by Aaron Grunn
down V. John squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He opened his eyes and tried to comprehend what was in front of him. It was a normal man. John was certain he'd heard the fangs gnashing near his face, and felt the fur of the beast next to his skin.
"John, you'd better come here."
John got up, stood for second trying to gather his energy and not fall down, and walked over to Tom. He could see his mother, or what remained of her, wrapped in nothing but Tom's leather jacket. She was cut up and bloodied beyond recognition.
"Mom?"
She was hugging herself and shivering. Tom left and came back with some water. She took a sip. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor.
"Mom? Can you hear me?" John wanted her to look at him, or to at least acknowledge him. He got down on his haunches and looked at her face. It seemed pale and hollow. Hadn't it only been a little more than a day or two?
"Mom? Please talk to me."
She looked up at Tom. "Why did you let my son see me like this?"
Tom didn't answer.
"Mom, can you talk to me?" John said. His voice was louder, though he didn't want it to be that way. Why did it matter what condition she was in? Why could she care about something so insignificant?
She finally looked at him, but her eyes were sunk in, and almost black.
John felt a shudder go through him. He managed to smile. "I missed you mom."
"You're such a good son," she said and touched his face.
John hugged her. He didn't feel her hug back. Her eyes vacant, she rolled her head back and forth. John's body started to shiver. He tried to fight it. They'd saved her, now she was going to make it through.
"Let's go mom," John said, stood up, and reached out his hand.
"I'll carry her," Tom said and in one swoop had her in his arms.
John led them out. The house was peaceful in the moonlight that shone through gaps in the clouds. The rest of the world seemed to be holding its breath for John and his thoughts.
Tom laid his mother on the grass next to the house. "Wait here." He ran inside.
John watched him go and was worried that he might get caught by one of the men playing dead.
John tried to watch his mother, but her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be convulsing. He patted her head and stroked her hair. He wanted to somehow convey all the emotions he felt for her and yet, in her state, it was impossible.
He needed to pull himself together. He took his mother's hand and held it firmly. That calmed her down. For a second he thought he saw the birth of a smile on her face.
Tom came running out.
"Let's go," Tom said, picking up his mother again and walking into the forest. John followed him. He was tired, but now that they had his mother he pushed himself.
He noticed that his mother's head and arm had gone limp, and he caught up with his uncle to lift her head so it didn't hang at a weird angle.
"She's sleeping," John said. Tom didn't answer him.
After a few more steps Tom stopped and placed his mother on the ground. He checked her pulse. He looked up at John.
"What's wrong?"
"She's passed away, John."
John looked at his uncle. "No. She's just sleeping. She's tired."
Tom took in a deep breath.
John stumbled forward, tripped and fell on his knees next to his mother. He checked her wrist. Nothing. He checked her neck. Nothing. "Mom?" He shook her head. First gently, then with more fervor. "Mom, please..."
All the energy that had been sapped from his body, everything that had been eating into his body recently erupted at once in his brain; he froze, and he started to cry on his mother's chest.
When he was finished, Tom gave him a hug. "Sorry, John."
John checked his mother's pulse again, then again. She was peaceful now, no longer would she convulse.
"I'll take her to the house."
"Why?" John asked.
"She wanted to be cremated, I know that much."
"She did," John said.
"Well, the house is set to burn."
John shook his head. "Not in that house, Tom. I'd rather we leave her here than that."
Tom agreed with his face and picked her up again. "Find a ditch."
They found a small ditch, then looked for rocks and covered her body. It was as good as they could manage.
Several hours later they drove off north and found another place to hide. As John lay next to the car in a sleeping bag, that kept his body toasted, but his face out in the frigid cold air, he thought about the man in the basement.
"Tom?" John asked. He could hear his uncle ruffling out a sleeping bag.
There wasn't a reply until Tom settled. "What is it?"
"Did you hear what that man said about the three ants?"
A long pause followed. Silence turned loud before Tom answered. "Yeah, I did."
"What do you think he meant by it?"
"Nothing," Tom said.
"It sounded familiar. I was wondering if it had anything to do with my dad."
"He was wasting your time, John. You shouldn't believe anything these people tell you."
John waited for more to come from his uncle, but he heard nothing. Soon that nothing was replaced with deep breathing that sounded like sleep.
John nuzzled his chin further into the sleeping bag until his breath warmed his face. He wanted to stay up and mourn his mother. Instead, exhaustion washed over him, and he fell asleep.
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THE END
Dear Reader. Thank you for taking the time to read this book. I do hope that it was enjoyable. I would greatly appreciate it if you could return to where you got this book and write a review so that other readers may properly gauge this book. Thanks again! — Nelson Lowhim
Want to find out more? Will John find out who is chasing him? Will he manage to find true love with Jessica? Will his powers fail him again? Will he ever find peace? His father? Find out on the next installation: High School Freak 2
More Books by the Aaron Grunn:
Alaskan Rivers of Blood
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About the Author:
A prolific writer who has written some of this century's most engrossing books, Grunn has always strived to write page-turners for the everyday man or woman. As a child he spent his time in class writing then, when he became an adult, turned this passion into his life. His books are sold throughout the world, and enjoyed by people of all backgrounds.
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