Chapter Five

A Gale of Change

May, Last Year

“Mom’s in the garden, Dad,” Will hollered down the steps as he entered the house from the basement and looked through the front windows. “She has her ear things in,” he added with a thumb point.

Dad closed the garage door and strode up the basement steps behind Will. Dad’s forehead wrinkled in that weird way it did when he was thinking about something and was worried, but when he didn’t want to talk about it. Will turned away; he knew that look. Susie was a marvel with helping him understand cues and facial expressions. They would sit there on his bedroom carpet swiping through the tablet program on “funny faces” as Susie called it. Or she would use her index cards with different faces or scenarios and he had to talk about how the person might feel. It was difficult, but Susie always said, “Fantastic!” Sometimes he’d get distracted and count all the birth marks on Susie’s face. She had a grouping of them on her left cheek in the shape of the Big Dipper! He giggled about it. She giggled with him.

Still, many times, he didn’t understand all the face things. He tried. Mom and Dad wanted him to try.

Dad mumbled something and went outside to talk with Mom.

Finn bounced into the living room as soon as Will came in. “How was Explorers Club? Did you have fun? Did you see the fire engines? Wanna play with me? I already set the board up.”

“Not now,” Will said, shrugging off his light jacket and tossing it on the floor. He kicked off his shoes. He looked through the open front window and tapped his hands together. Two, two, one, two, he counted with each tap. Two, two, one, two.

A cool spring breeze floated in, like a kiss on his cheeks. He loved the wind. Except when it was super icy cold. Then it was no fun. He went out in the snow and cold anyway. Winter was his favorite season…he could build snow volcanoes. Summer was nice, too. Sand volcanoes.

He listened as Dad approached Mom. He stopped tapping, his heart feeling less thumpy, and he traced the metal screen with his pointer finger, drawing concentric squares.

“Hey, hon,” Dad said with a wave. Mom glanced up from her digging—she was removing another dead grouping of lupine that didn’t make it through winter. Those were her favorite flowers. Except, for some reason, they didn’t like to grow in her gardens, and it made her sad. She explained to him once that the soil was likely not acidic and sandy enough. Even though their neighbors had loads of lupine, Mom’s just never survived. It was a mystery. A few dead flowers lay strewn about the oval-shaped garden. Mom had four gardens filled with lupine, lilies, daisies, phlox, and cat mint, which attracted bees. He didn’t like bees. And nothing was blooming much yet since it was still May.

Flowers made Mom happy. Dad liked to bring her flowers.

Mom removed the earbuds from her ears. “How was it?”

Dad whispered, his back to Will’s vantage point. Mom’s face didn’t look happy now. Dad was probably telling her about the field trip. It didn’t go well.

He began tapping on the window frame. Two, two, one, two.

They’d visited the fire and police stations, which were joined into one community building. He was doing okay even though it was huge, bright, and there were many things to look at. Then one of the boys laid on the horn in the fire engine. Loud and sudden, it scared him so much that he almost peed his pants. He didn’t. Only babies did that. It hurt his ears, and he ran out of the garage. Dad chased him, but he ran into the hallway and found an open room and hid under a table. He cried and growled. It was blaring! His fingers danced thinking about it.

He tapped. Two, two, one, two.

A nice lady police officer convinced him to come out five minutes later.

That’s why it hadn’t been good.

He ran a finger over the window screen. There was a spot where it was torn. He wondered if a bee could squeeze through the hole.

Dad kept talking to Mom, a quiet mumble lost on the wind. He strained to hear.

Finn came over beside Will. “Come on, Will! Let’s play. I’ll let you have Yellowstone.”

Will loved Yellowstone on the National Parks Property game. It was the best one. It usually helped him win the game if somebody landed on it.

“Okay,” Will conceded, but not without another look at Mom. Her face was the “sad” face card from Susie’s pack. He wished she wasn’t always sad.

A few minutes later, there was commotion as Mom and Dad came in.

“You’re being unreasonable,” Dad said.

“No, I’m not! It’s not suited for him. We need to pull him,” Mom said.

Will always heard their arguments when they thought he couldn’t.

Mom rattled things in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinet doors and slamming the fridge shut.

“I think we should try a little longer,” Dad said.

Mom’s voice got shrill when she was angry or sad. Dad’s was blunt, but also angry. “I think it’s time.”

Dad thumped a hand on the island. “Fine. Fine.” He then left the room to sit by Will and Finn. “How’s the game?” he asked evenly.

“Good!” Finn said. He rolled a pair of twos and landed on Yellowstone. “I’m buying Yellowstone.”

Will screeched, “No! That’s mine. You promised. You cheated on that roll. Dad, he cheated!” He stood and kicked at the game board.

“Now, Will, he landed there fairly,” Dad began.

“No! He always cheats! He said he’d let me have Yellowstone! You always take his side. You and Mom always take his side!” His head buzzed. He always got Yellowstone. It was his. Finn said he could have it! If he didn’t get it, then he couldn’t put the four houses and the one station on it. Then he couldn’t win. He didn’t buy the Acadia or the Glacier or the Everglades properties because he had enough money to buy Yellowstone. He kicked at the neatly lined money in front of him and it flew into Finn’s messy pile of money. “That’s not fair!”

“Hey!” Finn shrieked in response.

Will’s pulse whirred as he bolted from the room. He didn’t run outside anymore when this happened. Mom used to tell him to go to his room to “calm down.” In his room, there was no buzzing, or annoying brothers, or moms and dads arguing. His plushy bed helped him drown all that rubbish.

This was Finn being unfair! Will had planned it all—why did Finn lie? This is how they played the game. This is how it always happened. He always set his money aside to buy that property and his station.

He slammed his door and stomped around his room. After a few minutes, he went to his desk and opened his crayon box. He dumped the crayons on the floor, sat, and began lining them up. Each crayon, sharp and brand new because he never used them to color, was aligned perfectly straight on the bottom. It looked like a fence. He shuffled them around to put them in rainbow order, starting with shades of red and pink. He finished with black, except that was not a rainbow color, technically. In fact, brown and white and pink weren’t either, so he removed all of those, too.

“Hard day, huh?” Mom said, opening the door and poking her head in.

Will growled through clenched teeth and walked to his tall dresser where he kept all his prized items. He had his gold—well, not real gold, but all the yellow toys he could find. He put them in a box—Lego bricks, marbles, scraps of yellow paper, fake gold coins, gold pipe cleaners, and a few of Finn’s yellow cars. He shoved the box aside and thumbed through his karate belts. Mom kept all his old ones in a dresser drawer as he earned each new belt. He had white, yellow, orange, and he was now on purple, and next would be blue.

“Look who’s here.”

Snow, their black cat, came into the room and jumped on Will’s bed. Yeah, real snow was white, but Finn helped name the shelter cat they had taken in and he knew Will liked snow and weather and stuff, so they’d named him that. Will thought it was funny. A black cat named Snow. He would think Midnight would be a better name, but Mom said to humor Finn.

Will sat next to Snow and patted him. Snow purred louder with each stroke. Snow was a friendly cat, always sleeping in his bed. Mom got grumpy with Snow in the mornings when he’d howl for food or barf. He always bugged her. Mom was always tired in the morning and wanted her coffee. Once, she tripped over him and hurt her ankle.

He scratched Snow behind his ears.

“He doesn’t like to see you sad,” Mom said, with a slow approach.

Will kept his gaze away. “Finn always cheats.”

Mom didn’t say anything.

“You and Dad always take his side. You baby him and don’t treat me the same way.”

Mom sat beside him and wiggled her feet. She wore Dad’s oversized slippers. “It’s hard when things don’t go the way we plan,” she said in her oh-so-soft voice that he liked. Mom always understood. Even though Will knew his brain was different from hers.

“Today was horrible. I mess up at everything. I’m a rubbish pile. I should go live on Mars,” Will said, sniffling. His head buzzed. Snow’s purrs vibrated in his hand.

“Some days have a lot of hard stuff. But there’s always some good.”

“No, there isn’t.” He stroked Snow. “Mom, what were you fighting with Dad about?”

She didn’t answer.

After a minute, well, sixty-five seconds to be exact, she said, “What are the three things that are always free, Will? No matter how hard our days get, we have them?”

“Sunshine, oxygen, and love,” he said, repeating the words she always told him when he was sad.

She rubbed his back. He leaned into her arm and let a few tears fall. “Every day is bad.”

“Not every day, honey. Not all day. We have the sun. We never have to ask for it. It always greets us each day, and granted, sometimes there are clouds, but it’s there. Each day dawns anew. The sun rises.”

“The sun doesn’t rise. The Earth revolves around it.”

Mom chuckled lightly. “Yes, that’s true. And oxygen. We have air to breathe. Every single day. There’s no breathable air on Mars, is there?”

“Nope.”

“And we have love. You have my love, Daddy’s love, God’s love, Grandma and Grandpa’s love, and Finn’s love.”

“I don’t like Finn.”

“Finn loves you and you love him even when he doesn’t behave the way you like.”

Will cried harder, the buzzing returning. “I always get Yellowstone!”

Mom rubbed his cheek. “I know, Will.”

He rested his head in her lap as he continued to stroke Snow, knowing that in a few minutes the buzzing would cease, and he would feel better. Mom and Snow always made him feel better.

****

Present Day

We put in a long day of driving, stopping, detouring. Will’s resilience continued to amaze me. I found myself looking over my shoulder at the road behind me, although nobody followed. Soon, I’d create my own tally sheets like Will did for foghorn blares and snow days, except mine would be about how many asshole encounters or mishaps I’d have on this trip. Colorado felt so far away.

Well, there was that nice man who had helped with the tire. I wondered where he was now.

We continued south on Route 57 in southern Illinois. There was no way in hell I was going north to Chicago or St. Louis. South it was. Cities tensed my nerves before the eruption. I couldn’t imagine the disorder now.

“How much longer, Mom?” Will shifted in his seat.

“Soon. How are you hanging in there, my love bug?” I was about to say “little buddy,” Harrison’s own name for him, but I stopped myself.

“Okay.”

“Do you have questions?”

He looked out the window, thoughts clearly beleaguering him.

“Those guys wanted to hurt us. Why? Did they want to steal our car?” He tapped a finger on his knee.

“Maybe.” Or more.

“Why?”

“Some people do bad things, especially during scary times like this.”

“Like those people who stole our stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you think it all looks like? How wide do you think the caldera is now?”

I bit my lip. Not exactly the questions I sought, but it was my own fault for asking. At least we were done talking about the scum of the world. “I’m not sure, Will. It’ll be a while before they clean the destruction and help all the people.” It may be a decade, I thought. “Then the scientists will study it.”

“In nine years, I’ll be old enough to go to college or maybe I can work there, too, and study it. The eruption wasn’t gigantic enough to destroy the planet, but it could cause a volcanic winter like the eruption in 1816,” he said. “Maybe that’s why the leaves were already changing color in New York.”

I refrained from stating it was too soon for the climate to be affected. Regardless, it was not the end of the world, as long as society didn’t become unhinged.

A silent rhythm dominated our drive. Will’s ability to keep himself quietly entertained was a respite from the boisterousness when the boys were together.

My phone buzzed in my cup holder. I nearly swerved off the road. Fumbling, I lifted the phone. My first thought was of Finn and Brandon. My soul danced with hope when I saw it was Sarah. I still hadn’t gotten through to Dr. Martin. “Hello?” I said, the word croaking from disuse of my voice for the better part of the day.

“AJ! Thank goodness, honey! Where are you now?” Sarah breathed into the phone.

“We’re in Illinois now, I think.”

“You think?”

I stifled a strained laugh, but then said seriously, “Brandon?”

“No, hon. I’m sorry.”

Hope fizzled.

She said, “It’ll be okay. Finn’s got him.”

“Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”

“Nah. Finn’s your protector. He’ll take care of Brandon.”

There was a pause. My mind churned.

“You didn’t gather your wits and turn around yet?” she asked.

“Nope.”

Sarah sighed and said calmly, “AJ, if anyone is capable of handling this, Brandon can. He’s Mr. Fix-it, right? Give him a straw and duct tape, and he’ll build you a bridge.”

I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. Brandon was former Special Ops, but what if he was hurt, too? Or worse? Special Ops doesn’t give you an invisible shield from raining cement in an earthquake. “Yeah, something like that,” I offered half-heartedly.

“You two and your crazy shenanigans, right?” She laughed quietly.

“Yeah.” I recalled the times Brandon and I would play in the yard, reenacting moments from a TV show to get us out of some pretend jam with a villain.

“How are you hanging in there? Is Will keeping you straight?”

“Mom, I have to pee. Can we stop soon?” Will interrupted.

My gaze passed to the rearview mirror. “Yes, honey,” I said to him. If he had to pee, he meant it. If it had been Finn, we’d be stopping every hour. Will fidgeted with the top of his collared polo shirt. It was fastened to the highest button, and for probably the fiftieth time today, he tucked it closer to his chin, making sure his neck was covered. At least I had convinced him to wear a short-sleeved shirt instead of his favorite quarter-zippered fleece. It was too damn hot! I’d compromised on that sensory battle.

“Yeah, he is. How…are things in California? How are Briar and Amelia?” It was a stupid distracting question, but I needed to talk about anything else other than that. And there was no way in hell I was going to tell her about all that had transpired in the past few days.

Sarah’s singsong voice came through. “Same crazies, different day; dry and warm. Things are okay, except for the travel bans. No ash here, though. Forecasts project it moving eastward, I think. I’m no weather expert like Will. Our television reception and the wireless connection have been on the fritz.”

“Sarah, I’m—” I stopped myself. I didn’t want to talk about my own difficulties in front of Will.

“It will be okay.” Her voice was a soothing blanket. She was surprisingly composed, despite not knowing where her husband was, but as an air force wife, she was already conditioned for these types of situations.

“Uh-huh.”

“Girl, a volcano just blew up. It’s gonna be hard. Hang in there, honey. Your boy knows that you’re coming. You will get to him. Brandon has him. You have the best lucky charm of all with you, too. You have the master cartographer and mini-scientist with you! He will get you there.”

“Yup, he will.”

“You can do this, AJ. You’re a fighter. As are your boys.”

I nodded. “I can do this.”

“I can’t convince you to turn around though, can I?”

My conscience tugged at me. “No. I have to do it, Sarah.”

“You’ve got this. Love you, girl.”

“Love you, too.” The earpiece crackled, followed by silence. Again, my phone showed half a bar of reception. “Thank you,” I said to the blinking time on the screen. Her sweet words were a power drink. Hope bubbled in my chest, even if only momentary.

A few minutes later, I found a campground. A shower tonight would be divine. I weaved my hand through my oily, haphazardly wavy hair. Campgrounds had people. Safety in numbers. The sign advertised it as family-friendly.

“There! They have a pool!”

“We’re not swimming, Will. I didn’t bring your bathing suit. We can shower and eat a hot meal.”

I pulled into the campground entrance and called today a wash. A family—a woman, man, and two young children—exited the office. The children laughed. The adults exchanged a shared look of concern but got in their fully packed car and drove to their campsite. Their license plate was from New York. In fact, I recognized their red sedan. It was strange how when on the road, that you’d see the same few cars cross paths with you more than once.

Minivans, sport wagons, standard cars, and the occasional camper or RV all filled the other campsites. Nothing appeared sketchy. Nowadays, what the hell qualified as sketchy?

I released an audible groan as I emerged from the car. I rubbed my neck and did quick hamstring stretches. Soreness radiated throughout my legs and back. The lack of workouts and being cramped in a car were already fatiguing my muscles. I tugged on my sweaty T-shirt and wished I had worn lighter pants instead of jeans.

Will strolled to the welcome office.

A weathered, older gentleman with striking white hair and dark skin greeted us inside. “Good day, ma’am. You in need of a campsite?” His face gleamed with kindness, and he spoke with an old-fashioned gallantry and slightly southern twang.

“Yes, please.”

“Many folks are checking in today…traveling west. Are you from out of state?”

“Maine.”

He nodded and pulled a paper from a folder beside the register. “Need you to fill out this form. The pool is open until eight p.m., and bathroom is open all night.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey there, sonny, would you like a pop?” he asked, smiling at Will. Will was already in recon mode. He moseyed around the modest gift shop, touching all the knick-knacks for sale. The man’s gaze returned to me. “That is, if your mother allows it.”

I nodded. “Just can’t bite it, Will.”

“I know,” Will said.

The man leaned over the counter, offering the canister of lollipops. Will mused indecisively, but ultimately picked the green one. “Fine choice!” the man said. “Many delicious flavors in there.”

Will beamed at him but said nothing to the man. “Mom, can we go swimming?” he asked again.

“Thank you,” I said for him.

Will parroted, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am. My name’s Frank if you need anything. Tillie serves a breakfast in our kitchen here at seven a.m.,” he said, pointing. “Biscuits, eggs, and bacon. Coffee. Three dollars a person. Checkout is at eleven a.m.”

I fought the urge to ask if he had heard any updates on the situation in the West, but I saw no TV or radio. With a nod, I said thank you again.

Just then a gray cat jumped on the counter. I gasped.

“Awww!” Will leaned in to pet the cat.

Thick eyebrows lifted over Frank’s eyes. “Oh, Lucky’s a good ol’ boy. He’d love a nice pet or scratch,” he said in response to my questioning look.

Will was already stroking him. The lanky, long-haired cat pushed its black nose into Will’s hand, purring loudly.

“You got a cat, too?” the man asked.

“Yes! His name is Snow. But he isn’t white. He’s all black! Like the color of your skin, mister,” Will said, nuzzling the cat.

I repressed a moan. The man smiled, wrinkles creasing around his eyes. “Fabulous name for a cat. Lucky here was named after a few of his early mischievous years.”

Will perked up. “Did he make a lot of poor choices?”

“You could say that.” The man’s smile widened, displaying coffee-stained teeth. “He got chased by a coyote once. Then got himself stuck in a fence. Another time, he wandered off and got too close to a porcupine. Tillie was pulling quills out of him for two weeks!”

Will continued to rub the cat. “Sounds like my brother Finn. He gets into trouble a lot.”

That was my cue. “Come, Will.”

“Enjoy your stay,” the man said with a wave as we left the office.

After replenishing supplies in the camp store, setting up our tent campsite, and triple-checking my car locks, I brought Will—and a large kitchen knife, which I hid in my towel—with me to the showers.

“Mom, I hate showers! I’m not that dirty,” he protested, turning to leave.

I spun him gently by his shoulders. “Let me see your nails.” I reached. He showed them to me.

“Were you eating dirt?”

“Mom…,” he said, his face dimpling the way it did whenever I teased him lightly.

“Joking,” I said with a kiss on his cheek. “You first.”

“This is the girl’s bathroom.”

I gave him a look not to be reckoned with. I pulled out the soap and shampoo. “Do you need help?”

“No.” He undressed and wrapped a towel around himself, then stepped into the stall. He handed me the towel, then turned on the shower. I sat on the counter, listening to him hum as he washed. I stole a look inside after a few minutes. His body, though wet and cleaned from water hitting it, was not scrubbed. The shampoo had remained untouched, and his hair was bone dry. I took the shampoo and squirted it in my hand and massaged it into his hair.

“Yuck! Mom, that stinks!”

More tersely than I liked, I responded, “Well, it was the only one we had because you and Finn dumped the other bottle in the sink.”

He mumbled grievances, but he didn’t press it. “Under the water, rinse, all of it,” I ordered robotically. “Scrub your neck, Will. Right there.” I pointed to the spot on his neck and behind his ears where the dirt and dead skin accumulated.

A few minutes later, he was dressed, hair patted flat, and sitting in my place. I stepped into the shower. “I remember when you were a baby and would keep me company in the bathroom while I showered.” I pulled off my towel, tossed it over the shower curtain, and turned on the water.

“Yeah?” His voice lifted with interest.

I poked my head out to be gifted with a wide smile, short a few teeth, grinning at me. He loved to hear his baby stories. “Yup! You’d sit on the floor, content to play with your toys while Mama showered.” A twinge of sad nostalgia infiltrated that sweet memory. My yet-to-be diagnosed son exhibited such joy in keeping himself quietly entertained even at six months old. Lord, he had been an easy baby. Finn had never done that. I was lucky to get a daily shower with an investigative toddler tottering around and a screaming newborn that was only appeased in his swing. They couldn’t have been more opposite in that regard.

I shifted gears. “Will, tell me about your favorite parts from our Yellowstone trip.” Talking about the volcano was the last thing I wanted, but I needed to hear his voice. I needed to make sure he was okay and right beside me. He was an affectionate, tender, and inquisitive child. His personality reminded me so much of his father.

I inhaled the tangy mint of Harrison’s tea-tree shampoo, the only one I’d had on hand in my frantic haste. This shampoo, like many of Harrison’s things, had remained untouched in the past year. I couldn’t bring myself to use it or toss it. Now here I was, scrubbing my fingers raw as I massaged it into my scalp. It tingled. It burned.

Will rattled off about Grand Prismatic Spring’s rainbow of colors and steam percolating the sulfur-infused air. Then he talked about the shape of the lower Yellowstone Falls, how the water cascaded straight along one side but curved on the left side, due to the geology beneath it. He talked about how much fun he had with the infrared thermometer gun, detecting the high temperatures of the hot springs in Upper Geyser Basin. How Finn dropped the gun and Brandon had to squeeze through the railing and hop down to the delicate crust to get it from the edge of Morning Glory Pool. Thankfully, neither it nor Brandon had fallen in!

His enthusiasm was a comforting melody on my ears, and the warm shower a hug to my soul. God, I missed hugs. I missed Harrison’s lithe arms around me. I missed his kisses on my neck. I missed my sweet Finn’s exuberance and back-scratch requests.

As I scrubbed away the dirt, I scrubbed away the painful recollections. Salty, quiet tears fell down my cheeks. I’d truly not let myself cry much on this journey. I couldn’t. Even in the past year, I hid the tears from the boys. I had to. I had to be strong for my sons. I’d gotten through Harrison’s death; I could get through this journey, too. Finn would be with us soon.

Like Will, Harrison had been quirky. He and I had both suspected that he hung on the very high end of the autism spectrum, too. Harrison had prospered in life, partly due to Patsy’s diligence. He’d acquired the coping skills, attended the best schools, and worked hard. Albeit, he may have been socially awkward at times, but oh, I loved him. I loved his eccentricities. Only recently had Patsy admitted that the words autism and ADHD were thrown at her by doctors when Harrison was a child in the early years of diagnosis. Her revelation explained a lot about Harrison and gave me renewed hope for Will’s future. When a person dies, all that remain are the good memories…the bad ones seem to disappear like vapors, and longing and regret dwell in your spirit.

I stood under the water, done with my cleaning, but needing the massage against my tired heart. Will spoke about a geyser, asking me questions about eruption frequency. I mumbled some “uh-hmms” and “yeahs.”

Finn had loved the Upper Geyser Basin as much as Will. A tightness filled my chest. I had to find him. I had to find Finn. Oh, Harrison, be his guardian angel. Watch over my brother and our son.

The water transformed to pins barraging my skin, my muscles unusually sensitive. I swallowed, triggering a scratchy throat. I vainly willed the cold away. Or was I already reeling from withdrawal symptoms? I had felt subpar ever since we’d left Maine. No amount of orange juice or elderberry would deflect this attack on my stressed body. I eventually turned off the water, dried, and got dressed. I slipped on Harrison’s oversized slippers, my daily companion since his death. He’d teased me for always stealing them from him. I’d told him that I liked to walk in his footsteps.

“Ready?” I asked Will, who had shaped his wet towel into a volcano.

A few hours later, after enjoying fire-roasted hotdogs, I tucked Will in with a kiss. I laid my trusty hiker’s whistle, more for my sake than his, next to his pillow.

“Why do I need that?”

“To scare off bears.” And creepy strangers, I wanted to add. I was taking no chances after those truck goons.

“Mom, can you sing the states song?”

“Sure,” I said and reluctantly sang his favorite song that I had taught him years ago—all the states of the U.S.A. in alphabetical order. I found myself stumbling on the last lines of it when it got to “north, south, east, west,” but I finished it with a smile and a stroke of Will’s hair.

“Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

I did, and he fell asleep quickly. Pain prickled my spirit. I’d never consulted Will on his feelings about leaving on this trip. Or how he felt about Finn being missing. We had to be strong together. We could do this.

We could do this. We had to. There was no other option.

I was about to rise and dampen the fire, when I heard the shushing of rubber tires kicking dirt. I grabbed my kitchen knife and popped out of the tent as I heard a voice say, “Hello?”

Across from the low-burning fire, about ten feet away, stood the man who had helped with my flat tire.

I released a startled gasp, followed by an audible sigh. “Jesus!” I said, for lack of better words.

“Hey there,” he said again, his hands raised.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. You won’t need that.” His wary gaze fell upon the knife.

I probably looked like a crazed person from a horror flick. I didn’t release it, and I stepped back a foot.

Strange shadows played across his face. I hated that eerie look firelight cast upon faces. It made everyone appear possessed. “I’m Reid. Reid Gregory,” he offered.

“Are you following me?” Quivers scaled my throat. “H-How did you get here?”

“Same way as you.”

“You’re on a bike,” I observed, unconvinced.

“I got a ride in a truck.”

I tightened my grip on the knife and stepped closer to the tent, keeping a watchful eye on it, as well as on the campsites around. The noise of the evening had quieted to murmurs as people found their way to their beds or sleeping bags, but there were a few people awake, talking around fires. I could scream and they would come running. “What color truck?”

Now it was his turn to look baffled. He shrugged off his heavy pack, which fell to the ground with a thud, a hiker’s metal cup clinking and a water bottle sloshing. “A silver beater. Nice old couple.” He stepped no closer but lowered his voice. “Why?” His gaze darted around the various campsites.

“Why are you following us? My tolerance has room for only so many coincidences.”

“We travel the same roads, that’s all. There aren’t many primary interstates leading to Colorado. I saw your car and wanted to check and see how the tire’s doing. Mind if we share a fire? No other sites available, but they told me to buddy up at somebody’s site.”

I stared at his bag for a long moment, shifting my weight between feet.

“How’s the tire?” he repeated.

Same roads? I had taken more detours and bypasses than I would have preferred in the last two days. We were no longer on the straightaway west. “How did you know we were going to Colorado?”

He looked at the tent and rubbed his chin while covering a yawn. “Your son said Denver, didn’t he?”

Oh, yeah. I blinked away fatigue.

“I got a ride from New York on Route 80 all the way to Chicago, then diverted south on 57,” he explained, his eyes on the knife. “You guys okay? You seem…on edge?”

I lowered the knife as my heartbeat slowed a fraction. “Yeah. The tire’s okay.”

“I parted ways with my ride in Champaign. Legs are beat.” He tapped his thighs and moaned. “And my back.” He guided his bike to a nearby tree and propped it there.

I turned away briefly and zipped the tent closed. I settled on the log Will had laid for me in front of the tent entrance. My legs could also use a stretch. I blew a breath.

“Can I rest a few?” he asked.

“Sure. Just a few though.”

He sat on the ground across from me and the fire. He thumbed in his bag and withdrew a hiker’s meal, his water bottle, and a metal cup. Putting it all together, he then nestled the quick meal into the low fire.

I released my grip on the knife and set it beside me.

Thoughtful eyes assessed me, and he stepped closer. He thrust his hand in full greeting. “I’m Reid,” he repeated.

I stared at his hand.

“I…” He waited, then retracted his hand.

I found my senses, shoved mine out, and shook his hand, his grip warm and full around mine. “I’m AJ.”

Attentive to my moves, he gave me space, outwardly releasing a breath and running a hand through the thick hair at the crown of his head. He looked like he’d not showered in days. The fire glinted off his stubble-covered chin. He reminded me of a damn Hollywood actor I’d seen in a recent movie—a guy who played a cop. Or was the character the criminal in a drug lord’s ring? I couldn’t remember. I coughed to cover my unease. With it, my headache mounted.

“Did you bypass Chicago?” he asked as he returned to his cooking meal.

“Yeah, we took Route 70 across Ohio and Indiana, but that wasn’t any better.”

“Smart. The East Coast might still be okay, but the Midwest is an entirely different animal.” He looked around the campground and added, “Folks here seem okay, though. Many appear to be passing through, on their way to find family.”

“No luck on car rentals?”

He pressed his lips together. “Nope.”

“How was Chicago?”

“Not great. The mayor has already instituted strict curfews, and there were a lot of National Guard soldiers present.”

“Oh, wow.” I heaved a sigh and repeated, quieter, to myself, “Oh, wow.”

“Yeah. Curfews, military patrols, limited access to gas and food. No air or train travel. All airlines on the East Coast will be grounded soon. I was fortunate to find this nice couple heading south. No ash fall in Chicago yet, but your typical societal disorder after a natural disaster.” He shook his head as if erasing some thought, then stirred his meal as it cooked. “It wasn’t good,” he said solemnly. “I think the shit is going to hit the fan soon.”

“Yeah.”

“No apocalypse though,” he said with a hesitant smile, mimicking my remark from our previous encounter.

“Ha, yeah.” My lack of much meaningful adult conversation in the past year left me at a loss for words.

He wrapped a handkerchief around his hand, then removed his cup from the fire and stirred its contents. “So, you’re going to Denver?”

“We are. My brother and son are there.”

“I’m heading there, too. Well, south of Denver, closer to Colorado Springs and Pueblo area.”

“Oh?” My pulse fluttered. Uncertainty slithered into my mind. My fingers moved slowly toward the knife, but I stopped them. That was purely coincidence, that’s all. Or was it?

“My sister’s there.”

“Have you heard from her?”

He shook his head. “No. I need to get to her. Our parents have both passed away, and well…older brother syndrome. Gotta check on her.”

So communication was already impaired. That would explain why I couldn’t reach anything in Colorado via phone or email. My optimism faded as I pictured what lay ahead for us there. I nibbled on my lip.

“What about your brother and son? Have you heard from them?”

“No.” And now my laptop is gone, so I can’t even try email. “Have you been in touch with anyone else there? Any idea what to expect?”

He shook his head and took a few bites of his meal.

I mulled over the information.

“AJ? Is that short for something?” His eyes, now black in the dimness, danced with interest in the firelight.

“Yeah,” I said with a light smile of my own.

He swallowed and drew curious eyes slowly up and down. Assessing? Flirting? Deducing?

I shifted and poked at the fire with a stick.

“Alexis Joan?”

“Nope.”

Now he smirked. Not only did he look spooky in the firelight, but he looked…mischievous?

“Alice Jennifer?”

I smiled deeper, to my surprise. “Nope.”

“Angelina Jean?”

I snorted.

He ate in silence. I watched in silence.

“Thank you for sharing the fire.” He put his backpack on with a wince. “All my years of hiking and biking haven’t taught me to pack a light load.”

“Good night, Reid.”

“Good night, AJ,” he said, rising. Seemingly more weighed down by thoughts than the heavy pack, he left, his bike swishing slowly in the night. He paused and turned over his shoulder. “I’ll be just over there,” he said with a flick of his chin.

“Okay.”

Soon, it was me and the sounds of katydids and crickets of late summer night. Their ch-ch-ch humming was melodic, seductive, and soothing. My eyes grew heavy.

I waited until Reid was out of sight and sound before I retreated to my tent. My sleeping bag awaited me. I went to untie my bootlaces but stopped myself. Deciding to keep them on, I crawled into my bag. I laid the kitchen knife beside me, on the opposite side from Will, and then picked up the tire iron, hugging the cold steel against my chest as I struggled to go to sleep, allowing the insects’ evening music to lull me. I inhaled the scent of Will’s fresh, clean hair and then closed my eyes.

In the early morning hours of daybreak, while Will slept peacefully beside me, I opened my journal. To my delight, I found a map neatly drawn on the inner flap. Will, I thought, shaking my head in fondness. He had drawn an approximate blast zone around Wyoming, complete with labeled cities, a volcano in the middle of Yellowstone spewing ash into the air, and a tiny airplane near Denver.

Beside it was our black cat. Snow had a frown.

Will’s cute drawing of Snow, even if he did have a frown, spurred me to write about the good I’d experienced since his diagnosis and since Harrison’s death. There was hope and humanity out there. I needed to know how to find it and move past my anxiety. My mind briefly darted to my pill supply, but I nixed that. I needed to learn to reset my thinking.

After writing, I tiptoed outside. A thick haze hung in dawn’s bright orange glow. Pink hues outlined a sky filled with earth’s viscera, the clouds burdened with secrets. They were changing, no longer buoyant and feathery. I could almost taste the metallic rock and glass in the air.

Birds chirped by a nearby stream.

I wasn’t the only one awake. I heard the whirring shush of a bike and clank of a metal cup.

There are good people in this world, I encouraged myself.

There are.

I found myself gravitating toward the sound and taking a deep plunge of trust.