Sitting at the end of his own bed, in his own room, the boy could do nothing but stare at the now-motionless body of this man.
The long hours wore on. The boy knew stars moved across the night sky outside his window. When his fear grew quiet, he almost felt their movement, though he could not see them. He had watched them so often with his mother. She would point out some of the more obvious constellations that were bright enough to burn through the glow of the big city. The Big Dipper. Lining up the two stars at the far end of the bucket pointed to the North Star. And Cassiopeia. Its middle star, like an arrow, also pointed to the North Star. The North Star, his mother always said, was the way home.
Weird to know her body was sealed in the Death Room down the hall. Grandfather, while they were closing her room, had assured the boy she would be taken care of. When the boy pressed for more explanation, the old man only answered with silence.
Sitting with this sick man, his mother gone, and thinking about the vastness of the night sky overhead was overwhelming. Lonely, down deep inside. Yet, there was nothing to do except watch and wait.
In the early hours before dawn, the boy fell into an exhausted sleep. His head angled awkwardly onto the chairback. A wet towel dangled off his right knee. A bucket of water sat nearby. A small lamp burned next to the bed where the old man struggled, the serum surging through his veins.
Chapter 9 - Questions
New Orleans. His mother. A grandfather that appeared like a ghost from the past, a gift. His mother's death, a curse.
His world was thrown into chaos that day. And now even that is in the past.
This ledge. The darkness. The loneliness. This is the boy's life now.
What about his dreams? His memories? Do they matter?
Why is he alive? Why did Grandfather die to keep him alive? Take him from the house in New Orleans and bring him out here? Teach him how to live in the desert, to be on the landscape?
So many questions.
His head is heavy with fatigue. Is it fatigue from waking so many times or from the strain of fleeing?
Questions again. Goddamn questions.
His head drops to his pillow, the pack. His eyes close as he tries to forget.
The moon is now low on the western horizon, a thin red sickle in the dark night. The stars stretch across the skyscape, tilting with the setting moon. Red.
Why?
Chapter 10 - Daylight
The boy awoke in his chair. His grandfather was dead, his fear told him, as he bolted upright to look. His eyes, though, looked on an empty bed, cleansed by early morning light. The old man was gone.
The boy panicked. He jumped up and searched every room of the house, except the Death Room.
In the living room, he glanced out and saw his grandfather sitting on the backyard bench, his mother's bench, face to the morning sun. His eyes were closed. The boy’s fear went silent.
He opened the sliding glass doors and walked across the lawn, filled with relief and joy. Grandfather opened his eyes. A real smile, for the first time, the boy thought. But there was fatigue around his eyes and mouth.
“You’re awake. I thought you died.”
“Not yet.”
The boy smiled.
Grandfather slowly stood, using the bench for support, and reached out, putting both hands on the boy’s shoulders. He pulled him close and hugged him. The boy hugged back. This was new. The boy did not know affection from a man. Hugging his grandfather felt right, strong.
“I have to build my strength today.”
The boy stepped back.
“Will you get sick again, like mom?”
“Not now.”
“So my blood helped?”
“Yes. The serum's not exact. Not permanent. That's why I got sick last night. But, for now, it’s good.”
“I’m glad.”
“Me, too.”
The boy helped steady the old man as they walked into the house. In the kitchen, Grandfather made a big breakfast, working slowly from being exhausted. He made omelets, adding already-cooked hamburger from the refrigerator to the eggs and spinach leaves, and filled their plates.
“We’ll need this energy. We travel tonight."
"We have to leave this place?” the boy asked. This place was all he knew. “Where will we go?”
Grandfather smiled, what the boy started to call his serious smile.
“Out west,” Grandfather answered.
"Out west," the boy echoed, trying the thought on for the first time.
“I have a house," Grandfather said. "We will go there." Then he paused and stared at the boy. “The easy world has changed, Grandson. Our trip will be hard. Will you go with me?”
“Yes.”
“Good," Grandfather said. "Together we are stronger.”
The boy smiled and dove into his plate of food. After a few bites, he blurted, "Did you know my father?"
Grandfather paused, holding a bite of omelet in the air, then lowered it back to the plate. "Yes."
The boy hesitated, not sure about asking what was on his mind and in his heart. But, he had to know.
"What was he like?"
Grandfather turned his gaze to the backyard.
"It was a long time ago, Grandson. But I remember. I met him only once, when your mother first moved here. A nice man. Friendly. People liked him."
The boy felt a sense of relief that his father was not a bad man, at least. Grandfather continued, turning to look at the boy.
"But having a family was not something he could do."
"I don't understand," the boy said. "Why did he bring me into the world?"
Grandfather's look was strangely soft, understanding.
"Some men aren't made for the kind of life that involves staying in one place. Committing to family life. They are more suited to wander. Like they're always looking for something better than what they have, but never finding it."
The boy frowned.
"So he didn't want me," the boy said, pain in his voice. "Shouldn't have had me."
Grandfather's expression changed. "Never think that, Grandson!" he said. "One of the greatest gifts he gave was to help bring you into this world. What a loss if you had not been born."
He smiled and held the boy with his eyes.
"After all, how would this old man get around without your help?"
The boy smiled back. Grandfather's words helped. Filled much of the emptiness he felt for this father he never knew.
Chapter 11 - The Agency
The rest of that day, they prepared to leave. The boy was amazed at how fast the old man recovered. He secretly hoped to be that strong someday.
"Grandfather."
"Yes."
"How come you lied about being dead?"
The old man stopped what he was doing in the kitchen, paused, then continued. He was making a batch of energy bars for their trip.
The boy watched from across the kitchen counter. The old man used a strange combination of ingredients, the boy thought. Something called Pinole, weird little seeds called chia, some other grains, coconut oil, and honey. Seeing the boy's expression, Grandfather explained the Pinole was made from flour and lime. The chia seeds were grown in dry desert regions and he always kept a small stash of both at hand to cook with.
After mixing, Grandfather spread the gooey mess into a shallow pan. Then, still not answering, he placed the pan into the refrigerator, turned, and looked at the boy.
"Sometimes people do things that hurt other people."
The old man's voice was somber.
"I worked for a company, Grandson. This company became part of a bigger group made up of government people. It became known to those of us who worked in the labs as the Agency. Its people think our country, our world, is overpopulated. Too many people for our farms and factories to feed."
"But," the boy interrupted. "In school I was told that we buy food
from other countries. And when mom and I shopped, I saw labels from other countries on the food."
Grandfather smiled at the boy's attention to detail. This was good.
"You're right, Grandson. But the global weather has changed so much that food is getting harder to grow. Our country's farms are overloaded and this is why we import from other places. Too many mouths to feed here. These other countries can't keep selling to us, and one day they will stop. They will need to feed their own people first."
"Oh."
"The Agency saw this coming. But they decided the best way to fix it was to create a sickness that would kill many people and reduce the population that needs feeding."
Grandfather paused, as if judging how the boy might react.
"Wouldn't the people making this sickness get sick too?" the boy asked.
"My job, back then, was to create a serum to protect these people from the virus they created."
"Is this what you gave mom before I was born?"
"Yes." Grandfather's face suddenly grew grave. His pain was clear to see. The boy became embarrassed at this open show of emotion. Grandfather did not seem ashamed of showing it, though.
"I thought the formula I made would work. All of us at the lab did. But there was no way to know for sure until the virus was released."
The boy picked out leftover batter in the mixing bowl and licked it off his fingers. It had a nutty, toasted taste, and he liked it.
"Why haven't I died?"
"Do you remember what I said to your mom? About the serum passing to your blood and staying in your body when you were still inside her?"
"Sort of. I wasn't sure what you were talking about," the boy said.
Grandfather put the dishes in the sink, but did not wash them. The boy noticed this and thought how his mother had taught him to always clean up, then realized it didn't matter now. His mother would never scold him again about unwashed dishes or anything else. This thought made him feel again the still fresh pain of her absence.
"I think I know now why it worked in you and not her. Your blood type is one of the rare ones, AB negative, which neither your mom nor I have. The serum skipped your mother and, instead, worked in you because of your blood type. You're safe."
"Are you safe, Grandfather?"
"Yes," Grandfather answered. "For now. What I took last night is temporary and needs to be refined for other blood types to be permanent. This is why we have to leave."
"But why did you pretend to die?"
"I was in danger, Grandson. My work was done in secret. No one was to know." Grandfather hesitated, watching the boy. "When we finished making the serum, we found out they were going to kill us."
The boy did not know how to think of this. Who were these people? It did not make sense in his world. More like some conspiracy movie, the type of movie he liked watching. But those stories weren't real.
"Why?"
Grandfather went to the refrigerator and pulled out the pan of flattened goo. It had already hardened. He quickly cut it into small squares.
"The Agency did not want any loose ends after our job was finished. We scientists were the loose ends. I faked my death to stay alive."
He packed the squares into plastic bags that zipped closed, keeping one slice out and tossing it across the counter to the boy. The boy juggled it, not ready for the toss, then took a tentative first bite. He quickly ate the rest.
"You and your mother could not know I was alive. You would have been in danger. They watched this house and your mother, knowing I would make contact if I were alive."
"I saw them!" the boy blurted. "One day after school."
Grandfather’s tone instantly became sharp. "What did you see?"
"I was hiding in the island in our cul-de-sac, waiting for mom to come home. In the trees. A black vehicle, a Suburban, drove in and stopped in front of the house."
"Did anyone get out?"
"No. They drove off after a few moments."
"Did they see you? This is important, Grandson. Did they see you?"
"I don't think so," the boy answered. "No. I'm sure of it because I hid behind the bushes."
"When did this happen?"
"About two months ago."
Grandfather was visibly relieved. But the story changed his mood.
"No more questions for now," he said.
"But," the boy ignored him. "Were they looking for you?"
"Yes."
Grandfather got up. The boy followed him to the room at the end of the hall. The old man sorted through his belongings, stopped, and turned to the boy.
"The watchers may be gone now that the virus has been released," he said. "But this news only confirms we can't stay here any longer. We leave tonight."
The old man produced a brown canvas backpack from his belongings and gave it to the boy. In the boy's bedroom, he showed him what to pack. He would leave most of his belongings. Grandfather told him they were of the old life, and the old life was gone now. He also explained that they would be walking a long way and the boy could only bring what he could carry.
The boy at first protested but knew he had to accept his grandfather’s reasoning. Grandfather did allow him to take a few pictures of his mother and a small acorn from the big oak in the backyard.
Their exit from New Orleans was to be by car, Grandfather explained to the boy, his mother's car. Once they reached the swamps to the west, they would walk. Something about a barren strip of land. Grandfather called it the Barrier, a clear-cut scar on the land from Canada south all the way to the Gulf of Mexico, running along a fault line called the New Madrid. No cars were permitted to cross this area.
"Why can't people cross the Barrier?"
"To keep the sickness from spreading west," the old man answered. "If the sickness spreads west, it will kill too much of the population." Grandfather sounded angry. “The Agency still needs people to keep things going. Slave labor. Life has changed, Grandson."
Chapter 12 - Funeral Pyre
That night, they fled. Earlier in the day, Grandfather had moved the car a few blocks away to make it look like no one was home. He returned, careful not to be seen, through the strip of woods behind the house.
As sunset spread across the western sky, they sat in the kitchen, ready. Grandfather told the boy a few stories about his past and countries he'd traveled to, what it was like where they were going.
The boy's mother would stay in the house after they left. Grandfather stated that no one would disturb her body or the boy’s belongings after they left. For the moment, this was all he would say.
“Why can’t we bury mom?”
“Because of the sickness,” Grandfather explained. “To keep it from spreading. Even in death, the body can pass on disease. They burn the infected bodies now. Your mother wanted to stay here, not be taken to the incinerators. She asked for us to take care of her.”
“Are we going to burn her here?”
Grandfather hesitated before answering.
"Yes," he said. "She will be in the house when I set it on fire."
"Is that how we take care of her?"
"Yes. It's what she wanted."
When the hour came to leave, Grandfather led the boy through the backyard to a place just inside the edge of the woods where he was to wait for the old man. It was a quarter moon night, dark enough to avoid detection by curious neighbors, but bright enough to make out shapes in the woods like trees and bushes. The old man quickly crossed the moonlit yard and went back into the house.
The boy watched anxiously from the woods, wondering what the old man was doing. He didn't have long to wait, as Grandfather emerged through the glass doors and crossed back over the yard to the woods where the boy stood. He directed the boy deeper into the woods, but still in sight of the house.
They watched the house and waited. The boy stood confused. Then, from inside the house, there was a brief flash. Th
e boy guessed it came from the Death Room. Soon, flames grew inside the house. He saw them through the sliding glass doors. They spread quickly. Grandfather gestured with a slight wave toward the house. The boy did, also. As he did this, he heard Grandfather whisper, "Safe journey, daughter.”
They moved into the woods, each carrying his backpack. Grandfather guided them in the dark, moving quickly. The boy struggled to keep up. The old man turned frequently to check on the boy's progress or hold a branch so it didn't whip back. Still, a couple of times the boy experienced the shock of an invisible branch slapping him in the face and throwing him into a brief panic. The old man kept going, so the boy had to quickly regain his senses to stay with him. Regardless of the pain, he didn't want to be left behind.
Soon, they were at the car. The boy looked back the way they had come and saw a glow at the tops of the trees. He knew now the whole house was on fire. A funeral pyre, Grandfather had said, to send his mother's body back to the earth, to let the flames purify it.
The boy and Grandfather climbed into the car and drove into the dark night.
Chapter 13 - No Trace
The boy had no real memory of the time between the house and the sandy road. He slept while Grandfather drove, exhausted by the strange events of that day. Two hours after leaving the burning house, Grandfather turned off the two-lane road and drove onto a one-lane sandy track. The boy woke with a jolt as the car left the pavement and dropped onto the hard packed sand. After a couple miles of dark woods, the boy noticed swampland emerging on either side of the road. The car's lights were strong enough to illuminate dark water dotted with cypress trees that reached upward into the night sky. Spanish moss drooped down off the branches like long wispy beards.
Another thirty minutes of driving, and the trees appeared closer together, lit by the headlights. The boy guessed this was deeper swampland, not as open as when they first turned onto the sandy road.
Grandfather focused on the road ahead, his face close to the front windshield. Finally, he relaxed and sat back in the seat, pleased as he slowed the car and parked. The road was wider here. The old man swung the car so it pointed toward the left bank and a wider section of swamp. The headlights stabbed into the gloomy darkness, dark water and gray-bearded cypress trees in the distance. Four feet below the front bumper of the car, still water hugged a sloping bank.