Devastated Lands: A Post-Apocalyptic Adventure
Page 19
"But…?"
"I'm getting to that part, little girl. Anyways, I thought Bea and her kindness, and the part about being blind, influenced the old man. I asked him if there was a barn around and he pointed me to a dairy farm up this hill yonder. It still had grass and hills and copses of trees. I left Napoleon there, to run free in a field with a bunch of cows. He'll be alright there; it's fenced in. There's plenty of grass and hay to eat. I'll try to go back and get 'im."
Drake had a city map. They made their way through a warren of streets, pausing at each intersection because the traffic lights weren't working. Cooper held Mikaela's hand. He fingered her wrist pulse at times; it raced along, like his own heart as they tried to make the coast in time.
The crowds became dense as they neared the water. They saw National Guard troops, which must have trucked down or unloaded from a ship. Cooper rolled his window down as they neared a cluster of the guardsmen.
"Where's the Red Cross ship?"
They all pointed at once, and one of them yelled out, "Three blocks, that way. Over by the loading docks. Good luck!"
"Thanks! Let's go!" he barked to Drake, who accelerated the car.
After a few blocks, they rolled into the broken asphalt of a service-station parking lot, a half block from Commencement Bay. Cooper and Drake leapt from the car and gently lifted Mikaela out of the backseat. Just ahead, sitting placidly and grandly in its mooring, was a tall, white Red Cross ambulance ship.
CHAPTER 59: TEN YEARS LATER
Living in Canada, they took a holiday once on a beach near the Olympic National Park outside Seattle. They all liked the ocean, but this was the first time they had been back to the Seattle area together.
The beach was long and spacious, the water frothy with waves and windswept. Shane rented a paddleboard, which he poked around in and mostly got knocked off by waves, which gave him the excuse to swim in the rough but bracing seawater.
They'd rented a little saltbox cottage`that lay at the end of a lane from the beach. It was virtually like camping, but easier and offered a secure roof over their heads.
In the distance, he could see the black form of Amy in her wetsuit, trying to surf. She had long, very blond hair now, and looked every bit the SoCal surf girl, even though they lived closer to Vancouver. She had a boyfriend, and more than a few suitors who pursued the fifteen year old at school. She never talked about what had happened to her real family nearby Rainier ten years ago. Or what had happened to her, what she had seen. She was busy, busy, busy; sports, musicals, and decent at school, a feisty free spirit and a live wire.
In every way, Amy was still the resilient force of nature who people were drawn to, and who he found in that field of flowers so many years ago. Her name was Amy Milton Cooper now; Millie and Tom still lay on a pillow in her room at home with a favorite red blanket.
Shane yelled over at Amy to make sure she was being careful. He was safety conscious and a bit paranoid in that direction; in fact, he was the lead safety supervisor and climber for a utility company in Canada. He only went into the mountains recreationally, when he was almost 100-percent sure he wouldn't be face with rescue and life-threatening issues. No more guiding for him.
He came up out of the cool water head first, and stole a glance behind him, where the white remnants of another wave rolled along. He went under again to let it flow back over him, and came back up in the sunshine, shook the water off his head, and looked towards shore.
Mikaela Brand sat on a blanket holding their infant daughter, an 18-month old named Shauna. Shane watched his wife stand up in the sunshine, bend down, and set the child down temporarily on a blanket. She began to zip up a black wetsuit, reaching behind her to maneuver a zipper. She pulled brown, very long hair behind to fashion a ponytail, gesturing and he could tell, talking to the wriggling youngster. It would be his turn soon, to look after the kid on the beach, and she had her own surf board.
It was quiet, except for the waves and the wind.
He waved at Mikaela vigorously, until she'd seen him, smiled, knew he was coming in. She hadn't cut her hair once in ten years; she said it was as a kind of testament. To survival.
She was fit as a fiddle as a young mom, now a vegetarian, and wiry. She was an instructor and part owner at a big shiny fitness center in Vancouver. He began to swim to shore with long strokes, steeling a glance over to Amy, who sat placidly bobbing on her board in the sun.
He imagined eating dinner by candlelight later with his wife, Mikaela, only darkness and the plangent wave sounds outside.
When he stood up out of the water, he felt cold and alive. He looked west, toward Rainer, which had a different profile now, more gouged and uneven than the expected curves. The mountain was giant, stately, and quiet. At least until next time.