Instead, he pushed aside a section of weathered wooden fencing I had never noticed before.
It swung inward.
Ray stepped through first.
I followed.
The ground beyond the fence looked ordinary at first. There were rows of dark soil, several low wooden beds, a few fruit trees, and an old metal shed with peeling green paint.
Then Ray stopped beside the shed.
He reached beneath the bottom plank and pulled out a small brass key.
I stared at it.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
He smiled without answering.
The key disappeared into the lock.
The shed door opened with a dry scrape.
Inside were shelves.
Not tools.
Not junk.
Shelves packed with labeled jars, sealed bags of seeds, dried beans, canned vegetables, flour, rice, potatoes, and boxes of basic supplies.
There was enough food to fill the kitchen several times over.
But that was not what made me freeze.
On the far wall was a large hand-drawn map of our town.
Several streets were marked in pencil.
Beside them were names.
I recognized some of them immediately.
Mrs. Carter from two houses down.
The old couple who lived near the church.
A single mother who worked at the elementary school.
A retired mechanic who had once fixed my mother’s furnace without charging her.
And then I saw our name.
