by S. S. Segran
“That’s just strange.” Roderick picked up his sandwich again. “You, Tegan, Aari and the others don’t really hang out anymore, do you?”
“We’re a bigger target when we’re together in this place,” Jag said wistfully. “We do meet up after school sometimes, but it feels different, you know? Like a huge part of us is missing. Which is true, I guess. And we’re all frustrated because of people like that idiot and his friends this morning.”
“They’re just a handful of dimwits who area all bark. I mean, they’re loud and rude, but most people are sympathetic toward you guys.”
“Yeah. But sometimes it’s a handful of people that do the most damage.”
Roderick smiled sadly. “I get that.” He pushed the last piece of his sandwich into his mouth. “So, about that dream.”
“Right. Basically, I’m in the middle of some kind of—I dunno, it feels like a battleground. There are these people, two groups of them, and they’re fighting each other. One side has guns and the other is using bows and arrows. And there are these animals that I’m pretty sure were spawned from the depths of hell. Ruthless killing machines. And then . . . and then there’s this man I keep seeing—an older guy. He moves really fast, but each time in my dreams, he gets shot down by a machine gun in a plane flying overhead. And each time, I can never save him.”
Roderick’s frown seemed to be plastered onto his face. “That’s a bit spooky, if you’re dreaming about it often.”
Jag nodded. “When I wake up, I usually have the urge to throw up. Seeing that man get shot, seeing the blood, and having it be that vivid . . . every emotion, just . . . ” As he spoke, he felt bile rising in his throat.
Roderick reached into his bag and pulled out a water bottle which he passed to Jag. Jag gratefully took a few sips.
Rubbing his face, Roderick said, “Well, that’s definitely not a pleasant dream to have, even once.”
“No kidding. And then this morning, I had it again, but this time there’s this voice at the end. I can’t place the accent, but it’s a man speaking and he’s telling me about a gathering storm and that I need to wake up.”
“Hmm . . . This may be a bit silly, but have you talked to anyone else about this? Parents?”
Jag let out a sharp laugh. “Hah! No, definitely not. It’s bad enough that one of their sons is a clinical amnesiac who disappeared without a trace for months. I don’t need them thinking I’m a nut, too.”
“They’re your parents! They know you’re a nut anyway.” Roderick smiled good-humoredly.
Jag, despite himself, smiled back. “Ha-ha.”
“But in all seriousness, maybe it’s just a psychological reaction to everything you’ve gone through.”
“If you’re implying that I should see a psychiatrist, the answer is no.”
“Just trying to look out for you. You tried taking some sleeping medications?”
“I did, but I stopped. They didn’t help much and I didn’t want to get hooked on them.” Jag poked at the water bottle that was sitting on the table. “Thanks for listening, Roddy.”
“Anytime, man, anytime. There may be jerks roaming this place, but you’ve got friends who have your back.”
2
The moment the bell rang, Jag was out of his classroom; he didn’t want to spend a minute longer in the building. He exited through the main doors of the school, making his way through the throng of students who were also leaving the premises, and found Aari Barnes waiting for him outside.
Aari was several inches shorter than Jag, who stood six feet tall. He had short, dark red hair and ice-blue eyes that made him appear both intense and friendly. His intelligence was well-known throughout their grade, but he was not a teacher’s pet and disliked being labeled so.
Like Jag, Aari was one of the so-called amnesiacs, along with Tegan Ryder, Mariah Ashton, and Kody Tyler. The five of them had known each other all their lives and were like second family to one another. Ever since their mysterious reappearance after vanishing in Yukon, though, they’d subconsciously avoided being seen together during school to escape the stares and taunts.
Jag went up to Aari and grabbed him in a headlock, grinning. “Hey, Barnes.”
Aari, who’d long since learned that attempting to get away from Jag’s tight grip was futile, stood still and smiled, arms dangling in front of him. “Yo.”
“How you doing?”
“Okay, I guess.” Aari looked at his watch. “Should we get going?”
“Yep.” Jag let his friend go and stepped back. Aari straightened his black button-up shirt, and together the two started toward Jag’s house.
They didn’t speak much as they walked. It was a particularly warm day and they were glad for the modest cooling breeze. Jag glanced up at the large trees that bordered the sidewalk as the leaves rustled in the wind. Great Falls, Montana, was a beautiful place and he was thankful to be living in such a wonderful town. However, all he’d wanted to do as of late was just get out and find himself.
They reached the house and Jag led the way to the front door. Inside, as Aari turned to Jag to say something, the smell of popcorn stopped them in their tracks. Aari blinked, then turned around and made his way to the living room where the aroma was coming from.
“Oy, who’s got the microwaved delight?” he called out.
Jag quietly repeated ‘Oy’ out of Aari’s earshot and smiled to himself. It was an exclamation that Aari had fallen into the habit of using as his grandfather, a Holocaust survivor, would use it often. Jag always enjoyed hearing the story of how Aari’s grandparents met—his grandmother’s family had risked their lives to provide refuge for numerous Jews in Germany, her future husband included.
Tristan looked up from the television and hoisted a big bowl of popcorn over his head. “That would be me, the popcorn goblin.”
Jag’s two older siblings were relaxing on the couches. Tristan was lounging sideways with one leg dangling off cushions. He was still in his pajamas, indicating that he’d been a couch potato the entire day. His hair, which was usually done up James Dean style, was tousled. He was taller than Jag but both shared the same athletic build and a passion for parkour. The brothers were often found practicing the sport in the town’s many parks, unwittingly attracting curious onlookers.
Sitting on the other couch was Jag’s twenty-two-year-old sister, Camilla, in sweatpants and t-shirt. Her hair was up in a messy bun but she still had makeup on, which meant that she’d only returned from work shortly before Jag and Aari arrived.
Evidently, it was a lazy day at the Sanchez household.
Jag vaulted over the back of the couch and landed beside his brother. “Have you been vegging here since I left?”
“Yeah. Oh, Mom called, by the way. She and Dad will be back after dinner, so we’re on our own in terms of food.” Tristan threw a piece of popcorn in the air and caught it in his mouth. When he saw Aari flop down on the carpet in front of the couch, he grinned and raised his hand. “Hey, man. What’s up?”
Aari high-fived him. “Nothing much. Counting down the hours till the school year’s done. Just under twenty-four hours left.”
Tristan held the bowl out to offer him some popcorn. “So how come you’re here?”
“I just wanted to look over the route that we’re gonna take for the trip.”
“Yeah . . . that.” Tristan shook his head in disbelief. “You need to explain that to me. How is it that after last year’s mishap, you five are allowed to drive all the way to California by yourselves?”
Jag and Aari glanced at each other but neither answered. Camilla looked over at the pair sympathetically, then said, “They need it, Tristan. They need to hang out and do stuff like they used to. This trip will help them.”
Tristan shook his head again but let it go. He picked up the remote and switched the channel to a national news station. When he saw the headline on the screen, he frowned and turned up the volume.
“ . . . Additional reports are coming in of more c
rop failures in parts of North Dakota, Kansas and Montana,” the news anchor was saying. “For further details, we now turn to our correspondent in Baldwin City, Kansas.”
As the camera cut away to show a man with a microphone standing among burnt crops in a farmer’s field, Jag turned to the others, puzzled. “More crop failures? What’s going on?”
Camilla shrugged. “Don’t know. I heard talk at work. Rumor has it that it’s a new viral bug, but no one has come out to officially say anything. It’s not just wheat, either. Apparently corn and rice crops have been destroyed too.”
“I hope Gran and Gramps are alright,” Tristan murmured. “They make their living off their farm . . . ”
They continued to watch the news for a little while longer until Jag got to his feet. Taking the cue, Aari got up as well and the two excused themselves. Jag led the way to his room and threw the door open. The first thing that greeted them was a large map of the United States pinned against a wall decorated with posters of cars and musicians.
Aari went up to the map. He used a finger to trace the route that the friends had begun planning several weeks back. “I’m looking forward to this,” he muttered.
Jag went to stand beside him, arms folded. “Me too.”
He saw Aari glance at his desk where a small stack of newspaper clippings was pushed up against a corner. Aari went over and spread them out on the tabletop. When he took a proper look the content of the articles, his expression grew stony.
The clippings were of media frenzy when the friends had gone missing the previous summer. Everyone had been stunned when Samuel Tyler appeared in a small town many miles distant from the crash site, battered and distraught. They were even more baffled when his teenage passengers were nowhere to be found.
When the five showed up many weeks later in a hospital at the same small town, the media tripled its craze. The friends had obviously been taken care of as they were healthy, save for some small bruises and scars. What happened during those missing weeks remained a mystery that, over time, the media had slowly lost interest in.
Jag silently restacked the clippings and pushed them back into the corner.
“Why do you keep them?” Aari asked, rubbing his temples as if he’d just gotten a headache.
Jag sat on the edge of his bed and sighed. “I’m not sure. I just know that when I look at them, I—”
“Want to burn them?”
“Yes, burn them. But they also make me want to do this trip even more. Clear our minds and all that. Prove that we can be together without this cloud over our heads.”
Aari looked back at the map and pointed at it. “If this doesn’t help us . . . ”
“I’d rather not think like that.”
“You’re right. Positivity. Be positive.” Aari rapped his knuckles against the side of his head. After a moment, he smiled slightly. “Can’t wait for the barbecue on Sunday.”
Jag raised his head, his face lighting up. “The food’s gonna be great.”
“Food’s always great when Kody’s family is involved.”
“True that.” Jag pushed himself off the bed. “Let’s grab a bite. Pretty sure there’s leftover cheesecake in the fridge.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll be heading home. Gotta babysit the kid for a few hours while Mom and Dad do some errands.”
“Your little sister has a name, you know,” Jag said with a smile as he walked Aari to the door.
Aari slipped his shoes on and picked up his bag. As he walked out of the house, he raised his fist over his head and hollered, “One more day and school’s out!”
Jag chuckled as he shut the door behind Aari. This trip really is what we need, he thought. No misadventures and no idiots to mock us. Just fun times with the group. It’ll be good.
3
The smell of grilled burgers rode the cool evening breeze as laughter and shouts filled the air. Samuel Tyler glanced over his shoulder from where he stood on the deck by his barbecue and watched his eldest son toss around a football with his friends and their siblings. He smiled to himself. It was great to see the kids being together and having fun.
He felt someone tug at his pant leg and looked down to see his five-year-old son looking up at him with big, dark eyes and a large, life-loving smile on his face.
Samuel scooped up his youngest child. “Roshon, my little man! What do you need?”
The boy squirmed in his father’s arms. “When are we gonna eat? I’m huuungry,” he complained, grabbing Samuel’s face in his small hands.
Samuel grinned. “Ah, you and your appetite. Just like your brothers.”
“Fooood, Daddy!” Roshon wiggled his father’s face. “Pretty please?”
“Not for another few minutes, baby.”
“Aww!” Roshon pouted and squirmed again, so Samuel put him down. He watched his son run toward his mother, who was seated at a large table at the other side of the deck, and clamber onto her lap to snuggle against her chest. With a soft smile, Samuel turned back to the barbecue and closed the lid, then went to join the other parents as they lounged and chatted around the table, drinks in hand.
As he sat down, Roberto Sanchez looked over at him. “Smells good, Sam!”
Samuel laughed. “It’s nothing fancy, Rob, just an old family recipe.”
“All the same.” Jag’s father took a sip from his glass. He was tall and athletically-built, much like his two sons. With his charming smile and easygoing ways, he didn’t look fifty and certainly didn’t give off the impression that he was a scientist working at a biomedical firm.
He nodded in the teenagers’ direction as they threw the football around and called out to each other. “It’s nice to see them hanging out like that.”
“Remember how we used to goof around?” Samuel mused. “Our kids may be tame by comparison, but they’re definitely an adventurous lot.”
“Yeah, they’re a good bunch. Proud of them all.”
“How’s Jag been?”
“No calls from the school about getting into fights for the last seven months, so it’s been getting better. Guess he’s finally learned to keep his temper in check.”
“Good to hear.”
Samuel helped himself to a drink then leaned back and observed the property quietly. Life with the Air Force was good. The base near Great Falls, now reopened after a decades-long closure, was a great place to raise a family.
As he sipped his drink, his thoughts rewound to the previous summer. He was still baffled by everything, from their surviving the crash to the teenagers’ disappearance and sudden reappearance. It had been difficult when the media and various investigators kept questioning and probing the kids for months after their return. None of the five had ever wanted to be in the spotlight like that, and the persistence of the press made them dislike it even more.
Kody’s memory loss had been difficult for the Tylers, and Samuel knew it was the same for the other families. It was not an illness and they didn’t treat it as one, but it was hard to believe that the five couldn’t remember a single detail about all those weeks they’d been missing. Upon their arrival back home, Kody had spent more time than ever focusing on schoolwork and aviation—he’d been learning to fly since he was twelve and was working on obtaining his Private Pilot’s License—and Samuel figured that was his son’s way of regaining some normalcy in his life.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Roberto asked.
“Ah . . . just the kids and everything they’ve been through. The scorn they had to put up with at school and the harassment by the media.”
Roberto snorted. “Downright irritating, that’s what they were. Wouldn’t leave a group of kids alone. It’s sickening.”
“It’s newsworthy, I guess.”
“All they want is ratings and they’ll go after it like bloodhounds. Respect for privacy means nothing to most of them.”
“No argument there,” Samuel sighed. He passed his hand over his short afro, a haircut his three sons wore as well. Roshon and G
eorge both had his dark brown eyes, whereas Kody’s were green like the boys’ mother.
As he downed the rest of his drink, he said, “So, about this upcoming trip. to be frank with you, I’m still worried about letting them go off on their own.”
Roberto smiled. “I know. We all are.” He motioned toward the other parents who were caught up in their own conversation at the other end of the table. “This was definitely not an easy decision for any of us, but we all know that the kids haven’t been quite the same since their return. We’ve raised great sons and daughters, and it pains me to see them this way. They need the space to find themselves again. I’m praying that this trip will provide them the healing and strength to be as they were before.”
“That’s my hope too. It’s just . . . I’m still concerned. They’ll be on their own for two weeks, and Jag’s only had his full driver’s license for a few months.”
“I understand your concern, but they’re responsible kids. If it helps, I can vouch for Jag’s road skills. And the bulk of the trip follows along one highway, Sam. That shouldn’t be too difficult for him to handle.”
“I suppose. I heard you’re letting them take your Jeep?”
Roberto nodded. “It’s a gas-guzzler, but it’ll keep them safe and I’m happy with that.”
Roshon suddenly piped up. “Daddy, dinner!”
Samuel jumped up. “Whoops!” He hurried to the barbecue and opened the lid to let the smoke escape. He checked the beef patties to make sure they were thoroughly cooked and began sliding them onto hamburger buns as Roberto called the friends and their siblings over.
As they ate, jokes were cracked and laughter was plentiful, as were the smiles. The families were close to one another, mainly because the parents had been good friends since they themselves were teenagers.
Ice cream was served for dessert as the sun began to set. Kody caught his father’s eye. Samuel smiled and nodded. Excusing himself, Kody headed into the house, then returned a minute later with a big tote bag.
