Page 1 of Adam's Rising

1

The TV’s crackly sound buzzed through the thin walls — a monotone news anchor droning on about another cold front moving in. Like that’s news. It’s always cold. Outside, the wind howled through the trees, rattling the rickety cabin’s windows in their frames. A few seconds later, the national anthem blasted through the cabin. Adam wondered vaguely whatspangledeven meant, but before he could puzzle it out, the soaring trumpets hit their grand finale only to be swallowed up by static.

Adam closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep. His stomach grumbled. He’d gone to bed hungry again. Thomas tried, but it wasn’t like before — before Mom and Dad were gone. Before peanut butter was something you could just grab out of the cupboard instead of hoping the store had some. Couldn’t President Carter just —

THUD!THUD!THUD!

Adam bolted upright, heart hammering. The knocks were sharp and demanding — nothing like the usual late-night visitors with their softrat-a-tat-tats. Some code, he imagined, since those visitors slink in and out, barely a whisper muttered.

Not that a neighbor would hear. When their father homesteaded the land twenty-some years ago, he’d wanted to be as far away from people as possible. Still, most of Thomas’s newfriends, as he called them, would scuttle in and out, always after nightfall. Even over the summer, when night barely fell for more than an hour or two in this part of Alaska.

Adam instinctively glanced at the clock radio perched on the dented and scratched oak dresser he shared with his younger brother, Peter — Thomas had taken over their parents’ bedroom. The clock’s bright-white numbers lit up the room like a makeshift nightlight. As if cued, the hour and minute flaps flipped from 11:59 to 12:00 with an audibleclack. He’d gone to bed at ten — Thomas’s mandate — but he’d spent the last two hours lying on the bottom bunk, staring up at the wood slats under Peter’s bed. He already knew how many cowboy hats and lassos were on the cheap mattress and, yet, he counted them again and again, just for something to do while Thomas ran this new business, doing his best to keep the three of them fed and warm.

Adam had prepared himself for foster life when Thomas sold off nearly everything they owned, including his horse, but then his brother had made a deal with a man Adam had never seen. Maybe the heavy knocks were from this mysterious partner.

Although Adam hadn’t been sleeping, he hated these nighttime visits, always wondered when something might go wrong. He also despised that, even at sixteen, he had to listen to his brother insist that he needed eight hours of sleep. Adam was pretty sure that if his parents were still alive, they would have allowed him to stay up until eleven even on a school night.

THUD!THUD!THUD! The visitor’s fist slammed against the door harder than before. The heavy thumps rocked Adam’s core along with the walls and the bedroom door. The metal hinges, already missing screws, rattled in protest. Peter had slammed the door so many times in opposition of Thomas’s many orders that Adam considered just taking down the cheap hollow door.

Adam rolled to his side, staring at the closed door.Why isn’t Thomas answering the door?Is this partner of his dangerous, the reason his brother always swept them off to bed? He reached beneath the bunk for his hunting rifle, finding nothing but dust bunnies and worn tennis shoes that no longer fit. Remembering Thomas had sold his gun, too, Adam dropped his head back onto the pillow.Thomas will warn us if there’s danger, just like Dad always did.

“Tom! Open the door! They’re coming!” The voice was raw, edged with panic. Adam’s stomach wrenched again, this time from fear. He recognized the voice but not the nervous pitch. Jeff never panicked.

Jeff was the only one of Thomas’s real friends who still hung out with his brother since he dropped out of high school. Jeff had tried to talk Thomas into entering the military with him when he turned eighteen but, thankfully, his brother had declined. If Thomas left them, social services were sure to ship both him and Peter to some home for boys; it’s not like anyone would adopt them. Most folks couldn’t feed their own families, so they definitely wouldn’t take in teenage boys.

The bedroom door swung open, slamming against the wall and rattling the window panes.

Before Adam could react, Thomas yanked him from beneath the thick wool blankets. “Get dressed!”

Thomas reached above the railing that kept Peter from rolling off the top bunk and pulled him into his arms.

“What the hell?” Peter swung at him — his kid brother swung at everyone lately — but Thomas simply pinned the scrawny fourteen-year-old’s wrists against his chest and set him on the wood floor.

“Get dressed!”

Peter crossed his arms. “Why?”

“Dammit, Peter! Can’t you ever just listen?”

Already dressed, Adam pulled clothes from Peter’s side of the dresser and tossed them to his defiant brother. “Just do what Thomas says, Peter. Remember, Dad always said,If I say run, run!”

“Thomas isnotDad!” Peter grumbled but yanked off his flannel pajamas and hopped up and down as he tugged on the hand-me-down wranglers and a gray sweatshirt so worn the hem had unraveled in strands, barely holding together.

Wordlessly, Adam looked to Thomas for direction.

Thomas dragged Adam out of the room, shoving his faded Eastpak into his arms. “I already filled it with everything you’ll need.”

“Need? What’s going on?” Adam finally voiced his concern.

Thomas smacked a balled-up fist to his chin. “You’re smart, Adam, smarter than all of us put together. I need you to take Peter and leave. Head to Anchorage. I put my IDs, yours and Peter’s birth certificates, Dad’s revolver, and all the money I have inside —”

Adam shook his head, staring up at his brother, who towered over him. “I don’t understand —”

Thomas gripped his shoulders. “Yeah, you do. You’ve just kept your mouth shut.” He looked toward the closed bedroom door. “Listen, Adam, these men I’ve dealt with over the last year, I’ve told them my name is Samuel —”

“Everyone knows Dad is dead, why would you —”

“Not these guys. They aren’t from here. A friend hooked me up with them.”

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