Greyson Gray

by B. C. Tweedt

  Legs kicking, arms pulling, he got closer and closer until he burst through to air with a gasping cough. He sucked in the beloved air and noise finally returned to his ears. The drops of rain, the sirens above, and Sydney’s screams.

  He snapped to the right, treading water, and peered through the rain. What seemed like an insane distance away, Sydney was kicking at the water and splashing as if in a panic.

  “Sydney! I’m coming!”

  The current was taking him under the bridge as he swam faster than he had ever tried before. His legs were on hyper drive, churning the water behind him like a motor as he crawled with outstretched arms.

  Left, right, left, right, breathe. Left, right, left, right, breathe.

  He stopped after a few more rounds, found Sydney again and adjusted his course.

  Left, right, left, right, breathe. Left, right, left, right, breathe.

  When he looked up again, he could see why she was splashing. Liam was with her, his head barely above water. She was trying the best she could to hold him up, but she was failing.

  “Hold on!”

  His arms were like Jell-O and his legs were on fire, but he kicked and swam even harder than before. He would not let them drown. Not after so much.

  Left, right, left, right, breathe. Left, right, left, right, breathe.

  They were much closer now. He could make out the panic on their faces. Liam was clawing at Sydney and she was screaming at him to stop, but he couldn’t. He was in shock, in the last throes of overwhelming panic when your body takes over, running on instinct alone. He wouldn’t hear Sydney’s pleas. He would use her body, dragging her down with him if that meant he would survive.

  But Sydney didn’t care. She held on as long as she could, but she could only do so much. She would never let him go, and she didn’t. Even when he took her under.

  “Noooo!”

  Left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, breathe.

  He had forgotten to breathe and sucked in a little water, but it didn’t matter. He had to go faster.

  His mind shuddered at the thought of losing them and he panicked. He couldn’t help it.

  Left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, breathe.

  His eyes scanned the choppy waters bubbling with the rain pattering above. He couldn’t see them anymore.

  No, no, no, no!

  He dove under. The dark water pressed against his eyes and ears; he could only hear the swoosh of his arms as he spun himself around, looking for any sign of their bodies. His mind was panicked. There was no time left!

  Desperation racked his lungs and spread across his eyes. Where are they? Where are they?! Please, no!

  A flash of lightning illuminated the blacks into blues for just a moment, and he found them. Their silhouettes floated as soft shadows sinking deeper into the abyss.

  He popped up for a deep breath of air and dove hard, kicking with a third wind that had invigorated him. He swam closer and saw Sydney still fighting for the surface that was so far from her grasp, Liam’s hand latched to her arm, his body limply floating below.

  As he reached them he saw that there was still light in Liam’s eyes. He was alive. He could save him.

  He pulled at Liam’s arm and kicked hard at the water again and again, but they were only getting deeper. He was too weak, or Liam was too heavy. Desperate, he caught a glimpse at Sydney. She was no longer kicking. A jolt of understanding passed over him. Liam was not too heavy. Both of them together were too heavy. He could only pull one.

  Like a photograph in his mind, the memory would haunt him. He would wish he could take it back, re-live the day, even the minute – to somehow swim harder or think longer for a solution – but he would never be able to take it back. He could have saved him; but he didn’t.

  Staring into Liam’s eyes, Greyson pulled at his white fingers. They were clenched in a death-grip on Sydney’s arm, but they slipped off one by one until Liam’s body, a bluish-pale color except for his white eyes and yellow buzzed hair, drifted slowly away – down into the darker depths.

  Greyson wanted to reach for him, but he knew he couldn’t. Crying out with a burst of bubbles, he screamed underwater, but his own survival instincts kicked in, forcing him to hold in the remainder of his breath and to swim. Just swim. Survive.

  He kicked and pulled on Sydney’s arm, taking glances at her wide eyes. He could see her gulping in water – a sickening sight; but he kept kicking. His lungs screamed at him, but he knew he could go further. Just don’t breathe in, he told himself. You can do it. He remembered Sydney’s look. You can do it.

  With another kick, his face erupted and he gasped a blessed breath. He treaded as hard as he could, but Sydney’s weight was almost too much. He could barely keep his own head above water. Sucking in another breath, he pulled her up, at the same time pulling himself under.

  But the air did nothing for her. She was gone. Lifeless.

  No, no, no.

  He could still save her.

  He tugged her body along, flowing with the current, making slow headway toward shore. They were a long way from the bridge now and it was quieter. They were alone with the lapping sounds of his one-armed swim, his panting breath, and the sounds of pattering rain.

  It seemed like ages before his feet finally touched the sandy bottom. He pulled her limp body to waist-deep water, and then took her in his arms.

  He plowed through the water, falling several times in the mud until he collapsed onto the hard, sandy shore. His hands hovered over her body and he whimpered, crying as he desperately tried to remember what he’d been taught.

  Then it came on in a flash and he tilted her head back. Not even thinking about any awkwardness, his mouth found hers, and he blew in several times. The correct numbers of breaths and chest presses were absent from his mind, but he didn’t care. He pressed on her sternum with both hands and jabbed at her lungs.

  One, two, three, four….

  He counted to twenty and went back to the breaths.

  One, two.

  He saw her chest move with the breaths; but without his help, it was still. She was dead.

  “No!”

  One, two, three, four…

  Again to twenty, but no response. Her face was a pale blue, her lips almost purple. It was unnatural, and it twisted a knife into his heart.

  “Come on! You can do it! You can!”

  One, two breaths. One, two, three…twenty chest presses.

  “Please don’t die; don’t die Sydney; don’t die. I need you. I don’t want you to die!”

  One, two breaths. One, two, three…twenty chest presses.

  Nothing.

  “Please! Someone help!”

  He gazed into the trees around him, absent of any civilization. Tears pooled in his red eyes and poured down his cheeks. Uncontrollable sorrow wracked at his face and burst from his throat. He tried in vain to give her more breaths, but the sobs were too much. He fell onto to her, screamed, and pounded her chest.

  “I’ll dance with you, whenever you want! Wherever you want! I promise. I’ll never leave you out of anything. I’ll never leave you behind! I’ll…I”ll…” His sorrow mixed with anger. “I swear! Just breathe! Don’t give up! You never give up!”

  I never give up.

  One, two…

  A blinding light, brighter than a hundred lightning bolts, lit the shore and trees with a blazing white hue, illuminating everything as if the sun had come within touching distance. Greyson covered his eyes, but the light had come from behind, and as fast as it had come, it died, letting the darkness return with its sadness.

  Turning toward the source of the light, chills ran down Greyson’s wet back as if he were staring at the face of a monster. Utter fear consumed him and the sobs halting his breath were surrendered to awe. It couldn’t be real. He’d never seen anything like it.

  Rising from the horizon, like a volcanic eruption, was a massive cloud of fire and smoke, mushrooming in churning colors of gre
y and orange. The way it was eating its way into the clouds declared its enormity.

  And then he heard the rumble. Like thunder, but coming closer and closer. Dust and dirt were rising from the horizon, knocking down trees and blowing down houses. Before he knew it, the shockwave was upon them.

  The wind whipped him like a hurricane and pressed him against Sydney, covering her body. The thunderous roar of the explosion barraged him with a pounding bass in his chest, rattling his insides. There was nothing he could do but throw his hands over his head as the shockwave ripped at their hair and the trees above until, just seconds later, it finally passed, dropping branches and leaves around them like shrapnel.

  And then it happened.

  PLLLLUGGGH! Greyson shot up with the sound and watched as water burst from her mouth in two, three spurts and she rolled over, vomiting and gasping at air.

  “Sydney?” Chills shivered across his skin and joy filled his lungs. “Sydney! Syd, you’re okay! You’re okay. You’re alive!”

  Greyson embraced her and pulled her close. He rubbed his hand over her hair and patted at her back, cradling her limp body in his arms. Rocking her back and forth, he tried to hold back his tears, but he couldn’t. For now he didn’t have to be tough.

  Sydney coughed and coughed, but she could breathe. She stayed in Greyson’s arms, not saying a thing. She was blissfully unaware of what was haunting Greyson. The horror would have its chance soon enough. For now, he rocked her and glanced over his shoulder, watching the burgeoning mushroom linger in the air, pushing the storm clouds away in a seemingly perfect circle.

  He watched it. It was beautiful in a way. Majestic and awesome in power. It mesmerized him. But gradually the meaning of the explosion bombarded him with the reality. People are dying. And many more would die. Memories of a history lesson on Hiroshima cut into his conscience with violent images of the aftermath. Radiation, burns, rubble. What would the number be, Greyson? Thousands. Thousands will die because of me. The legend was true. His rage rose against himself.

  He had let it happen. He could have stopped it, but he had made a different choice. He was responsible for the deaths of thousands of people. And Liam. He’d let him drown, drift away, hands outstretched, eyes pleading for help. But he was powerless to save even him. The truth was never more evident.

  He was no savior.

  And it should have been him who died. The traitor who had given up a friend – who was thanked by terrorists. He deserved death, but Fate had spared him.

  “Just rest; keep breathing,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re okay. I’ll be right back.”

  Putting Sydney down to rest on the hard beach, he tore into his soaking fanny pack and pulled out the chip that had been taken from his back and he’d hid from his friends. It could still be working, letting the terrorists know where he was. Or at least where his body was.

  Perhaps I will die after all.

  He waded out into the river a few feet, and then with all of his frustration and pent up anger, he threw the chip as far as he could. It spun through the air before curling to the water. It would join Liam – a part of him dying with his best friend.

  I’m sorry, Liam. I’m sorry.

  He stood, half submerged, facing the mushroom cloud that obscured the magnificent sunset trying to break its way through the black thunderclouds. Suddenly drowsy, he couldn’t decide whether to wail, to beat at the waves with his fists, or to just walk into the water and hold himself under until the pain went away.

  Still undecided, something brushed his leg and he turned to see a red hat wash up on shore with the quiet lapping of the water. Picking it up, he realized it was his – he hadn’t even realized it had been missing. When he placed it on his head and zipped his pack in a familiar ritual, his eyes caught the corner of a small book inside. Suddenly the tears began to win the emotional battle and he reached in and pulled it out with trembling fingers, letting his mind catch up.

  It was the small Bible the pastor had given him to give to Liam. For a long moment, he caressed its smooth, wet cover and thought about Liam. He’d been so happy after talking to the pastor. Something about what had been said seemed to give Liam new life. And that’s exactly what Liam needed now. New life.

  Greyson shook it in his hand, shaking the tears down his cheeks with a definitive nod, and drew back to throw it to Liam.

  “Greyson?”

  He stopped mid-throw and turned. Sydney was breathing hard, watching him and the cloud beyond.

  Greyson ran back to her and knelt.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, smiling. “For saving me.”

  The tears began dropping from his chin with the dying rain, but he wiped them away. “You’re welcome.” He wanted to say more, but nothing fit. Nothing was worthy to say and nothing could make it better. He was helpless.

  Instead he sat next to her on rock and sand, taking in everything, watching the cloud together in quiet. She never said anything about the bomb, and he was thankful. Together they merely listened to the sound of sirens and helicopters converging on the city.

  “What’s the book?” she asked quietly as if searching for something to talk about other than what was haunting them.

  Greyson broke from his stupor and licked at his dry lips.

  “It’s a Bible. From Pastor Whitfield,” he whispered as if they were in some holy place. “He told me to give it to Liam.”

  Glancing around, Sydney discovered there were no other bodies on the beach. “Where is he?”

  Greyson couldn’t bear to look at her. He tried to hold it in, to spare her, but his chin shook and the sobs tried to push up through his throat. Sydney’s realization came when she saw the pain in Greyson’s eyes. Her gaze went up to the sky, and a mournful wail escaped her as she buried her face in Greyson’s chest. He cried, too. He didn’t care anymore about holding it in. It was all he could do until their sobs subsided and finally it felt as if they were empty of tears.

  After a long while in just silence, she whispered. “Then we keep it. He’d want us to.”

  As the rain stopped, Greyson looked down upon the little book. Nodding in agreement, he put it in his pack and zipped it closed.

  Chapter 37

  “My friends are over there! Let me through, jerkwad!” Jarryd tried to squeeze through the officers’ arms, but it was no use. They kept pushing him back, yelling at him.

  “You want to die from radiation, kid? Look at that thing. Stick around and we’ll find your parents.”

  “My parents are over there! By that ‘thing’!”

  The officers stared down at him with a sudden look of compassion. “Sorry, kid. There’s nothing we can do. We can’t let you through.”

  Jarryd pushed away, frustrated, and gazed at the long line of cars backing up for nearly half a mile. The police had cordoned off the bridge from any traffic going into the city, using their cars as barricades. Most of the drivers weren’t angry – they wouldn’t want to get any nearer to ground zero anyway – but the expected fear from a nuclear blast had sent a panic over them. Many were trying to turn around when the other lane was already clogged with traffic leaving the city. The sound of horns was deafening. Others had gotten out to gaze at the cloud or to start trekking in the opposite direction. A few others still futilely clicked at their radios, listening through the static for any news. Something about the blast had fried them.

  Even emergency vehicles were stuck. Officers were trying to coordinate the traffic, but the chaos was nearly uncontrollable. When the first cars came from the suburbs with dust and rubble on their hoods, a few of the ambulances turned to the side to start a mobile care unit for the inevitable string of refugees fleeing the fall-out.

  Jarryd wandered through the traffic to the edge of a hill overlooking the river, where he, along with other curious spectators, watched the burning suburbs outside the city. It appeared to him to be several miles from downtown, but the cloud itself dwarfed the skyscrapers in size. Whoever had been close to the ex
plosion had little hope of surviving, and sadly, he knew that the fairgrounds were somewhere several miles from downtown. Perhaps the bomb itself had been set off near the fairgrounds as some sort of personal vendetta against it.

  “It’s okay.”

  Jarryd looked toward the voice, but it was only a mother, holding a boy of three or four.

  “We’ll be alright, Benji. We’ll be alright.”

  “What about Dad – and Peyton?”

  After a few attempts at an answer, the mother failed to hold back her tears. Instead, she buried her face into her son’s shoulder and held him tight.

  Fresh fear came rolling in on Jarryd, both for his friends who may have been on the truck, but also for his mom and stepdad, who may have never left the fair. And what about Nick? Where had he gone? Had he gotten away, fleeing farther from the blast? Would he ever see him again?

  A wave of regret struck him. They’d been fighting so much lately, and Nick had changed. For the first time, Nick had been wanting to be different, to stick out, to separate himself from his twin brother. And it was for the better really, but Jarryd had been nothing but jealous. And he had saved him, back there at the SuperMart. He had done what brothers are supposed to do.

  If only he had more time with him, they could become best friends again.

  Jarryd sat down, letting the events of the past half hour run through his mind. After Sydney had pushed him out of the U-Haul, he had watched it drive away until he could no longer see it. And then he had staggered in the same direction, nursing his bleeding elbows and bruised body, waiting for a passerby to pick him up. Several drove by, including speeding cop cars, with barely a glance. Perhaps they saw his shirt helmet and his staggering, bloody walk and thought he was a Middle Eastern zombie.

  Eventually, though, someone had picked him up. He had explained the situation and the driver offered her phone. Unfortunately, 911 said the lines were busy. By the time they had searched for the FBI’s number, a blast of light interrupted them, the radio sizzled into static, and the explosion rose over the tree line.