by Steven Novak
It wouldn’t have been the first time.
“I understand that I didn’t know him as well as you.” Arthur stated nervously, his pudgy feet digging in the dirt. “I just want you to know—I just—”
He was struggling to find the words. Even at home, with all things born of science and logic at his disposal, Arthur had never truly been comfortable with his emotions. In many ways, the same as the mysteries of the god particle, they had eluded him his entire life.
Realizing the little purple-skinned man was as nervous as she, Staci raised her head, looked into his eyes, and sighed. “It’s okay.”
“No.” Arthur interrupted, “I just want you to know—I just think you should know…that…I am honored to have met him.”
Staci smiled.
“You are astounding creatures. All of you.” The little scientist continued. “My wife—she would have liked you a good deal.”
It was the highest compliment he could have offered.
Pleebo led Nicky Jarvis to the edge of the water, and for the first time in a very long time pulled his hand from the boy’s shoulder. It was time for the hardest part of all. It was time to say goodbye. His eyes scanned the quiet, sad little face of the brown-haired boy, and a moment later he returned his hand to its original position.
“You know, you could just stay here.”
For an instant Nicky actually considered the offer. While none of the children were sure exactly what they were returning to, Nicky most of all was finding it difficult to figure out a reason to sink below the water. His father was dead. His brother was gone.
What was left?
With a breathy sigh he gazed into the massive red pupils of Pleebo and shook his head. The Williamsons—Ed and Edna—he had to at least check on the Williamsons.
Pleebo dropped to one knee, wrapped his arms around the boy, and pulled him close. Though he didn’t want to let him go, something inside was telling him that it was exactly what he needed to do. Nicky wasn’t just a boy, and he wasn’t helpless. None of them were. They were the words of his grandfather and the sly, all-knowing glances of his sister. They were more than their mere appearance suggested. They were the prophecy come to life.
With Nicky’s head buried in the crook of his neck, the Fillagrou whispered softly: “We’ll always be here if you need us, kiddo. I promise.”
Maybe not so strangely, Nicky knew it was the truth. When he pulled away and looked into Pleebo’s eyes, the boy swore he could see something achingly familiar behind the deep red pupils. They were sparkling, twinkling like the bits of light that had tumbled from his brother’s body like fireflies in a jar.
The corners of Pleebo’s lips coiled upward into a sad smile that did nothing to hide his emotions. Gazing into the watery eyes of Nicky Jarvis, he recalled something his grandfather had told him years ago.
His broken fingers brushed the boy’s hair from his eyes.
“No matter what, there will always be places where the trees never stop growing.”
*
The story began in:
FORTS: FATHERS AND SONS (Forts #1)
And continued in:
FORTS: LIARS AND THIEVES (Forts #2)
Clink the links above to order a copy today!
*
CHAPTER 64
BEGINNINGS
*
Nicky Jarvis stumbled his way down the hill and dropped a load of wood nearly half his size at the base of the tree with a huff. Immediately his hands went to his knees. He’d been working all day. He was tired and out of breath, but didn’t want to stop. Ed Williamson wormed his way through the bushes directly behind the boy, an even larger pile of wood cuddled unevenly against his chest and a tool belt hanging from his waist. The old man dumped his pile of timber on top of Nicky’s, grunted, and stretched his aching back for a moment, falling into the same position as the boy. Reaching up, he used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the sweat dripping from his face, then did the same for Nicky. His sides hurt, his legs were sore, and his knees felt like they were barely hanging on. He was getting too old for this.
“Is that the last of it?” Edna Williamson called out from behind.
“That’s the last of it,” her husband responded between labored breaths.
When she reached his side, Edna chuckled at the way her husband was bent over and the fact that his crack was prominently displayed over the back of his pants. She then proceeded to help him into a standing position. With the old man upright, she began gently rubbing the aches in his shoulders and back. His muscles were tighter than she’d felt them in years, and for a moment she actually felt a little bad for laughing at him. Only for a moment, though.
“You’re doing a good thing, Edward Williamson,” She whispered into his ear before gently kissing him on the cheek.
Ed heard something pop in his lower back. He was going to be sore tomorrow.
“I know it, I know it. I just wish this good thing could have been a little easier on my knees.”
Once he regained his breath, Nicky Jarvis scurried past the elderly couple, up the recently hammered boards in the side of the tree, and into the opening cut into the floor of the newly constructed tree fort. Once inside, he stopped. It looked almost the same. The dimensions weren’t perfect; it was a tiny bit smaller and slightly more rectangular than square, but it was awfully close.
In fact, there was just one thing missing.
Nicky hoisted the backpack from his shoulders, tossed it to the ground, and opened it up. From inside he retrieved a half-used roll of tape and folder full of Tommy’s drawings. He had discovered them under the bed at the Williamsons’ a few months ago. He’d been lying awake at night, looking at them every since. He’d seen them enough. It was time to put them where they belonged. Tape in one hand and drawings in the other, Nicky began the task of covering the walls.
It had been almost a year since the boy had returned with Staci, Owen and Donald through the doorway to Fillagrou. When they emerged from the water and crawled onto land, they discovered rather quickly that most of the town was in ruins. Almost nothing remained untouched.
Questions were asked, of course; many of them, in fact. Investigations were launched into what happened, specialists were brought in, and studies were taken. Unfortunately, in the end, there were simply no answers to be found. Questions led only to more questions, and even more after that. The town’s surviving inhabitants told wild stories of dinosaurs bigger than buildings and lizard men in black armor. However, save for a few smeared footprints in the dirt that didn’t really look like footprints at all, there wasn’t any proof of such a thing. The Dark Army and everything associated with it had disappeared without a trace.
For an hour or so, the world had gone black. This was the only thing everyone seemed capable of agreeing on, though they had no idea exactly why.
Ultimately, the decimation of the sleepy little town was chalked up to an earthquake. The “hallucinations” of its inhabitants were attributed to a natural gas leak. The lives lost – including, Tommy Jarvis and his father - were considered the unfortunate result of a natural disaster. It was a stupid answer. Even those who filed the reports, signed them, and made them official didn’t fully believe it. At the same time, it proved far easier to accept than the alternative, so much that even a few of those that witnessed the invasion firsthand began to doubt what they’d seen.
Lizard men? Seriously?
Don’t be absurd.
When Nicky finished taping his batch of drawings to the walls, he dropped to his rear in the center of the fort, closed his eyes, and swallowed back another round of oncoming tears. He’d cried a lot since returning. There were days where it was the norm, where his eyes were so puffy-red and sore that they hurt when he opened them. Not long after returning from Fillagrou, with nowhere else to go, he officially moved in with Ed and Edna. They were good people: patient, understanding, and sympathetic. They gave him space when he needed space and offered closeness when he required it
instead. They loved him unconditionally. They loved him in a way he wasn’t sure he deserved.
Still, even with their undying support, it was difficult.
He missed his father. Sometimes he missed his brother so bad it hurt.
“Well, what do you think? Is it done?”
Nicky opened his eyes and spotted the head of Owen Little peeking through the bottom of the fort. Owen had visited him a lot since they had returned, and the two struck up an unexpected friendship. Nicky liked Owen. He was quiet, and actually a bit of a nerd. In many ways he was very different from Tommy. In others, they were a lot alike.
“Well?” Owen asked from the hole in the floor once again. “I think we did a pretty good job. I think your brother would like it.”
Nicky stood and glanced around the room once more. It wasn’t the same as the old fort. Nothing ever would be. The drawings helped a lot, though. The drawings gave it flair and personality. With the drawings on the wall, he could feel his brother around him. He could see him in the lines and feel him in the colors. If he closed his eyes and listened closely, he thought he could hear Tommy’s voice as they crinkled in the breeze. As long as he had them, his brother would never really be gone. As long as he had them, Tommy would always be around.
Nicky nodded in Owen’s direction and the red headed boy started back down the makeshift ladder carefully. Halfway down, he screamed to the rest of the crew on the ground, “He says it’s good!”
At the base of the tree, Donald Rondage dropped a load of lumber he had carried nearly half a mile to the dirt and put his hands on his hips. “Really? That’s it? He says we’re done and we’re done? Just like that? Why the hell did I just lug all this damn wood here for?”
Edna Williamson snagged his earlobe between two fingers and gave it a little tug. “Watch your language, Donald.”
Donald huffed under his breath, rolled his eyes, and gently rubbed the dangling part of his ear. “Sorry, Mrs. Williamson.”
For an old lady, Edna Williamson had a heck of a grip.
After she returned to her husband’s side, and when Donald was sure no one was looking, the boy turned his attention to the fort once again and smiled. It looked pretty good, and he actually felt pretty proud of the fact that he had a hand in building it. He’d never built anything before. The day before—when no one was looking of course—he etched Tommy’s initials into the base of the tree with a pocketknife he stole from his older brother. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Staci Alexander appeared at Donald’s side, buried her hands in her pockets, and stared at the newly constructed fort with watery-red eyes. She missed Tommy. The Jarvis home had remained abandoned since the invasion, half of it reduced to rubble and the other uninhabitable. There were nights when she found herself staring at what remained of Tommy’s bedroom window, half expecting to see him appear. There were times she could have sworn he did.
“Well, what do you think, girlie?” Donald asked, nudging the teary-eyed girl playfully with his elbow.
Staci stared at the base of the tree and followed it upward to the roof of the fort. It was an awkward looking bit of construction, and intentionally so. They’d pieced it together with misshapen, bent and warped boards scavenged from all over town. The nails were leftovers as well. Ed Williamson offered to get them some proper building materials, but both she and Nicky believed it more appropriate to build it the same as the first. In the most traditional sense of the word, the second incarnation of Tommy Jarvis’s tree fort was an ugly thing. Like its predecessor, it was awkward and gangly, and just a bit uninviting. It was different, simultaneously unique and unapproachable. It wasn’t until you climbed inside and looked around that you realized the true beauty it had to offer and the warmth it was willing to provide.
It was weird and it was beautiful.
Staci smiled.
“It’s perfect.”
*