of us needed a second invitation. I started with the crackers and cheese while Ethan went for the bread and jam.

  “This is all so good,” my mother said.

  “We’re a very self-sufficient little community. It’s amazing what you can harvest if you know what’s right under your feet. If you’d like, I can show you some of the root vegetables you can dig up, leaves you can eat or brew, nuts and herbs that are natural to the island and good for your health to boot.”

  “I think I’d really appreciate that.”

  I made note that my mother didn’t mention that we were already doing some of that because of her Marine survival training.

  “I was wondering, when the city tried to remove you from your houses, did they try to evict the boats from the marina as well?” my mother asked.

  “Oh, goodness no. Those people with the boats have money. People with money can do practically what they want.”

  “I don’t think that works right now,” I said.

  “Nothing works. It bothered my Sam when he had to abandon the marina.”

  “Where is Sam?” I asked.

  “He’s out on patrol. Although some of our residents are opposed to us even having a patrol. Our more vehement pacifists find it distasteful to need to be protected by men with weapons.”

  “Isn’t that what a police department normally does?” I asked.

  “That was our argument, and they finally seemed to agree. I just think it’s a wise precaution.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” my mother said. “Yesterday we paddled by the airport and they had armed guards.”

  “They’ve always had armed guards, and fences with barbed wire ringing the whole operation.”

  “We saw that. Did the city want them out, too?” I asked.

  “Part of the reason the city wanted us out was so that the airport could be expanded.”

  “I thought it was because you were on park land,” I said.

  “That’s the excuse. The airport is on park land just as much as we are, but if they could expand the runways they could land jets. There was even talk of building a tunnel from the city out to the island to get those plane passengers to and from the airport.”

  “But that didn’t happen, right?”

  She smiled. “I told you we were a pretty stubborn group out here. We managed to stop them, at least so far. We think the airport itself is a danger to the quality of our lives, to the ecology of the island, the animals and aquatic life.”

  “And what do they think of your community?” I asked.

  “Oh, they probably think that we’re a bunch of tree-hugging, organic, earthy hippies, and come to think of it that does sound like us.” She paused. “But speaking of flight and natural life, it won’t be long before the ducks and geese start laying eggs. You should mark nests now so those eggs can be gathered when it’s time. Not much difference between a chicken and a duck egg.”

  “I thought about that,” my mother said. “You really do like to prepare. You might have been a pretty good Marine.”

  “Oh, goodness knows I’d be a terrible soldier! I was an elementary school teacher.”

  “Isn’t that sort of like being a drill sergeant?” Ethan asked, and she laughed.

  “I think there might be a bit of similarity there.”

  “Our mother was a Marine,” I said.

  “But now I’m just a nurse. I work at the Emergency Department at Eastern General Hospital.”

  “A nurse,” Chris said. “That’s interesting.”

  “What are you doing for medical care out here?” my mother asked.

  “We have a naturopath, a massage therapist, a veterinarian, two psychotherapists, two midwives, a practitioner of reiki, and a psychic.”

  “A psychic?” I questioned.

  “I know, I know. If she was any good she probably would have seen all of this coming,” Chris said with a little laugh. “Maybe it’s better that we can’t see the future right now, though.”

  I didn’t agree. I always wanted to know what was going to happen, even if it was something bad.

  “But there’s no medical doctor,” my mother said.

  “No doctor and no nurse,” Chris said.

  “You know, if you need medical advice or assistance, if anybody does, I can help,” my mother said.

  “That’s a wonderful offer, and perhaps we will have to take you up on that.” Chris leaned i
n closer and lowered her voice. “And I have something I’d like to offer to you. I’m going to give you some seeds.”

  “What sort of seeds?” I asked.

  “Carrot, some lettuce, radish, and tomato. You do have a secure, safe place to grow them, don’t you?”

  “We’re out on a little island,” my mother said.

  I was surprised she’d give away even that much information, but really there were dozens and dozens of islands.

  “Good. Being isolated might be better than being here.”

  I thought about what she’d just said. Was that her way of saying we weren’t welcome to come here? Was she trying to make us feel better about it? Was that what my mother was angling for when she offered to help? And then I had one more thought. If we were going to plant seeds, was it because we were still going to be here in the middle of the summer when those seeds would become something we could eat?

  “Neither of you think this is going to end soon, do you?” I asked.

  They exchanged a look like neither one of them wanted to be the one to say that Santa Claus wasn’t real.

  Finally Chris spoke. “I know that it’s better to plan for the worst and be pleasantly surprised if it’s not so bad in the end.”

  “You’re sounding like a Marine again,” my mother said.

  “She means that as a compliment,” Ethan added.

  “I’ll take it that way.”

  Suddenly Ethan leapt to his feet, and we all jumped. His eyes were wide open and he was staring and pointing out the window. I couldn’t see anything except bushes, and grass, and trees—and then two zebras trotted across the frame of the picture window!

  “You get out of my garden!” Chris yelled as she got to her feet. She ran to the door, grabbing a broom on the way.

  My mother and brother were right on her heels. I hesitated for a second, then grabbed the remaining piece of cheese and went after them. To my shock, there weren’t just two zebras, but four of them—plus a llama and an ostrich!

  “You leave my garden alone!” Chris yelled.

  She ran after them, swinging the broom. The zebras ran away, kicking and bucking, and the llama ran after them. For a split second it looked as though the ostrich was going to argue, until Chris smacked it on the side. Then it practically took flight, jumping and flapping its puny little wings and rushing off to join the others.

  She turned back to us. “I told you there were other surprise guests. I think the zebras are cute when they’re not eating my shrubs, but I must admit I hate that ostrich. I’ve never liked them. They look like a snake attached to a bird!”

  Almost on cue the ostrich reappeared. Or at least its neck and head did. It looked over the tall hedges that separated Chris’s cottage from her neighbor’s. It did look like a snake. It turned its head and stared at us with one big eye and—there was the sound of a gunshot, followed by a second and a third.

  11

  At the sound of the gun, the ostrich took off. We stood staring at each other until my mother said, “That’s rifle fire.”

  I knew that too. You grow up on a military base with a firing range and you quickly learn the difference between the sounds a pistol and a rifle make. At least it was single-shot action and not an automatic weapon.

  “Which direction did it come from?” Chris asked.

  There was another shot, and then another. I pointed in one direction and my brother another. My mother had another opinion: she pointed south, away from the direction we’d come from.

  “You three stay here and I’ll go and investigate,” she said.

  “No, we’re going with you,” I snapped.

  Before my mother could respond, Chris did. “We’re all going with you. If it’s safe for you, it’s safe for us.”

  Mom nodded. “Just stay back. Give me a couple of dozen paces’ lead.”

  She started off along the little path and we followed. She was holding her gun in both hands while keeping it pointed to the ground. People stood on their porches or looked over the fences as we passed. Some asked what was going on, but Chris just shrugged her shoulders. There was another shot and I involuntarily bent down. Wouldn’t it have been a smart idea to run in the other direction?

  Three kids on bicycles were coming up behind us. One of them started to ring his bell to warn us they were about to pass.

  “Stop!” I yelled as I stood up and blocked the path, and they skidded to a halt.

  “You can’t go this way. You have to go back!”

  “We just want to go and see what’s happening,” one of them protested.

  “What’s happening is somebody is firing a gun. What’s happening is that somebody could get shot, and you shouldn’t go there!” I yelled at them.

  “She’s right. You need to go home. Let your parents know that you’re fine,” Chris said.

  They turned their bikes and started pedaling away.

  We turned back around, and by this time my mother had moved quite a bit farther up the path. We hurried after her, while instinctively staying low, moving slightly bent over.

  “I don’t think people here fully understand,” Chris said as we caught up to my mother.

  “Gunshots aren’t real until somebody is shooting at you,” she answered.

  As we came to the last cottage we stopped and took shelter, peeking around the corner. Well into the distance we could see across an open baseball field, where a long bridge crossed over some water.

  Huddled at the near end of the bridge, hidden behind its pillars, were three men. I could see rifles in the hands of at least two of them. I had to assume they were guards but I wasn’t sure. On the other side of the bridge, in the forest, I could see dozens of people spread out among the trees. I couldn’t see exactly how many, or if they were armed.

  As we waited, a group of men crowded in behind us and asked what was happening.

  “I’m assuming those people on the other side of the bridge tried to cross over and our guards stopped them,” Chris answered.

  “What do you think they want?” one of the men asked.

  “Food, shelter, the things everybody wants,” my mother answered. “Does that bridge connect to Main Island?”

  “It’s the only link between Ward’s Island and Main Island. That’s why we have it guarded.”

  “It needs to be better guarded, or barricaded,” my mother said.

  “Is that Sam out there?” Ethan asked.

  “I think so. I’ll check.” Chris stood up, waved, and called out, “Sammy!” That didn’t seem like such a smart thing to do. He turned and waved back, but didn’t get up.

  “I’m going to go out and talk to them,” said my mother. “Chris, can you please stay here with my kids? I’d like three of you men to go out too, but wait here until I signal.”

  She moved quickly across the open field, gun still in hand, closing the gap until she slid down beside Sam, sharing the pillar he was hiding behind. I felt a sense of relief when she had reached shelter. She waved, signaling the men beside us to approach. Two men left right away, but none of the others volunteered to be the third.

  “Joshua, please go as well,” Chris said to one of the remaining men. He nodded and then ran fast to catch the others,

  getting there at the same time as they all tried to hide behind the same pillar as my mother.

  They huddled together for a while, and then my mother and Sam got up and started over the bridge, while two men from behind the other pillar joined them. The other three started running back toward us.

  “What are they all doing?” Ethan asked.

  The three men skidded to a stop in front of a picnic table. Together they picked it up and started carrying it back toward the bridge. Now it made sense. They were going to build the barricade my mother had mentioned.

  My mother and the others stopped at the very middle of the bridge, the place where the arch flattened out. The men with the rifles dropped to the ground, flattening themselves out and taking aim. My mother and Sam,
one on each side, using the wall of the bridge as partial cover, stayed on their feet.

  “You will not be allowed to cross the bridge!” announced my mother, yelling out to the people on the other side so loudly that we could hear her words. “This is not your property! We will defend this place with force if necessary!”

  The three men got to the top of the bridge with the picnic table. They turned it on its side and my mother sheltered behind it. They ran back—I hoped to get another.

  More people had gathered behind us, and Chris directed another four men to gather tables as well. I was impressed—not only because she knew everybody and was able to make decisions, but because people listened to her.

  Picnic table by picnic table, the barricade was being constructed. The people who were eating picnic meals or sitting watching soccer games just a couple of weeks ago could never have predicted their use now—stopping people and potentially stopping bullets.

  “You need to leave!” my mother yelled out. “You will not be allowed to cross the bridge!”

  A woman just behind me spoke. “Who is that woman?”

  I almost said “My mother,” but Chris spoke first. “She is a friend of mine, a guest.”

  “A guest shouldn’t be speaking for us,” the woman said.

  I turned to face her. “Do you want to go out there where they’re firing guns and be the spokesperson?” I asked—this time not able to stop myself.

  She looked taken aback.

  “I’m sure my mother would be willing to let you talk. Why don’t you go out there? Maybe you could even stroll over to the woods and talk to them face to face.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not the leader…I shouldn’t be out there.”

  Chris put a hand on my arm, and said to the woman, “We have to decide who is going to speak for us.”

  “We need a community meeting to make that decision,” one of the remaining men said, and there was a mumbling of agreement and nodding of heads. Strange how one of the people without enough guts to go and bring picnic tables was speaking so strongly.

  The barricade continued to be built until ten tables formed what looked like a solid wall across the top of the bridge. Nobody was going to be crossing over that easily. It was harder to see, but the people on the other side of the channel seemed to be taking my mother’s advice, as there were fewer heads poking out and I could make out movement down the path going away.