Chapter 24 Buried Truths
Chapter twenty-four
Buried Truths
On the outskirts of Tupelo, Verdancia, two days later
Sunlight filtered through the branches, warming Lark’s face.
Leaning against a magnolia, five minutes from the Jeep and cargo truck, she watched Diego and Captain Luke argue over how to breach the steel vault door.
They’d found it sunk into a hillside, buried in bramble.
Nearby stood the bones of a ramshackle old farmhouse—once a grand plantation, now strangled in vines, its porch caved into rubble.
Beyond, fields of cotton, corn, and soybeans stretched wide.
An ancient farmer in overalls and a straw hat, half a week’s stubble bristling, stood across from Lark with a corncob pipe clenched between yellowed teeth.
He talked around it. “This was the old Culpepper place back before the commotion. They owned all the land as far as you can see—agribusiness. Culpepper said he was buildin’ this bunker just in case, but I never knew if he did or didn’t ‘til now.”
“Do you remember before the war?” Lark asked. She wondered if his stories lined up with Gramma’s.
“Better than I remember what day it is.” He plucked the pipe from his mouth, pinching it between bony, arthritic fingers. His white-whiskered jaw worked for a minute as he gazed at a blue sky.
“No bombs ever dropped ‘round here,” he recalled in a raspy tenor. “One day the power went out, and it ain’t come back on since. Folks with solar panels had electricity—some of ‘em for years before the parts broke down. People were beside themselves with worry, frettin’ about their kin in far-off places. Vehicles quit workin’ and us farmers had to go back to the old-fashioned way of doin’ things.
Those first few years were like havin’ one hoof in the mud. ”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Most folks acted like corn after a hailstorm—all beat down and pitiful, bless their hearts. Not much has changed, far as I’m concerned. I miss Coca-Cola, though.” He replaced his pipe, puffing a swirl of smoke.
A loud report sounded, accompanied by a miniature smoke cloud. “Got it!” Diego called. Lark figured his “blow the lock” method won out.
“Nice meeting you,” she said to the codger and hurried to the entry with Luke and Diego.
Wes and Skye crowded in, their expressions eager, while Harlan had drawn the short straw and waited by the vehicles.
Visions of vast stockpiles of medicine and ammunition ignited her anticipation.
The two brawny men shoved, the door creaking as it grudgingly inched open.
With a loud scraping noise, they threw it wide.
Peering between their shoulders, she spied a dark tunnel.
“I’ll go first,” the captain declared, flicking on a flashlight.
“Sorry, rookie.” Wes grinned as he edged in front of her. “Age before beauty.”
Lark shot him a sarcastic look, taking a step back to avoid being plowed down. “I doubt you’re older than me.”
“Yeah, but it’s the rules,” Skye said with a playful wink, as she also moved in front of Lark. “Whenever something fun happens, new guys go last.”
Supposing that was fair, Lark tried to be patient, hoping the vault would be large enough for them to all fit. One by one, her team members descended into the unknown.
Lark followed closely behind Skye, letting the lieutenant’s beam shine around for them both.
A steel culvert pipe about a meter and a half across led down five metal steps into a much wider chamber than Lark expected.
This was no prefab vault, but a home-built job with concrete block sides and a cement floor.
A wall of stale, sour air hit her nose. Flashlight beams swept the space, illuminating a living area and extensive rows of pallet racks.
“Don’t touch anything yet,” Luke called. He shone his light on a jagged crack in the concrete and the moisture beads clinging to the ceiling. “There’s probably mold.”
“Ah ha!” Wes announced in triumph. “Let there be light.” Electric lights flickered on from fixtures overhead.
He shrugged. “Too tempting. This place runs on an old compact nuclear cell—rare and hard to find intact. I’d have to run a few tests, but this one looks like it could power the entire Capitol Building for decades. ”
“I don’t see any Culpeppers around here, dead or alive,” Diego mentioned. “Reckon we’ll take that back with everything else.”
Sure enough, Lark saw no skeletons or preserved bodies in the shelter. “I wonder what happened to them? If they moved back to the surface, why leave all this behind?”
“Don’t know,” Skye answered as she ran her finger across a shelf, carving a deep path in the pervasive dust.
“Someone planned to take refuge here,” Luke said, pointing to a bathroom, complete with toilet, sink, and mini shower. “They’ve got an air filtration system—top of the line.”
Lark noted a couch and chairs, a small table stacked with board games, and fold-down bunks lining part of a wall.
The shelves held sealed ten-liter buckets of rice, beans, popping corn, wheat, macaroni, and smaller containers of salt, freeze-dried fruits, vegetables, chicken, and ground beef.
Shrink-wrapped boxes of meal packets sat beside jars of pickles, honey, and jam.
“Would you look at this?” Wes exclaimed. Lark peered around the long center aisle of shelving. Wes pointed to rows of white PVP tubing positioned one above the other. She ambled over for a closer look. “It’s a hydroponic gardening system.”
Under the bright lights, Lark noticed decayed leaves sticking out of holes in the piping, buckets of murky water with tubing at both ends. “They were growing fresh greens to eat while down here.” Curiosity gnawed at her. All this sitting here, untouched, unused.
“I found some ammo,” Diego reported. “Two cases of .22 bullets and one of 9-millimeter. They also left behind a rifle and pistol to go with them. They need cleaning but appear serviceable.”
“Not much in the way of medicine,” Luke said, disappointment tinging his voice. “A couple of first aid kits. Some expired pill bottles.”
“Well, here’s the motherlode!”
Everyone shifted their attention to Wes. From the back corner, he wheeled out a pallet jack stacked four high with shrink-wrapped toilet paper. Diego doubled over laughing.
“Hey,” Skye commented. “They didn’t want to run out.”
The powdered milk cans had been compromised, water purification tablets ruined, face masks and gloves crumbling with age. The cans of soft drinks the old farmer would have loved had burst from the heat and leaked sticky substances all over their shelf.
“One electron tablet, some crank lanterns and radios, tools, a bicycle,” Luke counted off. “Let’s get everything to the truck. Lark, send a pigeon asking Queen Frost what she wants us to bring back and what we should give to Tupelo.”
“Yes, sir,” she grumbled. Isn’t that Skye’s job? Why do I have to send a note to that tyrant? The farther I can stay from her, the better.
On her way out, Lark noticed a large, leather-bound book lying on the table with Monopoly, Risk, and several Time magazines.
Curious—and in no hurry to communicate with her nemesis—Lark opened the dusty cover.
It appeared to be a family album, each page displaying photographs of individuals and family groups, posed and in playful candid shots.
A child blowing out candles on a cake, a couple in wedding clothes beaming at one another, a pet dog with a red ball in its mouth, a grand home in the dimensions of the ruins next door.
What happened to the Culpeppers? Lark wondered.
“What’s this?” Skye turned the next page.
“So that’s what was fashionable fifty years ago.
Wow.” Pressing a finger to the laminated sheet, she leaned closer.
“Those rusted-out, cracked, and faded vehicles used to look like this? Sleek.” Admiration twinkled in Skye's brown eyes. “I’ll bring it along for the museum Secretary Keane is planning to build. She’s already filled several storage rooms with memorabilia and artifacts.
People will want to see how things were before.
Run on and send that note. Captain will want an answer by tomorrow. ”
“What do you think happened to them?” Lark asked.
Skye shrugged. “Maybe they were out of town when the bombs dropped,” she speculated.
“Or maybe they ventured out too soon and were killed by raging lunatics, wild beasts, or other hazards. But these pictures and the Culpepper name will be recorded for future generations. It’s a decent vault find—nothing fabulous, but worthwhile. ”
Lark nodded, letting her fingers trail off the page, her gaze lingering a beat on a picture of two women holding hands, bright smiles reserved for each other. Milena’s face flashed across her mind; she let it go too.
Tupelo’s Mayor Thompson had welcomed the team and the shipment they delivered with open arms, insisting they spend the night in the town’s best hotel.
Their rooms were equipped with running water—cold only—and crank lanterns.
The proprietor of Johnny’s Drive-In, with its historic plaque of Elvis Presley, insisted their meals were on the house, and everyone in town who sang or played a guitar showed up to entertain them.
To Lark’s surprise, Harlan joined in on a harmonica.
I want to learn to play an instrument, she thought.
Lark enjoyed the hospitality but was tired after the long drive. They’d veered around the radioactive crater that Skye said used to be Birmingham, and in places the old highway had been washed out. Then they’d lugged supplies out of the bunker until dusk. Luke said they’d finish tomorrow.
“I need to hit the hay,” she sighed after finishing her Presley Pale Ale, brewed and bottled in Tupelo.
“I’ll walk you to the hotel,” Luke offered, and followed her out while a barbershop quartet warbled a classic in four-part harmony.
They strolled along under a clear night sky, a few torches adding light. Crickets chirped in the tall grass—or whatever it is crickets do. “I’m glad you decided to stay,” Luke said with a friendly smile. He’d never said why a spot had opened up on the team; he didn’t have to.
“I needed something to do.” She shoved her hands into her pockets.
“You don’t like Queen Frost,” he observed.
Lark stopped and stared at him. “No, I don’t. She’s a heartless, manipulative dictator, and she lied to me. But I suppose that’s what kings and queens and presidents and prime ministers and whatnot all do. I came to her for help; instead, I end up helping her. How’s that for irony?”
Her emotions churned. She was tired, saddened by the loss of this family, and nobody knew what had happened to them.
All that remained were a few photographs and cans of food.
And every time she thought of that ice-bitch Queen Frost, her blood boiled—the worst part being, not all the heat was fury.
How can someone that beautiful be so horrid?
“Ah, Sutter.” Luke shifted his weight to one foot, propped a hand on his hip, and exhaled a breath. Shaking his head, he said, “She couldn’t give you what she didn’t have.”
His words jarred her, confusion flooding in. “What do you mean?” Mouth half open, brows knit together, she waited for an explanation.
“It’s top secret,” he uttered in a grave hush.
A tingling sensation crawled along Lark’s skin while her brain caught up with her intuition. “I don’t divulge secrets.”
Luke dipped his chin. “Before our recovery mission, Verdancia wasn’t low on medicines.”
“Ah, ha—I knew it!” she blurted out in accusation. The captain shook his head.
“We were completely out. So, Queen Frost did lie to you, but not in the way you think. Medical supplies weren’t reserved for the military; we didn’t have any either.
Bandits destroyed the shipment headed to Marchland, and our researchers haven’t finished testing the new drugs.
Even if she’d wanted to give you the antibiotics—and I believe she did—she had none to give. ”
Lark’s knees went weak, heat and shame rushing through her.
A lump formed in her throat as the implications stirred her emotions.
The queen hadn’t betrayed her—lied, perhaps, but not as an excuse to use Lark for her own purposes.
All the hate she’d clung to, blaming Queen Frost for Tommy’s death was unfounded. “But why—”
“No one can know,” he commanded with a stony stare. “Our government can’t appear weak. Do you understand?”
Lark understood. She’d spent her whole young life projecting an image of strength, even when she’d been insecure on the inside or her body felt as shaky as it did now.
She would never admit a weakness. It was only reasonable that the queen would feel the same way. This revelation changed everything.
“I understand. You can trust me, sir.” They resumed their stroll down the street toward the hotel.
“Yep, Sutter. I believe I can.”