The Bone Wall by D. Wallace Peach Read Free Book Online Page A

nothing of import lies entombed there.
    “Do you thinks it’s cold out there?” I ask.
    “There’s no snow,” Angel points out. “So I think it must be warm. Otherwise it would snow, wouldn’t it?”
    “Perhaps it can be cold without snow,” I posit as my eyes rove the contoured landscape. “Do you think that riverbed is the one on papa’s map? Maybe there’s water at the bottom.” Digging in my skirt pocket, I pull out the map, tattered from all my folding, creases thin-skinned and beginning to tear. Carefully I open it and we line up east to east. “I think it is,” I decide. “We should investigate.”
    Angel’s eyes shine hammered silver in the sullen light of the storm-skies. What I propose is dangerous and foolish, all the more reason for me to open the gate. My heart drums in my ears; blood flushes my veins, the urge to spin that crank and crack the door unstoppable. “We need to know,” I argue, sensing her fear. “We don’t even know if it’s cold. How will we prepare?”
    “What about God’s Laws?” Angel whispers, and then shakes the thought free. “Forget the laws. What if we’re caught? We’ll be punished, banished. We could jeopardize Heaven. What if the Biters come?”
    “Just for a few minutes,” I press, already clanging down the steps from the platform. With little choice, she trots on my heels. “Just to the river and back,” I assure her.
    The gate is a solid gray metal door with rivets around the edge like decorative buttons. I grip the crank and lean into it, gritting my teeth, but the thing doesn’t squeak. “Help me, Angel.” She stands on the other side and pushes as I pull, to no use. “We need a lever.” I run to the forest and grab a thick stick that I slip through the crank and brace on the metal bars. “If we put our weight into it, the crank should budge.” Angel and I lean on the stick and it snaps, the two of us tumbling and knocking our heads.
    “Shits!” I shout, flinging the broken end away and rubbing my forehead.
    “Shit,” Angel corrects me and bites her lip.
    “Fine, shit.” I feel a lump beneath my fingers. “We need the scythe.”
    The scythe, cart and wheat field are just where we left them, undisturbed, no one bothering to check on us, relieve us, or deliver a basket of food to our rumbling bellies. I grab the scythe by its long metal snath, the pole nearly as tall as I, with two grips and an intimidating curved blade stabbing out at its end like a giant fang. I hand our blue water jar to Angel, another idea flashing brightly in my head. Then feigning an air of innocent casualness, we walk hurriedly back to the shield.
    The end of the snath with its steel blade I work through the crank and wedge under the bar, assuring Angel that this is the best way to avoid a beheading. We lean on the metal haft, both of us eyeing the fang as if at any moment it intends to leap up and bite us. The crank squeals and turns an inch, the snatch coming unwedged and clattering against the metal wheel as we throw ourselves stumbling back.
    “We moved it,” I say, the comment hardly necessary other than to shake off our fright. “It should get easier, now.” The snath repositioned, we grunt and giggle while the crank squeals and bars draw slowly back. My excitement outshines any sound judgment; I leave that to Angel and she thus far remains mute.
    Forever later, the bars slip free. I grab the handle to the door, press my foot against the frame, and pry it open enough for us to sneak out. “Bring the water jar,” I tell Angel as we depart Heaven.
    On the other side of the gate, we pause in the broken world. The wind blows cool, flapping my skirt and plucking at my sleeves. Strands of white-blond hair stream across my face and eyes. Dust and bits of sand pepper my face and the backs of my hands. I turn my back to the wind and rub my eyes free of grit. The wind carries a smell, or a blend of smells I have no way to describe; dry, acrid, and herbal, alive