It’s slow going. We’ve been at it for a few hours, and Zach looks more pitiful with every step. His fever has returned, and the ibuprofen isn’t doing much this time. Anything he eats makes him nauseous.
And then the rain starts. It’s just a little sprinkle, so we press on, hoping it will end soon.
I’ll try anything to take his mind off of how he feels. “Hey, Zach, let’s sing aBeatles song, whacha think? ‘Here Comes the Sun’?”
Zach sighs but manages a little laugh. “Clever. Okay. Let’s try.”
I start with the melody. “Here comes the sun—”
I sing the next verse, and Zach joins in with harmony. “Here comes the sun—”
But as we get into the rest of the verse, Zach trails off.
I turn around as he collapses in a heap on the ground. As if on cue, the skies open up and start pouring rain.
I run to his side. “Zach! Can you hear me?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s still breathing, but his forehead radiates heat.
The rain comes down in a torrent. This is nothing less than Mother Nature giving us the middle finger. My backpack is getting soaked, so even setting up a tent for him would mean he’d be lying in wetness.
With no other choice, I hoist him into my arms and start heading down the trail. Maybe if I can find some shelter, I can at least get him out of the rain where he can rest and get dry. I’m wracked with guilt. I can’t believe I pushed him this hard. He went downhill so quickly. If I’d known how bad it would get, I would have set him up with the tent, then tried to run the entire way. I might have made it in time.
Zach’s eyes flutter open, and he makes a little groaning sound. Then they close again.
“Hang in there, Zach.”
The rain is relentless. My shoes fill with water, and blisters form on my feet. My shoulders and back are aching. But I have to press on. I ignore the pain. Nothing would feel worse than losing Zach.
It’s been at least an hour, and there’s no good shelter anywhere. Even under the trees, the water still pelts us. My endurance is waning. Carrying him is getting too hard. The muscles in my shoulders and legs quiver, nearing failure.
Then, off to the left, a thin trail of smoke rises from the forest. With no options left, I take a leap of faith and turn into the woods. After a few minutes, I get to a short chain-link fence, which is easy to get over, more designed to keep animals in than people out, I’d guess. Just a bit farther, we get to a clearing where a farmhouse sits, nestled among the trees. It looks well taken care of. A wrap-around porch covers the front, and smoke rises from its chimney. Dim firelight flickers in the window.
I approach the house, hoping someone will take mercy on us. This thin sliver of hope is all I have left at this point. I’m almost to the door when the sound of a shotgun being cocked rings out.
“Now hold it right there!”
Chapter Thirty
Homestead
ZACH
My entire body is numb. When I collapsed, I had no choice in the matter. My mind shut things down.
Now, I’m drifting between a dream state and a semiconscious fog. I’m roughly aware of a big man in overalls approaching from behind us. My vision is blurry, so I can only make out vague shapes. But blurry or not, the man clearly has a gun. I try to cry out to warn Aiden, but no sound comes out.
There’s no sense of time or space. My body floats in blackness. An occasional thought comes into my mind, then hurries away. It’s as if my brain is trying to remember things, but I don’t have the energy to sustain them. Aiden flashes before me. Then my parents. Then Elk Springs. All brief moments, breaking up the monotonous void.
Finally, I’m vaguely aware of my surroundings. Above me are worn timbers. Rough burlap rubs against my skin. The smell of hay and barnyard animals fills my nostrils. Off to the side is the man in overalls I saw earlier. He’s facing a tool bench with his back turned to me.
Aiden lies still on the ground, not moving an inch. I try to cry out, but again, no sound comes out. Aiden needs my help. I need to get up. What has this man done to him?
I try to move but I’m constricted somehow. My hands and feet are tied down. I fight against my bonds, but it’s no use. In my mind, I scream, but only a low guttural noise comes out.
The man turns around. He’s large in stature and girth, wearing blue-jean overalls over a white cotton shirt. A mask covers his face, with a long gray beard poking out from underneath. He says something, but the words make no sense. My mind hears only gibberish. He walks over to me with a hypodermic needle in his hand. I thrash around, but he holds my chest down with his forearm. There’s a pinprick on my shoulder.
Then my consciousness quickly slips away.
