by Caryl McAdoo
Guess Jackson was finding out firsthand how bad things could be without all that good stuff. But more than his iPad or Wii or television—or anything else—right then he missed the police; missed feeling safe. Would he ever again?
“So, how do you know so much about all that?”
“My dad mostly, but I spent a lot of time on the net, too.” He laughed. “The genius I was named after, Albert Einstein, his famous Theory of Relativity is what started the whole thing.”
McKenzie picked back up with a great question. “So, Bert, if it was an EMP, when can they get it fixed? How long before everything can be back to normal?”
“That will never happen. Can’t be repaired.”
“What? Why?”
“Think of a house that burns to the ground. Could it be repaired? No. The electronic grid got fried. The entire system will have to be rebuilt. Without transportation and communication…”
She blew out a long stream of air. “Maybe it is the end of the age then.”
A blur caught Jackson’s eye. He looked beyond the trees. The white dog loped toward them. He bounded in with a fat rabbit hanging from his mouth and placed the hare at Jackson’s feet. Then backing away, he sat on his haunches with that same self-satisfied expression on his face as before.
Jackson lifted the offering by its ears. Unbelievable. Maybe a small fire would be okay, and fresh roasted rabbit would be delicious.
McKenzie shook her head, backed up on her hind end, and then stood, getting even farther away. “Ooooo, that is so gross. Get that dead bunny out of here!”
Jackson shook his head. “Gather some sticks, kids. Looks like we’re having a real lunch after all.”
“Sticks? Lunch?” She covered her mouth. “Are you saying you intend to eat that thing that the dog drug in?”
“You bet!” Cooper hugged Whitey’s neck. “He knew those smelly old sardines wasn’t enough to eat, didn’t you, boy? Good dog!”
“That is the nastiest thing I’ve ever heard of.”
Al held one finger up then pointed it at her. “Actually, McKenzie, rabbit is a very tasty meat. And you need the protein.” He nodded toward the dog. “You’ve got quite a remarkable Great Pyrenees there.”
Cooper went and stood by his dog. “He’s great alright. Is that what he is? A prenees?”
“Indeed, but pronounced PEER-ruh-knees. The breed first garnered favor in the Pyrenees Mountains, bred for their guardian tendencies to watch the sheep herds. They’re known for their gentleness, sometimes even called gentle giants. It’s quite notable that he’s sharing his rabbit with us.”
“Y’all are just nasty.” She dug into her backpack and pulled out her book. “I am not gathering sticks, and won’t be eating any of it either!”
McKenzie couldn’t believe her brothers. Jackson especially. Cook and eat a rabbit the stupid dog had caught. Preposterous! She reached the edge of the trees. A wide mowed swath with one of those giant metal power poles stood right in front of her. She looked both ways, but decided to stay close to cover and sat on the ground leaning against a tree trunk.
For sure, it wasn’t her chair back home, but it wasn’t too bad. Ten or so pages into her new book, The New World, A Step Backward by an author she hadn’t read before, Andy Skrzynski, the first tantalizing whiff of roasting meat reached her. She let her nose savor the smell for a second before she realized what it was.
Stupid boys.
After a couple more pages, the dog came and stood beside her. “Hey, boy, won’t they give you any?” She rubbed his head. “Sorry, about the rabbit. I mean I’m sure you had the best of intentions. I just don’t eat dead animals from the woods.” She focused on her story again, hardly believing it was about the world getting thrown back into the Dark Ages.
How could she find any more by the author? She was loving the story, and clean reads had gotten hard to find even before the stupid EMP.
The Pyrenees nudged her elbow. She wiggled it away and ignored him. He got the sleeve of her sweater and tugged on it.
“My goodness, what is it, dog?”
He let her arm go, ran a few steps, then turned and let out a low rumble non-bark. Then he came over to her again and gently took her wrist in his mouth.
“You want me to go with you. Fine.” She marked her place in the book with a finger and stood. “Where do you want me to go? I’m with you as long as it doesn’t include eating that rabbit.”
He ran out into the open area to the big tower and stood on his hind feet against one of the corner legs. He barked once as she neared.
“What is it, boy?”
When she reached him, he nosed the little metal sign attached to the tower.
She patted his head and examined the little plate. “You are such a crazy dog. What in the world is it?” It mostly had strange sequences of numbers with a few letters thrown in. Spitting on her finger, she rubbed over it, wiping away some of the dirt to get a better look. It had three rows of numbers and letters that somehow seemed familiar, but that was weird.
Why would they? Somewhere…. Had she seen those exact same sequences before? But when? Or how? She recruited a large leaf and stuck it in her book to mark her place, thinking about it, trying to figure it out. She patted the dog’s head, and suddenly, it hit her!
“Come on, boy!”
She hurried back to the camp. With each step, the roasted meat aroma strengthened. Her mouth watered, and her stomach rolled. But she never ever would ask them for any. She knew better than to eat a dumb dead rabbit the dog carried in, no matter how wonderful an animal he was.
What if it had just died from some horrible disease?
They didn’t know for sure the dog didn’t just happen to find it. They’d all be sorry when they got sick. And she wasn’t. She marched into their little camp. Facing each other, all of them sat Indian style gnawing on bones. In the center of their circle, the fire still burned, which added a nice warmth to the chilly afternoon.
Ignoring them, she walked straight to her backpack.
Right where she put it, she found the note. She read it once then twice, but couldn’t believe her eyes. She held the piece of paper toward Jackson. “You read this before, didn’t you?”
He tore himself away from his rabbit feast and stared at her, holding out his hand. “What is it?”
“The dead guy’s note. You read it before, didn’t you?” She stepped closer, but yanked the note back. “Don’t get your greasy fingers on it. So did you read it?”
“Yeah.” He wiped his hand on his jeans. “Well, I looked at it. But there wasn’t anything to read. So what?” She handed it to him. He took it and studied it for a moment. “Why’d you write on it?”
“Jackson, I didn’t.”
He looked at her like she was lying. “Come on, McKenzie. It didn’t say anything about following the King’s Highway before.”
“I know! And what about those first numbers?”
“Hey, Sis, chill. What about them?”
She turned around and pointed toward the high-line tower. “I think they changed, Bro. The numbers have changed from what they were. And. Now they are the exact same numbers as the ones on that pole. It has a little metal plate attached to it with those on it in order!” She pointed to the paper in his hand.
“You’ve got a loose screw, Sis.”
“I promise. Those are the exact same numbers. Go see for yourself. It’s a miracle, Jackson! God’s telling us which way to go, to follow the King’s Highway, wherever that is.”
“Why is it that everything is always about God with you? And what were you doing out in the open anyway?” Jackson looked from the paper to his sister then back to the note.
The new words didn’t look like McKenzie’s writing, but the neat block letters wouldn’t necessarily be hard for her. And she wasn’t above some elaborate practical joke. She’d been gone plenty long enough to pull it off with the ruse of reading her book. Probably all about them cooking the rabbit.
He exten
ded the cracker sandwich he’d made from her cut of the meat. “Here, hold this.” He stood. “Come show me what you’re talking about.”
She took it then fell in behind him, marching out toward the giant power tower.
Al hurried past her and walked beside Jackson. “Most likely, she’s referring to the pylon’s ID numbers.”
Jackson glanced at him. “What’s a pylon?”
“The high-line carrier; those giants are called pylons.”
Stopping at the clearing’s edge, he held his hand up. “You guys wait here.” He looked both ways.
The mowed area bent up ahead, so he could only see the top of the next one. That also meant no one around the corner could see him. He jogged to the pole and quickly located the metal plate McKenzie told him about. He held the note next to it, then compared the numerals. The numbers and sequences were the exact same alright, but it sure didn’t make sense.
He rejoined the others.
“Well?” McKenzie walked backwards in front of him.
He didn’t respond for pondering the oddity, then at the campfire, let out a loud sigh. “It’s like you said. So what’s the deal? Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Making all this up? Where’s the real piece of paper that the old man was holding onto?”
She stopped in her tracks, looked insulted, and put her hand on her hip. “Duh, you’re holding it, genius.”
He studied her, but didn’t detect the mirth he suspected to find lurking in her blue eyes. “Okay, then. So let’s say that before, the first time we saw the note, we both missed the big block letters at the top.”
“May I see the missive?” Al extended his hand, and Jackson passed it to him. At a glance, the boy shook his head. “That scenario is highly improbable.”
“I agree, but let’s just say.” He glared at his sister. “How do you intend to explain that this pole’s –” He glanced at Al. “Excuse me, pylon’s—numbers match the first series on the old man’s note?”
“Hey, maybe Boggs did it.”
Jackson looked to his little brother who studied the tag on the dog’s collar. “Who’s Boggs?”
Cooper smiled. “Him.” He held the dog’s collar. Says right here, his name is Boggs.”
“Get real, Bro. A dog couldn’t write a note.”
“If he was really an alien, maybe a shape shifter, he could have done it. Maybe he could just think the letters and numbers and they appeared.”
McKenzie made a face. “Boggs? That’s certainly a bizarre name for a dog. But maybe one of Coop’s aliens did do it.” She giggled. “I swear on the Bible, Brother. I did not!”
Jackson loved his kid brother something fierce, but the little booger could come up with some of the most off the wall ideas he’d ever heard. The boy definitely watched too much TV, but that wouldn’t be a problem from now on. And McKenzie, though a prankster, was not a liar—something about Jesus being Truth and the devil being the father of lies.
He looked to the new kid. “What do you think, Al?”
“The canine’s previous owner was a baseball fan.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Wade Boggs, of course. That would be my supposition as to how the animal acquired such an atypical moniker.”
“Forget that. What about the note?”
“Well, I didn’t see it before, so I can’t comment on the alleged mysterious appearance of the words or any changing of the number sequences, but I would ascertain only one reasonable explanation exists.”
Jackson waited, but Al didn’t elaborate. He hated guys who did that. Made him want to slap some sense into him, but instead gave in. “Okay, I’ll bite. What is it?”
“Divine intervention. If you’re foolish enough to believe in such things.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Jackson really wanted to slap the wise apple, but he had more self control than that. At least the brain obviously was on the same page concerning religion. And wanting to do a thing and actually doing it distinguished men from animals, leastwise that’s what his father had claimed.
Now, McKenzie? She looked ready to climb up on her soapbox over Al’s sacrilege.
Man, if only his dad could be making all the hard decisions.
‘Follow the King’s Highway’ the note said. What could that mean? The wide stretch of mowed green grass that the pylons dotted as far as he could see both out in front and behind him did resemble a highway…of sorts. Could that be it?
And she said the dog practically dragged her out to it. What was it with that dog? Boggs. He shook his head. Well, it sure seemed like it could be what the strange note meant with those numbers matching and everything, but it sure was weird. He thought more about the proposed path to take and shrugged to himself.
Maybe not such a bad idea.
He would be able to see exactly where he was going, steer clear of the highly populated areas, and have easy travel with plenty of cover on the edges of the mowed area when he deemed it necessary. Seemed the power company had spent a lot of money keeping it mowed beneath the huge metal carriers.
Divine intervention? Right. He looked at the new kid. “No one likes a know-it-all.”
“Yes, sir. Actually, for some time, I’ve been indubitably aware of that verity.”
Jackson let it go. He kind of liked being called a sir. “Let’s get it together, people. We’ve got plenty of day left and miles to go before we sleep.”
McKenzie gave him a stop-being-king look, but didn’t say anything. She went to gathering her pack. It pleased him that she ate her rabbit sandwich just like he figured. Her stomach overrode her misguided sense of revolting and acceptable. He’d never eaten rabbit before himself, but it tasted pretty good. Next time though, he’d cook it a little longer.
He stomped the last of the fire dead then took a path along the edge of the mowed lane parallel to the high-lines. As long as they were going in the direction he traveled, he’d use the green corridor and be happy for it. But he refused to believe for a minute it was all God’s plan. Like a supreme being cared.
After the bend, for a couple of miles, the pylons stayed pretty straight, but the river bent more south. Without debate or the other’s input, he decided to stay with the pylons. Definitely made for much easier traveling than the woods and all its thorny Texas ivy.
He didn’t want to stop right then and consult the map, and neither did he intend on admitting that he granted any credence to the note being from God, but it did probably make sense to at least check things out. If memory served him, the river bent and turned a lot through there, snaking its way to the south side of downtown Dallas.
He pulled the old man’s compass from his pocket and confirmed his direction. With it, he should be able to find the Trinity again if he needed to, without any problem. He slowed until Al walked beside him. “So who’s this Wade Boggs guy that you think the Pyrenees was named after?”
Al smiled. “Twelve time all-star third baseman for the Boston Red Sox with a lifetime batting average of three twenty-eight. The sports writers voted him into the Hall of Fame back in 2005. A quite excellent participant in America’s favorite pastime.”
The guy rattled off several more statistics before Jackson could stop him. “How’d you know all that? Are you some kind of Money Ball freak?”
The kid grinned. “A movie aficionado, huh? But actually, that’s affirmative. You might say that. Sabermetrics is a hobby of mine.”
Jackson shook his head, but in for a penny in for a pound. That’s what his favorite granddad always said. “Saber what?”
“The application of mathematics to statistical reasoning in baseball problems.”
“So you’re like the nerd guy in the movie?”
“Exactly.”
“Ever play the game?”
“One year of tee ball the year I started school.” He shrugged. “Never exhibited much promise, I’m afraid—much to my father’s chagrin.”
Ah, the typ
e that loved the game but couldn’t play a lick. He loved baseball, too, but who knew if he would ever set foot on another diamond? Could things ever be anywhere near the old normal again?
The scattered trees and undergrowth he’d been taking for granted suddenly changed. Instead, row after row of giant trees grew in neat rows in both directions. He could still see the tower tops through the branches though, so he continued.
“Hey, King.”
“What, Queenie?” He glanced back without stopping.
“You can just quit calling me that. If you are King, I am definitely not the queen!” His sister grinned. “Anyway, shouldn’t we gather some of these pecans?”
“Pecans?” Jackson looked underfoot. The sweet nuts covered the ground. “Sure, maybe you can make us a pie.”
“Other sons and daughters of a monarch are usually called prince or princess.” Al stooped over to the ground, picking up something. “Unless the king gives them a title such as duchess or countess, then they are called by that.”
“Brainiac, I’m not his daughter either.”
“Oh, right.” The nerd’s face reddened and he didn’t say more, just started gathering nuts.
Jackson got busy with the other three and stuffed at least a couple of pounds in his pack. What a great find to fill all the little empty spaces in there. He then put it back on, surprised that he could feel the extra weight. But it wasn’t too bad.
With his jacket and pants pockets bulging, Al looked up. “You know we can live on pecans if we have to.”
“Yeah? Well, I hear roasted know-it-all is good with a nice Chianti.”
The boy grinned. “Silence of the Lambs. You indeed are a fun film buff. ”
Jackson had to smile at the kid, but his smart-aleckness certainly wore on him. “Maybe. I wouldn’t push it.”
“Yes, sir.”
There he went again, but truth be known, it sounded better every time the kid said it. “Okay, people. Let’s wrap it up.”
