Will Rise from Ashes

by Jean M. Grant

  “I don’t understand.” His fingers danced on his legs, and he looked outside.

  “It’s the only way, honey. Here, put this mask on. You need to wear your goggles. There,” I said, pointing to the goggles in the seat beside him.

  He protested.

  “Will!”

  He began to sob, dimples appearing on his pink cheeks.

  “I’m sorry, honey. But we must. You understand?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.” He finally put them all on.

  We each had a backpack. Reid tucked Will’s in his own oversized pack. We had the essentials: water, food, equipment, clothes, the last of my money, walkie-talkies, flashlights, and headlamp. Not essential, but unwilling to leave it behind, I tossed my journal in mine as well.

  “Wait! We need the compass.” Will dug through his messy back seat, grabbed it, and plopped it in Reid’s pack. “What about my books?”

  I shook my head. “Too heavy. We’ll be back for them. I promise.”

  “Just two small ones?”

  “Okay,” I relented as he grabbed the Alaska adventure book and his wizard-cat book. Reid didn’t object to the added weight.

  Reid and I both pocketed a set of keys. The wind whipped around us as we emerged from the suffocating cocoon of the car. Sulfur burned my nostrils even with the mask. Reid lowered the bikes off the rack, and I instantly missed the smell of leather and crayons and stale air conditioning. My refuge, guiding compass, conveyance, and home for the past ten days—eleven?—had been the confines of a vehicle the size of a bathroom. I wanted to crawl in there, smashed crackers and all. I set my bike aside and then held Will’s upright for him.

  “You’ve got this, Will. Volcanologist adventure, right? Here.” I double-checked his goggles, mask, and helmet. “See? All ready.”

  “I want to drive there.” He fidgeted with the mask straps.

  I gave his arm a tender squeeze. “We can do this, Will. I know you can.”

  “Show time, buddy,” Reid assured. He glanced at me, his voice muffled behind the mask. “We’ll bike into Pueblo. It’s only a few miles from here. Then, we’ll find a hospital or mobile unit and go from there.”

  “Okay,” I said, doubtful. If the ash had besieged my car, what would it do when we tried to bike through it?

  ****

  Will didn’t mind the helmet, but he wanted to take off the goggles. They dug into his head, and that stupid face mask pinched behind his ears. Ash blew all around them, and he had to focus on his pedaling. His training wheels kept getting stuck in the ash and dry dirt on the road, and Mom or Reid gave him nudges. He focused harder. He wished he could ride a bike without the trainers, the way Finn was learning now. Finn rode laps around him. He wasn’t as good at that kind of stuff as Finn.

  The ash was cool. It was also scary. He was glad it wasn’t dark yet. As the sunlight dwindled, it looked like another planet. Like Mars, but Mars had dry red dirt. Not gray. He couldn’t see the sun anymore; there was a hazy yellow glow to their west, sinking to the horizon.

  He got stuck again. The goggles dug. The mask pinched. He hopped off his bike and removed the helmet, goggles, and mask, tossing them to the ground. “I can’t do it!”

  His heart thumped. More buzzing. He coughed and cried. The ash scratched his hands and his face.

  “Oh, Will!” Mom picked up his helmet. “Please, sweetie. You’ll get hurt. Please wear it.”

  He cried into her chest, and she wrapped her arms around him to protect him from the biting, smothering ash wind.

  “You two should return and wait at the car. I could go ahead and get help,” Reid said.

  “No. That will take longer. What if they relocate? What if you can’t make it back?” Her voice competed with the growling wind, and it rumbled into Will’s face as he cried into her chest. “Our phones won’t work, and who knows if the walkie-talkies will.”

  “Mom, I want to help find Finn. I do,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, Will. I’m sorry. Do you want to go back with me?” Dirty gray tears ran down her cheeks like a little trickle between her oversized sunglasses and facemask. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this.”

  He grabbed his goggles and put them on. “I’m your brave wizard.” He coughed. It hurt his chest. Mom gave him a sip of her water. It tasted like dirt.

  She clicked on his helmet and wiped off his face mask, assisting him with putting that tight fuzzy annoying thing back on.

  “Reid, I think we need to walk,” Mom said. “His training wheels keep getting stuck and even our bikes are struggling. It can’t be any slower than riding. We can leave the bikes here and come back for them.”

  “Can you manage, buddy?” Reid asked. “Just a few miles left.”

  Will nodded. He would try his best. “A few? Do you think one, or two, or more?”

  “I’m not sure, buddy.”

  “We hiked for three miles at Yellowstone, on the geyser trail,” Mom reminded him.

  “But there was no ash,” he said. His head ached again. He rubbed it.

  They walked for ages. Mom held his hand the entire time. Reid assured him it was close. With the wind pelting him, it felt like forever. Mom and Susie and his teacher always told him to focus, that he could get through it. He hummed to himself to drown the buzzing. He pretended the scratchy particles of ash were asteroids, and he had to dart and weave to avoid them. He focused like he had the magic within him even though wizards were only pretend.

  Finally, they came upon what appeared to be another roadblock or checkpoint. This time, there were two military vehicles and people in camouflage uniforms. They had guns and wore face masks a lot different than their own. The masks covered their eyes, nose, and mouth. He counted four of them outside of the two vehicles.

  Will was happy to be done walking. His knees shook. Reid approached one of the guards, his hands up. He began talking with a guard. Mom stood next to Will and put her arm around his shoulder. He coughed and wheezed. “Mom, my throat really hurts. My—”

  Then…

  ****

  Will was on the ground and his helmet was off. Did he fall? Who took off his helmet?

  Mom was above him, swimming against the grainy sky. There were other people around.

  Her mask and sunglasses were off. The sky was darker.

  Her lips moved, but he didn’t hear any words. He reached for her, but his arm didn’t budge. Up, up! He commanded it. He looked at it and told his fingers to move. They didn’t. Slowly, his other hand rose to touch the skin on her cheek. His chest tightened as his heart pounded in his ears.

  He said, “Mom,” but heard nothing.

  Something had happened for him to be on the ground, but it was like he was missing a span of time. Had he time-traveled? No. That wasn’t real.

  Blinking, fear welled within him. What happened? He wasn’t sleeping, but he felt weary like he had just run laps in gym class. He was awake.

  Black spots danced in his vision as dizziness erupted in his head. He thought he would go black again, but he didn’t. He felt that he might puke.

  Her lips continued to move. She was crying. No sound at all, like he was out in the universe, because there was no sound there.

  It reminded him of the one time in swim class where he jumped in and went all the way under the water by accident. He never swam beneath the water. Ever. But that one time, with that mean swim instructor who lied when he said he’d catch him, he went under the water.

  All the way under…

  He remembered.

  He sank like a rock to the bottom. It was only four feet deep. He swallowed the gross chlorine water. It burned his nostrils and filled his throat. He thrashed, but his arms moved slowly in the tepid water. He kicked hard on the bottom and surfaced, warm red blood oozing from his nose. Mom ran to him and spoke with her comforting words, wrapping his oversized towel around him.

  He never returned to that class.

  Then Mom put him in a different class, with two boys. One flapped
his arms a lot and bit his fingertips, and the other one always said “No” or “Go home, go home” and ran away from his dad and sometimes screeched.

  They didn’t go to that class anymore either.

  He blinked and focused on Mom. The edges of his vision were dark, like black oil was dumped in his eyes. Mom, Mom, Mom! His brain cried. Tears burned, and his vision grew murky with the black oil.

  She touched his face, her palm warm on his cheek. He cried and shook as the dark oil left his vision and it became fuzzy, like when he first woke up in the morning. Slowly, the world with all its buzzing returned to him. He wheezed, “I want Dad.”

  Mom said, “I’m here. You’re okay. We’re going to take you to a hospital. Honey, you had a seizure. It will be okay.”

  Sei-what? Like fissures? The kind of vents that came out of volcanoes?

  He felt his head. No, there weren’t holes in it, no lava spitting out. A seizure must not be like a fissure.

  Then he saw Reid. Strong arms lifted him, cradling him like a baby. He didn’t dislike that; tight hugs were a great way to block the ceaseless lights and droning of the world. He heard the doors of a heavy vehicle open and close, people step in, deep voices murmuring, Mom’s lovey voice. The ride was bumpy and slow.

  Mom offered him his water bottle, and he shook his head. He could still taste the chlorine from the pool memory.

  “Wha…my…wha…” The words babbled. His mouth was not working.

  She stroked his cheek. “Hush, Will, honey. It’s okay. We’re going to a hospital now. You’ll be all right.”

  His head roared. Why did it hurt so much? He’d been wearing his helmet.

  Mom was good at making him feel better. She was smart and gave him the best hugs. He felt the pain in her voice. Tear droplets bubbled in her eyes.

  “I’m okay, Mom. I’m okayyyy…,” he said.

  “Rest, Will. Mom’s here. Rest. We’ll be there soon.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Atonement

  “It was a tonic-clonic seizure, Mrs. Sinclair,” the doctor said after we stepped through the door to Will’s hospital room and into the hallway.

  I stared at her blankly.

  “Nomenclature has changed. They used to be called grand mal seizures. Up to thirty percent of children with autism also have epilepsy,” she continued. She rattled off statistics, but I tuned them out as I stared into the room at my son. Will lay, exhausted, in the hospital bed with an IV line and monitors hooked to his skinny body. His chest rose and fell, shrouded by a gown too large for him, as he wheezed and slept.

  “He’s stable, Mrs. Sinclair, but we need to keep him here for a few days to monitor him, especially because of his asthma, and well, if he inhaled any of the ash…” She drifted off.

  A long, bustling, pristine corridor in the children’s wing of the hospital surrounded us. Nurses, doctors, orderlies, and various staff shuffled in and out of rooms and worked behind the central desk on computers next to stacks of folders and paperwork. The occasional Guard soldier strode past, the camouflage uniform, helmet, and holstered weapon a stark contrast to the clean, fluidly operational hospital with its white walls and colorful signs.

  One such soldier brushed past me. “Excuse me, ma’am,” she said.

  Will had had a seizure.

  After I encouraged him to ride his bike then walk through the ash.

  After I dragged him across the country.

  The doctor pushed her round, black-rimmed glasses up her nose and tucked her clipboard beneath her arm. “Have you noticed any peculiar staring spells?”

  “Huh?”

  Reid materialized beside me and cupped a hand on my elbow. “AJ,” he coaxed.

  I blinked. How long had he been standing there? I looked behind me at Will’s hospital room. No light broke through the slats between the blinds. Night was upon us.

  I returned my focus to the doctor. Through grainy eyes, I read the name badge on the pocket of her white coat. Dr. Isabel Hwang. “Well, yeah, he has autism,” I snapped. “He daydreams, stares off.” I folded my arms across my stomach and cradled myself. The tingles began in my fingers. I remembered his staring spell on the highway near Greer Spring, when we had been stuck in traffic. “Seizure. He had a seizure,” I stuttered.

  “Yes, he did. Any prolonged staring that you couldn’t shake him from?”

  I clenched my hands tighter. “No.”

  “Facial twitches?”

  “No.”

  “Muscles jerking, unexplained confusion, or headaches?”

  I suppressed the groan. She was only doing her job. “No. If he had a headache, he’d tell me.” Jesus, would he?

  “Sleep disturbances?”

  Bingo.

  “He has night terrors.” Dread settled within me as I averted her gaze. The thought of epilepsy had entered my mind on many occasions. Of course, in those early months I’d read everything I could about autism…its link to gastrointestinal issues, epilepsy, incidence between siblings, nutrition, vaccines (that was total BS), environmental factors, genetic factors…the list never stopped. There was always something to read.

  I’d stopped reading.

  “Tell me about the night terrors.”

  I recounted the details. Had I denied it all along? I hugged myself tighter, as shaking erupted from my knotted stomach, quivering out to my extremities like a full-fledged tremor. “He’s had them for years, since he was like two or three years old. They’re usually triggered by sleep-deprivation, stress. They come in clusters, and then we have long stretches of none. His eyes are open when it happens. He moans, cries…” My explanations broke off. Keep it together, AJ. “He never remembers them. And yeah, yeah, sometimes he stares off into space. And lately he is more anxious about falling asleep.”

  Reid’s hand squeezed my elbow. I blew a deep breath and elaborated upon his symptoms.

  When I was done, the doctor said, “Well, those are definitely night terrors. They could be seizures, but I wouldn’t know unless I monitor him. There is a checklist here. I need you to read through it all. Some symptoms are usual autism behaviors, but some could be a cause for concern. You’ve been traveling. The drive, sleep disturbances, illness, allergies, diet, stress, dehydration…those things can affect seizure control. I’ve called in for our neurologist. We’ll run an EEG, but we need to catch an event. Some of the neurological abnormalities with autism may contribute to seizures. Chemical imbalances in molecules that send signals…”

  Her voice faded as her mouth moved. She was speaking, but my brain wasn’t listening. I noticed all the fine hairs at her hairline, the old acne scars across her nose, the fatigue in her dark eyes…Her lips moved in slow motion.

  I blinked and snapped from my daze. “I understand,” was all I could say.

  Her thin, black eyebrows shot up with relief, and she nodded.

  “We watch and wait,” Reid interjected, taking the clipboard and questionnaire from her.

  “Yes,” she said. “This could be an isolated event. I’d like to run a few tests if possible, Mrs. Sinclair, but our hospital’s overwhelmed with people injured from the eruption. They’re still being brought in from other areas. We can’t do all the tests immediately. I can monitor him. He needs to rest. More travel right now could trigger another seizure. We will monitor his night vitals particularly right now. You’re fortunate your son has a bed, given all the—” She cut herself off. She rubbed under the bridge of her thin glasses. Weariness creased the pale skin of her forehead.

  “We wait,” I repeated Reid’s words. “For how long?”

  “Mrs. Sinclair, he needs rest. I can’t say how long. A few days. If he’s clear, then you’re free to go, but I urge you strongly to follow up with a neurologist when you get home. You’re welcome to stay in his room. There’s a chair that reclines.”

  “Dr. Hwang.” A man in scrubs approached the doctor. “We need you in Room 203.”

  The doctor gave me an undecided look. “How is your breathing,
Mrs. Sinclair?”

  “I’m okay. Thank you.”

  “The neurologist should be here shortly.” She adjusted her glasses again and hurried off.

  Finn.

  A few days. Brandon’s words replayed in my mind. I didn’t even know if Finn was okay.

  I turned to Reid. “Reid, I—”

  “I’ll inquire about a ride to Schriever and check with local mechanics for car parts,” he said, reading my mind. “I’ll check at the desk downstairs to see if they have any other info.”

  “Thank you.” I squeezed his hand for a long moment.

  I returned to Will’s room with the clipboard and sat beside him on the bed. His chest moved in that deep sleep rhythm a mother loves to watch. He lightly snored. I brushed sweaty hair from his forehead and felt a warm, rosy cheek.

  I pulled out my phone. Zero bars. No messages. I pulled my charger from the backpack and plugged it in with the phone.

  The choices rippled through my brain while I attempted to answer all the questions on the form.

  Should I leave Will here to get Finn? This hospital was sound, safe. The nurse had informed me that back-up generators weren’t in use yet. This was a solid hospital, and patients from regional health centers and smaller facilities were being brought here. Aftershocks were done, or I’d hoped. The Guard had the hospital under control and monitored entrance and flow. I had yet to see Pueblo in daylight though. It had looked horrific by night.

  Will would be okay. He would be okay.

  I groaned. What if he had another seizure, and I wasn’t here for him? How the hell was I to sleep tonight? How was I to leave him? I couldn’t leave him alone in this hospital. I couldn’t.

  How could I not?

  Brandon’s call had me rattled. Was Finn even with him?

  Maybe he wasn’t? What if he was hurt? What if Brandon had been trying to tell me that my son was dead? Based on what I saw in Pueblo on our drive in, I could only imagine the cities north. Harrison’s voice poked into my mind’s racings. He’s at a base with your brother, AJ.

  What if I sent Reid to get him?

  Reid, my army-savior-I-wanted-to-kiss-again friend.

  The maybe more than a friend, given our night together.