I swallowed, my mouth cottony. I still questioned life’s ultimate purpose, but my faith had always remained steadfast in the darkest of days. At least I thought it had. I was beginning to question that now.
There was a long moment. I shifted my weight, uncomfortable with the scrutiny his face held.
“I hate labels,” I finally said.
“Me, too. Sometimes kids need labels to get the help they need through our system.”
“They do.”
“He’s very borderline?” Reid said perceptively.
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “We live in the land of gray. People don’t know what to think about us.”
“I like the fringe,” Reid said with a kindhearted smile.
It had an appeasing effect on me. “You’re a rebel, huh?”
“Sometimes.”
“You’re familiar with autism?”
“My sister works with kids on the spectrum. Teaches a special-needs class.”
“Ah. So, God created autism to reset humanity? And the eruption…” There, I’d said both words. It wasn’t too hard, even if they felt like poison sliding off my tongue. “…was like the Great Flood, to reset man?” There were many parts in the Bible that I had trouble believing.
“Why not?” His sincere smile ruffled the lines around his mouth. “We—people—have become infatuated with technology, busy schedules, social status…all of it. It got to be too much. We’ve developed new idols. We’ve lost faith. Look at what’s happening. Wars of all kinds are contaminating our world. Then autism arises at an alarming rate. Certainly it’s existed for a long time, but the rate increased incredibly. Coincidence? No. And we know you don’t believe in that.”
I nodded. Reid was an exceptional listener.
“Genetics? Maybe. Vaccines?”
I grunted.
He laughed. “Hell no, right? Pesticides? I doubt it. God?” Long pause.
I shook my head. “God.”
“Yeah, God…”
“You’re going deeper than my brain can handle tonight, Reid.”
“Bear with me a moment…I’m on a roll here.”
I shifted, wary, drained. “Okay.” Faith. Fate. Coincidence. What did I believe?
“…or maybe it’s just a power greater than us. Autistic people tend to appreciate the details and view our world differently. The hidden gems that we neurotypicals miss. The beauty in that line of ants making for the anthill, the puddles filling with water, the curvature of rocks, the workings of gears…whatever it is. They’re attuned to their environment, their senses…the world. They don’t give a shit what other people think. They’re loyal, hardworking. Maybe they have deeper access to areas of the brain we can’t reach yet. They return us to the simpler things of life. How could that not be God resetting us? Maybe one day we’ll all have autism. They don’t know of a definitive cause. Maybe we’re evolving to a new way of being. I’m not a neuroscientist, so take all my musings with a grain of salt.”
For an avid talker, I was without words as I digested his reasoning. I blew a breath but nodded in resignation. “The eruption? It wasn’t big enough to…to destroy the world. It wasn’t a supervolcanic eruption. Life-altering for years to come, yes. Humankind-ending, no.”
“True. But life is going to change for decades to come. Perhaps it was time for another clean slate.”
“Another flood?” I concluded for him.
He nodded, pursing his lips. “Another flood. Just on a smaller scale.”
****
Despite my middle of the night rising and way too thought-provoking conversation with Reid, I slept solidly and, for the first time since news of the eruption, without a dream about Finn. A sweet, dark oblivion had detained my overworked brain.
Expecting to hear Will’s light snoring beside me, instead I found an empty sleeping bag and whistle beside it. Prickles of pain ran throughout my arm which had apparently become lodged beneath my body and the tire iron. I wiggled my arm and pumped my fist to encourage blood flow.
I had to stop waking like this. “Will?” I said, already reaching to unzip the tent flap. What happened to my rigid rule-follower?
“Here,” Reid’s voice broke in.
I hurried out of the tent. Panic thankfully didn’t have time to set in, for both Will and Reid strode toward our campsite, each carrying a steaming cup of—
“Coffee, Mom!” Will said, handing me the one he carried as if he were cradling a baby crocodile that might snap at him. His face shone with pride.
I gave Reid a stern look and then turned to Will. Oh my God, this child had to stop walking off! Or else I needed to give up on sleep. I’d become that mom, from movies, who didn’t keep a close eye on her kid while monsters or aliens tormented the living.
“Thank you, Will. Honey, please, don’t go off alone like that, okay?” Frogs, cats, and now off with a stranger. My heart couldn’t take more of this.
Will made for the picnic table.
“Will…,” I said, raising my voice.
“I wasn’t alone. I was with Reid. Look what I found at the sandbox near the playground!” He dug into his pockets and splayed his bounty, a rainbow of plastic Lego bricks. “Can I keep them?”
I gave him an “I love you but don’t do that again” hug. “Next time, take your whistle, okay?” I whispered.
“I was with Reid, and I didn’t need to worry about bears.”
“Will…”
“Okay, Mom. Okay.”
“Sorry, AJ. I didn’t mean to worry you. He woke up a while ago and popped out. I tried to keep him busy while you slept, but he got fidgety and he mentioned you love coffee.” He pointed to the flattened lollipop wrapper that sat under my water bottle near the opening of my tent. “I left you a note.”
I picked it up and read the few words scribbled with a permanent marker. A pursed my lips. “A pop wrapper?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Gotta use what I have.” His dark eyes held mine. “We grabbed some coffee from the store at the office. I shouldn’t have let him come along without asking, but I didn’t want to bother you. My apologies,” Reid said.
I waved his apology away. “It’s okay. Next time wake me, okay?”
“Promise. Sorry.” He sipped his own coffee. “Hey, so I glanced at your arsenal in the car.”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“Will showed me.”
I muffled a grunt.
“…you left it unlocked. You really are ready for the apocalypse.” His lips curled into a devilish grin.
“I left it unlocked?”
“Yeah.”
I puckered my lips. I swiped a hand through my hair. I must have been more out of it yesterday than I had thought. “One can never be too prepared. I had more than that before the jerks robbed me in New York.”
Will was already playing with the Lego bricks on the table. He dipped into his plastic bag of mini-figures and bricks, pushing them around to find the right one. A dozen yellow pieces were carefully lined up in a row on the weather-worn wooden table.
“I also love coffee. Thanks,” I said. I sighed with the first sip.
“Hey, so I’m sorry about last night.”
“What do you mean?”
“All that end of the world talk and stuff. Two in the morning is not the best time for deep philosophical questions.” He shifted his gaze toward Will.
“It’s okay. Really. And two a.m. is the perfect time. This kind of event makes us ponder the big questions.” A genuine smile creased my lips, and I momentarily forgot how tired and achy I was. I then called to Will, “Fifteen minutes, Will.” I turned to Reid. “Then we go.”
Chapter Seven
Without
Southern Illinois moved like molasses.
Even with our detour taking us south of St. Louis, my hopes to make it to Kansas without delay were quickly fading.
Reid sat behind the driver’s wheel. Leaps of faith, AJ. I yawned. I refused to let myself sleep.
“I didn’t mean t
o upset you this morning,” Reid said.
“It’s okay,” I said, sipping my now cold, but still delicious, coffee. I wanted to savor it. Reid or Will had guessed correctly—more cream than sugar. “No need to keep apologizing. You’re sounding like me now.”
“You feel better?”
“Not really…”
“You were wheezing last night.”
“You heard me?”
He shrugged. “The night is quiet, except for the sounds of people sleeping.”
“Don’t sleep much, Reid?”
“Not much these days. I can get by on less.”
“You spend your time reading the classics and pondering life’s grand questions.” I meant it as a jab, but it came out harsher than intended.
“Sometimes.” He flashed me a sideways frank glance. “Like I said, my sister, Lily, she works with special kids…” He broke off, but his gaze went to the rearview mirror. Will was happily playing with his Lego bricks, apparently having built a ship for his figures to fly around in. He made blaster noises and hummed to himself.
“He knows,” I said quietly. I had the talk with Will only recently. He seemed unfazed by it. This admission about a sister working with special-needs children explained Reid’s interest in the area.
Reid nodded but said nothing further.
I looked at my phone for the hundredth time. No messages from Brandon, Sarah, or Dr. Martin. It was time to make my daily futile calls to the airline and several others that I’d listed in case Brandon had changed airlines, as well as to Brandon, but I paused. “Do you have a smartphone?”
Reid’s eyebrows shot up but quickly settled in place. “Yeah, but it’s not working well. You can try.” He pulled it from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. “You don’t have one?”
“Thanks. Nope. I’m a bit slow on accepting technology. And my laptop was stolen.”
“You’ve had a fun run of it, hey?”
I snorted. “You can say that.”
I first dialed Brandon. Nothing. Then the airport. Nothing. Then the airline. I refrained from the phone call to Dr. Martin in Reid’s presence. I could try her later. Geesh, this was getting old. I felt like a frustrated child who couldn’t accomplish a simple task. Channeling my inner Finn, who notoriously pitched a fit when a contraption of his wouldn’t work “just so,” I stifled a groan. “Can I try my email?”
“Of course. Don’t want to dash your hopes, but I’ve had no luck with anyone west of the Mississippi.”
I tried anyway. I typed in the email server, waiting while my mailbox loaded. I thought of the smartphone I’d finally purchased six months ago, now sitting in a box on my dresser, collecting dust. Harrison’s jesting tone in my constant reminiscing had coaxed me to buy one. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to use it. All I saw was Harrison, hardworking breadwinner, constantly getting pings of emails at godforsaken hours. Harrison, the man who worked tireless hours, stressed about problems with his preclinical studies, all so he could provide for his family and for Will to receive the extra therapies and care he required. I just want you to be happy, AJ, he would say. He had worked hard for me. For us.
And that work had killed him.
A late run to the laboratory on a rainy July night last year due to a technician’s mistake had ended it all for him. I’d been humbled that day with my own prophecy. I’d said work was going to kill him. Well, it wasn’t work entirely. The drunk driver behind the other car’s steering wheel was equally responsible.
Dammit, AJ. Stop this. I cursed in my mind for Will’s sake.
Finally, the page loaded on the smartphone. Dumb phone, I thought. I found my grip clutching Reid’s phone, and I released it into my lap. I gave myself a moment, then checked my email. There was nothing from Brandon. I did have a response from Sarah, which appeared to have been sent a few days ago after my first call to her. I tapped my finger impatiently on my knee as it loaded.
AJ,
I hope you get this email. I wish I could be going with you, and I wish I could dissuade you. No word from Brandon.
Travel on the highways in CA is now prohibited. I couldn’t even try; there are roadblocks everywhere. Some of the ash cloud has drifted west over northern parts of the state but not here. Still always sunny in San Diego despite wave warnings from the tsunami that hit north and west of us. But we were spared.
I know how hard this must be for you right now, with Will and everything that’s happened in the past year. Brandon will keep Finn safe. Remember that trip to Acadia when Will wandered off the trail to follow a stream and Brandon found him…right back where we had started, at the campsite? Sometimes I laugh when I think about how much your man Will is so much like your brother. My point is this: Brandon will protect Finn with all his heart, and Will is your sidekick; he’ll help you through this. Will is your home base, Sis. He’s your constant. He grounds you. And Brandon…he’s Mr. Fix-it himself.
Geesh, now I am rambling. This is me trying to cheer you up. Maybe myself, too. Love you.
I will continue to try the airport and airline. It’ll be all right. I know they made it to Denver. They had to.
Love always, your sis,
Sarah
“Tsunami?” I said aloud.
“Oh yeah, saw that on the news. Tragic,” Reid said.
“Like a big wave?”
“You didn’t see? Impacted Japan, Oregon, and Washington. They think since the tremors have settled, there is no need for the raised alarm, but yeah, a lot of people…” He drifted off.
“Died,” Will finished for him. “It was on the radio, Mom.”
I shook my head as I typed a quick response to let her know where I was, but after another five minutes of waiting for the email to send, I gave up. “Thanks.” I handed it to Reid.
“Sorry,” he said, dropping it into the cup holder.
We drove for a while, all of us quiet as Reid weaved through increasingly congested traffic. I thought about Will. I thought about Finn. I thought about what could be, should be…and what had been.
“What do you want to do about this?” Reid said.
The traffic jam had thickened to a near standstill. I grabbed the atlas. “I don’t know this area at all. What do you think?”
“It’s your car. It’s your decision.”
“Mom’s not great at making up her mind,” Will interjected.
“Thanks, honey.” I shrugged and sighed at Reid’s dubiously furrowed brow. “It is true.”
I flipped through the atlas and ran my finger along a few of the highways on the pages. “If we continue this way, our proposed route would take us through the Mark Twain Wilderness of southern Missouri, then we can cut north to Kansas City. This is a lot of detouring to avoid St. Louis. What if Kansas City is impassable?” I muffled a curse. “From Kansas City, it’s a straight shot on I-70 to Denver.”
“We need to get around all this,” Reid said, flicking his hand to the string of cars before us. “If there’s more precipitation…,” he implied.
“Like ash!” Will said merrily.
I pressed my two fingers against my aching temple. “We need to get off this road regardless. It’s going to eat all of our fuel,” I said, eyeing the gauge. Down to a quarter tank. “How about the next exit, and we can review our options and find gas?”
“Sure,” Reid agreed.
The line for the gas station was worse than the highway. “Jesus,” I mumbled. Thirty minutes later, my fuel gauge reading an eighth of a tank, and my pulse elevated, we made it to the pump. An attendant was controlling it.
“You can only get ten gallons,” he said as I popped out of the car. “And cash only.”
I grimaced. “That’s ridiculous. There are no mandates on gas limits.”
Reid exited the car and slid to my side. “The government isn’t condoning restrictions. Price mandates, yes, but not quantities. We can report you.”
“Right,” I said, sticking my chin up, suddenly dizzy. The gas fumes made me want to puke
.
“Come on, what’s the hold up?” a guy yelled from the next car in line.
The attendant, a middle-aged man of wrestler stature, scoffed. “The government ain’t gonna do squat. They have more pressing issues. This is our station. Our gas. The fuel trucks have stopped delivering. Owner’s rules. Ten gallons per day, cash. You can come back tomorrow for another ten gallons. Or move on.” He crossed his beefy arms and gave Reid, who stood six inches shorter than him, a don’t-mess-with-me look. Yeah, I doubted this guy was a regular attendant.
“Okay, fine,” I snapped, opening the gas cap. I reached for the pump, but the man grabbed the nozzle and did it himself. When he was done, I slapped the money in his hand.
“Mom,” Will said as I opened the passenger door to step in. “I have to pee.”
“No bathroom,” the guy said.
“Come on,” I said, gritting my teeth.
He held up a thick, calloused hand. “Look, I would let your boy use it, but the water is not running anymore. They shut it off. Ash contaminating the sewers or something from that rain storm. There’s a wooded spot over yonder,” he said with thumb point to a patch of trees beside the station.
“But there is no ash on the ground,” Will said, perceptively.
“Will?”
“I’ll hold it,” he said, returning to his clipboard drawings.
We stopped for lunch in a picnic area, and Will happily consumed fast-food chicken nuggets while I opened my journal. I sat at the picnic table next to him.
“Want me to check on the tires? Maybe talk with somebody at the store, there, about routes? Get more bottled water?” Reid asked. He pointed to the gas station beside the grassy picnic pavilion.
I nodded. “Thanks. Yes to all of the above.”
I opened the journal to a new page but made another call to Dr. Martin once Reid was out of hearing range. My call didn’t get through to the receptionist. I redialed twice. Nothing. Perhaps in Kansas if I couldn’t locate my prescription, a pharmacist could call my doctor.
Will Rise from Ashes Page 11
