“Keep at it!” another person goaded the men on the ropes.
The hissing, still audible, was decreasing in intensity.
The rope pullers were striving with all their might.
The hissing had stopped. Plato speculated it had been the sound of air being drawn into the chamber, or expelled from it, probably the former.
The hinges squeaked as the door began swinging out and down. It was designed to pivot completely outward and rest on the ground.
A dozen excited voices were urging the men on.
The entranceway was now open a good six feet, and the more it opened, the less the hinges scraped, and the easier it become to pull on the ropes.
“It’s going!” a woman enthused.
It did. With a resounding thud, the entranceway swung fully open and landed on the rough ground. The men nearest the door had to scramble backwards to get out of the way in time.
A huge, dark, gaping hole was revealed.
The Family members broke into spontaneous applause, evincing their appreciation for the effort exerted by the men on the ropes.
Plato’s hands were shaking from nervous anticipation.
“What now?” Blade, wearing a faded, patched fatigue shirt, was standing at Plato’s side.
“We’ll need torches,” Plato directed.
Blade faced the Family. “Would some of you get some torches?”
Eight of the Family hastened to comply, entering F Block. Each Block was well supplied with torches constructed by wrapping layers of birchbark around the top, or broader, end of a length of oak or maple. The Family’s supply of candles, sparingly used over the years, was dwindling despite efforts to conserve them. Carpenter had stocked an enormous reserve of candles and matches; the Family still had cases of candles and matches stacked in the underground chambers below the Blocks, secure from the elements and the nullifying effects of moisture. While most of the original supplies were depleted, a few stockpiled items, such as the weapons, candles, and several other items, if stringently preserved, would last for years to come. The Family’s population was not a factor in consumption. Carpenter had started his Family with fifteen couples, and over the decades the population had grown to only seventy-three. The harsh lifestyle, a high mortality rate, and the creeping senility had all combined to limit Family growth and expansion.
The torches were brought. Plato took one and indicated another should be given to Blade. “You and I will venture down first,” he said as a woman lit his torch. “The rest of you will wait until we come back up.”
“Need a back-up?” Hickok as at their side.
“Thank you,” Plato answered. “I don’t believe we’ll encounter any danger your guns could dispatch. Still…” He eyed a pile of coiled rope on the ground near his feet. “We will tie this rope about our waists before we enter the chamber, and several of you will play out the rope as we advance.
When we stop on our own, we will yank on the rope twice. If the rope should go completely slack, and we haven’t given the signal, haul us up as quickly as you can.”
“What’s this for?” Blade asked as he tied one end of the rope around his middle.
“There is the slightest possibility of encountering toxic fumes,” Plato replied. “We must take every precaution.”
The Family was now crowded around the entranceway.
Jenny peered into the hole. The waning sunlight illuminated a ramp leading down into whatever lay below. “You be careful,” she said to Blade.
Blade smiled, then led the way, holding his torch aloft with his right hand.
Plato paused before entering and looked at the faces surrounding him.
“If the Spirit is willing,” he announced, “our expedition can proceed as planned tomorrow.”
Blade and Plato descended the ramp, their flickering torches enabling the Family to follow their progress.
“There is a musty, dusty scent down here,” Plato remarked. “Not surprising, when you consider the last time this chamber saw the light of day.”
The ramp angled lower, the torchlight reflecting from polished walls ten feet away on either side, and from the ceiling twelve feet above their heads.
“This ramp shouldn’t be very long,” Plato commented.
Blade was peering into the darkness ahead. His feet suddenly touched a flat surface, evidently the floor of the underground chamber.
“See what I meant?” Plato grinned.
They stopped, pulled on their ropes twice, and raised the torches as high as they could.
“Will you look at that!” Blade exclaimed.
“Absolutely incredible!” Plato agreed.
The chamber was relatively small, only twenty feet by twenty feet. Along the walls were stacked various containers. Their fascination was prompted by the object resting in the center of the chamber, undisturbed since parked there a century ago.
“What is it?” Blade asked.
“Your father told me it’s called a SEAL.”
“A seal? You mean like that aquatic animal we have pictures of in the library?”
“Something similar,” Plato smiled. “The word of mouth, passed down from Leader to Leader, was that this transport vehicle was called a General Motors Prototype Solar-Energized Amphibious or Land Recreational Vehicle, otherwise known by the acronym of SEAL.”
“Did they give all their vehicles such long names before the Big Blast?”
“Some, apparently. I saw a picture of a large white truck called a Sanitation Retrieval and Disposal Conveyance Unit, a vehicle manifestly disliked by some people.”
“Why do you say that?” Blade wanted to know.
“Because someone had scrawled the word ‘garbage’ across the face of this photograph. Quite puzzling.”
They fell silent, gawking at the SEAL, the first motorized vehicle they had ever seen. Carpenter had provided two trucks and a jeep for the Family, all three vehicles maintained for nearly twenty years after the Third World War. Eventually, parts had worn out that couldn’t be replaced, and the vehicles had been hauled into the woods and abandoned.
The rusted hulks were only five hundred yards from the Home, and it was a special treat for the small children to be permitted, under guard, to trek to the junkers and stand in the presence of this reminder of prewar industry and mechanization.
The SEAL had been Carpenter’s pride and joy. He had known his trucks and jeep would last only so long as fuel was obtainable and the parts could be replaced. The beauty of the SEAL was its power source, the very sun.
The sunlight was collected by two solar panels attached to the roof of the SEAL, the energy converted and stored in a bank of six revolutionary new batteries stored in a lead-lined case under the SEAL. The experts had told him that, if the solar panels were not broken and the battery casings weren’t inadvertently cracked, the SEAL should never want for power, unlike the fossil-fueled cars, wagons, and trucks. Additionally, the solar collectors on the SEAL were prototypes, designed to function at a more efficient rate than any previous collector. Carpenter had personally financed the research for the SEAL. The financially strapped automotive executives had welcomed his support, confidently predicting that they were developing the recreational vehicle “of the future.” Carpenter had never revealed his ulterior motive for insuring the SEAL was constructed according to his specifications, incorporating unique capabilities and unusual functions. The automakers had assumed he was another strange eccentric with enough money to purchase whatever he wanted and indulge in flamboyant toys. Little did they realize the SEAL was not intended to be a plaything, but a salvation.
Carpenter had projected several assumptions, and derived conclusions from the thorough consideration of all possible and probable contingencies. If the Home was spared from damage or destruction in the world-wide conflagration, and if the Family could survive and persist to subsequent generations, and if it become necessary for it to venture from the Home, a typical conventional vehicle would be out of the question, lacking an adequate fuel source and being hardly rugged enough to endure the structural strain of the undoubtedly altered terrain. The idea of regularly tended asphalt highways being maintained after World War Three was ludicrous.