Will Rise from Ashes

by Jean M. Grant

  “We’ll wait here for him if he returns. I’ve put a call into the police. We’ll keep an eye on your car and these sons of bitches. You can give a statement to the police later. There are enough witnesses to take care of this for now,” the manager said with a flick of his chin to a hunched Dennis and whimpering Clara. I restrained myself from punching them. Violence would do me no good now.

  “Perhaps we should wait for the others who are searching the campground,” Reid said.

  “No. He’s not here.”

  I shifted away from Reid’s dubious look. He spoke to the manager in an unruffled whisper, shook his hand—why did men always do that?—and then we ran to the trailhead. I shouted Will’s name, my voice growing hoarse with each call. “Will, come back! It’s safe! Will!”

  My head pounded from Dennis’s assault, but I did my best to ignore it. My son needed me. He couldn’t have gotten too far yet. I hoped.

  Chapter Eleven

  Search and Rescue

  Will ran.

  He ran like somebody was chasing him. That old meanie coming after him made his legs move faster.

  Mom said run. So he did. He ran faster than he did in gym class (which wasn’t fast compared to the other kids). Faster than when he played with Finn in blaster and wizard battles. Faster than playing zombie tag in karate class. He was adept at ducking behind the weighted dummy so nobody ever caught him. Faster than the time when he was worried that he couldn’t find Mom outside. He was a sneaky hider. He’d find a place to hide until it was safe. One time he was watching the weather forecast and there had been a tornado watch, so he hid under the basement steps. Dad was mad. Well, only a little.

  A scream rang behind him like a fire engine’s blaring horn. It was that old lady. Her screech bounced off all the trees and boulders. The tiny hairs on his neck rose, and a rush of cold fear ran through him. That old man moaned and growled like a bear. He ran faster. Were they chasing him now?

  They were mean bullies. They had tried to steal from them, and they’d hurt Mom. He stopped for the briefest second. Maybe he should go back to check on her. He clutched Douglas tighter to his chest. No, she’d said run.

  His heartbeat pounded so loudly in his head, his hearing grew fuzzy. He hated it when that happened. The campground hummed with noises. The buzzes took over. People talking, shouting, moving. Clanging, scraping, chatter. All the noises and movements around him blurred like he was on a merry-go-round. He covered his ears and ran on.

  He made it to the Greer Spring trailhead in forty-three seconds. He had already memorized the trail map, so he turned onto the trail, following the faded blazes. It was almost a mile to the spring, and the path descended fast. He would hide there. That was far enough away. The bullies wouldn’t follow him there.

  He went into stealth mode, humming to himself. If he hummed, he couldn’t hear all the other noises. He slowed his pace as the trail sloped toward the river and it grew darker under the thick canopy of trees. It wasn’t as steep as the hike they had taken to Crater Lake on their vacation. Now that had been a steep trail! It had been fun. He and Finn had run all the way, zigzagging on the switchbacks, kicking up dry dust. Mom had kept shouting to slow down, but it was too fun. When they’d reached the bottom, they climbed over all the large boulders that lined the lake. Mom had brought extra clothes and towels and a lunch, so he and Finn swam in the cold bright blue water. The caldera water was a deep darkish blue like a sapphire. Finn had scaled the larger boulders, spread his arms, and made silly noises. Will had preferred rolling his shorts up and allowing the cold water to tickle his ankles.

  The swooshing sound of rushing water floated to him as he got closer to the stream. He loved the sound of it. Finn liked whirlpools and galaxies, anything that spun around and around. Will liked that, too, and he loved to set up solar systems in the yard with dozens of different sized balls. What he liked was the movement of the water as it glided past rocks, lapped against the shoreline, trickled over a rock face, or rushed in a ferocious roar of a waterfall. Mom understood. He was “curious,” as she liked to say. He loved the water. Tides at the beach were even more fascinating.

  The smooth, slimy, moss-covered wet rocks slicked his palms as he slid on the steeper parts. Even though the sun was rising, the trail was shadowy. If Finn had been with him, he’d have been running ahead, nearly killing himself on the granite and dolomite slabs of rock (according to the trailhead sign), while Mom screamed for him to be careful. Mom always worried like that. Sometimes her worry made him worry. If she freaked out, then he freaked out. It made his heart do that thumping thing. She didn’t understand that part.

  Maybe if he found an interesting rock specimen, he’d grab it for Finn. But he had to get safe first.

  The morning sun finally broke through the trees, lighting his way. Pretty five-petal blue flowers—he thought they were phlox; Mom loved flowers and she taught him a lot about them—green ferns, and mosses covered the smaller cliff that he edged down. He no longer heard the sounds of the campground above. Maybe it was safe now?

  The water lured him with its gentle swishing. Mom had told Susie once that water calmed him. He wasn’t sure what that meant. It did make the buzzing go away. He heard everything all around him, including his mom when she thought he wasn’t listening. She always asked what was going on in that “big, beautiful brain” of his. Lots, he told her.

  He reached the water, placed Douglas on a nearby rock, and crouched, dipping his fingers in to test it. The water was an icy cold hug around his fingers. Not too hard, not too soft. Just right. Like Goldilocks! Earth was in the Goldilocks zone. Just the right amount of oxygen and stuff in the air for humans.

  Long stringy green pondweeds filled the lagoon-like area on the stream’s edge. He dipped his hand farther in and twirled the weeds around.

  He then found four sticks and stuck them in the stream upright, wedging them between a few baseball-sized rocks. The water swirled and diverted around the sticks. Nearby, water gurgled in a mini-waterfall over a pointy rock that jutted into the stream. Foam bubbled where the water rushed around rocks and logs. He didn’t see the spring. That was probably farther. This part was nice though.

  He allowed the mist to tickle his face. His shoes squished into the mud. He stepped in deeper, the water seeping into his shoes. He wiggled his wet toes. The wet didn’t bother him.

  After a few minutes, he heard feet crunching and muffled voices on the trail above him. His heart began to do that thumping thing, and he ran.

  ****

  “This is taking far too long. This is taking too long!” I said. Don’t spiral, AJ, Harrison’s voice chided. His face flashed before me, tight-lipped, head shaking. I hated that look. He had always been the cool, rational one in our relationship.

  “We’ll find him.”

  I didn’t acknowledge Reid’s comment. My fears had me falling into the depths. I had to find him. There was no alternative. I wouldn’t allow room in my mind for the other option. I tripped on a tree root, and Reid caught me by the arm.

  Belatedly, I said, “Yeah, this journey though. It’s taken so long. And now this!” My baby Finn had been without us for a week now. A goddamn week!

  My legs were leaden. What was wrong with them? Like the heaviness I had felt with my epidural after Will’s birth.

  “You’re sure he went this way? What about—” Reid said.

  “Yes!”

  We reached the trailhead, and Reid paused at the sign.

  “Come on!” I said.

  He scrutinized it like Will. “Just one sec…let me assess our situation.”

  “Assess our situation? He went on the trail. There’s a spring and stream. That’s where he went! It’s this way. It’s like a mile down, Reid! And he has time on us.”

  “Are you…”

  I glared at him.

  “Okay, okay.”

  “On the long shot he hid in the campground, others are looking for him,” I added. He wasn’t in the campground.
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br />   We scurried down the trail. “Will!” Long, arching ferns brushed against my shins, their serrated leaves like fingers fighting me. I tripped on the overgrowth across the path and dropped my flashlight. The beam cut out. I picked it up, shook it, and it went back on.

  Reid practically ran down the sloped trail, distancing us in a matter of moments as he glided over the terrain with an enviable agility. He surely moved like a tactical soldier. His lithe form grew smaller, his black T-shirt blending in with the shadows of the canopy.

  He paused, deftly balancing on an outcrop. Once I caught up, he continued.

  Before long, the rushing of the stream beckoned me as we approached the bottom of the ravine.

  A sudden memory of a dream I’d had several times in the past few weeks caused me to stumble. I hit a rock, twisted my weak ankle, and took a fall. “Jesus!”

  Why, now, of all times were all these memories surfacing? My brain had more important things to do. My ankle pinched with a radiating pain. I had stepped wrong, throwing the sole up and ankle twisting to its side. I stopped to gather my wits.

  Reid came to me. “You okay?”

  “I think so. Bad ankle. It’s never quite healed from an injury before.”

  I rubbed it, thankful I hadn’t heard the sickening cracks from the first time I hurt it. That was close.

  The damn dream about the kids lured me in. Each time I experienced it, it was slightly altered. Horrified, I would wake drenched with sweat, pulse racing. A hybrid of both Will and Finn played the role in the dream. There was one central theme though: the boys were drowning—in a pool, a lake, or the ocean—and each time I had to save them. And I did.

  What about now? What if I was too late?

  Would I find Will?

  Would I be too late to save Finn?

  A trench of blackness, of both mind and heart, ensnared me. Stay alert. Stay strong, I ordered. Sweaty fatigue and nausea dominated. Now was not a great time for a wave of withdrawal effects or panic attack. I exhaled. Doubts lurched in my mind, and anxiety reared its ugly head. “Maybe he didn’t come this way. Maybe he’s in the campground. Maybe I was wrong.” Tears were on the edges of my eyes, waiting to fall in a torrent.

  Reid looped his hand through my arm to assist me. The ankle was okay. It just stung. Thank God.

  “Then we have others searching there like you said,” he said almost too coolly. His demeanor had done a full reversal from what he’d displayed with that creep Dennis. I shuddered at how quickly a trained soldier could do what was needed in the moment and then transition to “being.”

  “Right…,” I said, voice quaking.

  I found my answer once we reached the ravine floor. There was Will’s Douglas, sitting on a large rock next to the stream, which resembled a river here…but my son was nowhere to be seen.

  I grabbed the stuffed dog and scanned the whirring stream before me. “Will! Will!” I cried, looking in both directions. I sloshed into the part that lapped against the shore, disregarding the water that got into my shoes. I didn’t believe in premonitions, but…my scan jumped from tree to tree beside and behind us. “Will! It’s Mom!”

  No response.

  Languid legs brought me to the ground in a crumpled heap.

  Reid rested a hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be okay. He probably went to the spring. It’s this way. Come, let’s go.”

  What ifs and worst-case scenarios bounced around in my mind. I grew light-headed.

  Reid knelt to my level. “AJ…,” he began, his voice competing with the roar of the river. “We will find your son. You can’t give up.”

  “Oh, but Finn! My Finn is gone, too! I have nothing. Nobody. Th-They…”

  I quashed my fears and tightened my hands into fists, not allowing the claws of defeat to pull me into the emotional abyss.

  Perhaps I was the one who was drowning. I’d worked hard during the past year to pull through it all. To be strong for everyone. Now, I was a pile of mush again.

  “AJ, you can do it,” Harrison’s voice said to me. He held me, rubbing my shoulders, soothing me in that special way. I lifted a hand to his cheek, feeling the scruff of a beard on my palm. “Harrison, you need to shave,” I said, perplexed. Harrison was always clean-shaven. I blinked, and the hazy form of my sandy-haired husband transitioned to one of a man with smooth, dark hair on top and a peppered sun-kissed chin. Brown eyes bore into mine beneath thick turned-down eyebrows.

  Reid took my hand from his cheek and squeezed it. “AJ, let’s go. Look! Small, recent footprints,” he said, righting me and pointing to the trail that continued to the spring.

  The crisp cry of a whistle pierced the air and ripped me from my spiral. “Did you hear that?”

  Reid also stopped. “Yes.”

  There it was again, an unmistakable shrill call of a whistle.

  My knees gave way from sudden deliverance. “Will!” I stumbled but steadied myself and ran faster to the spring.

  That was the whistle; I was sure of it. I purchased it out of my incredible fear of bears. It was top-notch.

  The whistle blew again, its high-pitched cry heard over the rushing water as we drew upon it a few minutes later. The spring was wider here as the water emerged from beneath a high smooth granite slab overhanging a cave. The stream shuttled around moss-covered rocks in a loud whir like the drone of a crowded football stadium. It was deafening. Not too far from the cave, the water twirled into a whirlpool. Oh, heavens, Finn would have loved it. Then I saw the depth of the water. The morning sun-speckled blue laughed at me as white caps spun, entrancing, terrifying. I couldn’t see the bottom.

  “He can’t swim well!” Had he fallen in and whistled for help before the water engulfed him? “Will?” The noisy water swallowed my cry.

  I kicked off my shoes, the incessant nightmares of the boys drowning washing over me in violent remembrance. Statistics flew through my brain. Over ninety percent of autistic children’s deaths were due to drowning…after wandering.

  Reid grabbed my arm. “He’s not in there.”

  The swirling water taunted me. “He is!”

  “We just heard the whistle,” he said sensibly. “And it’s hard to whistle while struggling in water.”

  Just as I tore my arm from his grip, a quiet voice from behind froze me. “Mom?”

  I spun around to see my son, muddy to his knees, half smiling his awkward “should I be upset or scared or happy?” smile. I scooped all fifty pounds of him into a bear hug. “Will!”

  “I used the whistle, Mom, like you told me. Did you hear me? This water is loud!”

  I tried to not sob into his neck as I nuzzled him, squeezing tight enough that he released a squeak. “Yes, yes, yes! You’re such a smart boy, honey.”

  A wave of relief rushed through me. The feel of his thin body wrapped within my embrace was a balm to my wounds. Screw it; I cried. The thought of Finn came forth in my mind as well. I had to find him. I needed our family whole.

  ****

  Reid shifted gears from task-driven soldier to conversationalist as we hiked up the trail. Will’s steps ahead of me squished and squashed as he took his time in sloshy shoes, seeming to stop for every log, odd looking branch, or puddle.

  “I enlisted in the army when I was twenty-five, older than the usual recruit. Did two tours, Bahrain and Afghanistan,” Reid said.

  I couldn’t remember how Reid had begun his story.

  “Uh-huh.” I hugged my arms around my middle. Adrenaline shook me. My lungs rattled; my inhaler had been left at the campsite. I kept my legs moving. Even if my mind had not fully returned, the lower half of my body worked now.

  “You’re in shock, AJ.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Was Harrison your husband?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “On one of my tours, I experienced…” He puffed a breath, tossing a glance at Will.

  Will stopped to investigate a puddle on the side of the trail.

  Reid continued in a lower voice, leanin
g closer to me. “It was supposed to be an easy op. Insurgents caught us by surprise. Our team got trapped in a burning building. Three of us survived out of eight. One guy, a great man with two young kids and a wife, took his own life when we got stateside. My other buddy, he couldn’t handle it either. He’s in a rehab facility in Texas.”

  I awoke from my stupor enough to recognize what he was saying. “They all suffered from PTSD.”

  “Yeah.” He moved a low-lying branch out of our way and motioned for me to go first.

  “Come, Will,” I said.

  Will actually did as told and ambled ahead.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “I struggled for a long time, but I’ve found my ways to cope,” Reid said vaguely.

  “Like hitching and biking across the country, reading C.S. Lewis, and habitually eating lollipops?”

  A sliver of a smile creased his lips as he pulled a lollipop from his pants pocket. “Why not? Want one?”

  “No. How many do you have in that pack of yours?”

  “Plenty. Never know when I’ll need one.”

  I stifled a laugh. I didn’t press, but I thought about what his real coping mechanism could be. I distinctly remembered the earthy scent of alcohol on him in that hotel room. I passed a cursory glance over him. He wasn’t wearing his usual red and gray plaid button-down shirt. Instead, he wore a simple black shirt, jeans, and boots. The shirt hugged his torso and upper arms, highlighting his fit stature. His sparse beard had filled in an even carpet of black hair, with a trace of gray, covering his chin, jaw line, and upper lip. I suspected the scruff was only a result of his journey and he was usually a well-groomed guy.

  Knowing some of his history and having experienced firsthand the dangers on this trip, I wasn’t put off when my scrutinizing gaze fell upon the knife in a holster on his belt. It must have been hidden beneath his long-sleeved shirt the other days. If I had to guess, I presumed he was in his mid- to later-thirties like me, although he was a hell of lot more fit.