Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  Matthew looked at Rebecca and then back at Eddie. “No kids yet, Eddie, as far as I know.”

  “Well, what does bring you back to Cottonwood?” Eddie asked, more than just casually, looking first at Matthew and then glancing at Rebecca. “Uh…you two aren’t planning on getting back together or anything, are you?”

  Rebecca was going to speak up, but before she could, Matthew cut her off. “No, we’re not planning to, Eddie,” Matthew stated truthfully, as the reunion had already occurred.

  “Whew,” said Eddie, “that’s a relief, because Becky’s the one for me. Only I wish that she’d realize it before we both get too old.”

  “Maybe she’s holding out for something better,” said Matthew as he looked at Rebecca. She smiled back with her eyes but then quickly glanced at Eddie, who was also following her eyes.

  “I’m not holding out at all,” said Rebecca suddenly. “I can tell you honestly that finding a man to marry is absolutely the last thing on my mind right now.”

  Eddie paused and looked at Rebecca carefully. “Well, I can tell you honestly that when you’re ready, you’re gonna find there ain’t nothin’ better in Cottonwood than me!” He then looked at Matthew and said, “I think I’m the last guy in town our age not already married…and I still got most of my teeth.” He gave a big toothy grin and added, “What more could she want?”

  “You’re right, what more could anyone want?” Matthew said, glancing over at Rebecca.

  “Well, anyway,” said Eddie. “What about you? What the hell brings you back after all these years? Good god, how long’s it been anyway? Fifteen years?”

  Before Matthew could respond, this time Rebecca cut in. “He’s been gone about twelve years, Eddie. Maybe the two of you could get together and catch up sometime.” She turned and looked a Matthew. “It sounds like he might be staying a while.”

  “Yep, a good long while,” said Matthew, holding her gaze.

  “Yeah,” said Eddie, “I guess we can catch up some other time…I’d better get Becky to the Home, where she’s needed.” He looked directly at Matthew. “Let’s plan on hooking up later—I’ll buy you a beer or something.” He then smiled broadly and added, “But I’m only buying if you promise not to rekindle anything with Becky. That’d just break my heart, you know.”

  Matthew smiled back. “I wouldn’t want to do anything to break your heart, Eddie. I know how fragile hearts can be.”

  Eddie stared for a moment at Matthew, trying to comprehend the meaning of his words. The meaning ran ahead of him, just beyond his reach. Eddie finally turned and looked at the golf cart parked at the curb and then back. “As you can see, it ain’t fancy or quick, but it sure beats walking.” He looked at Rebecca. “Are you all ready to leave?”

  “I am,” said Rebecca. “We can leave right now.”

  Rebecca almost moved to give Matthew a kiss and hug, but she caught herself, and Matthew’s eyes caught hers as well.

  Eddie looked at Matthew and then at the front door.

  “Is Matt…going to lock up or…is he staying here?” asked Eddie, with a not well-concealed look of concern.

  “Oh,” Rebecca said, thinking quickly, “he’s actually just helping with my garden today. He’s got a degree in forestry, you know, and has been giving me some very helpful fertilizing tips.”

  Eddie just nodded in agreement, and Rebecca couldn’t tell if he’d bought the story.

  Rebecca looked at Matthew as she and Eddie stepped off the porch toward the waiting golf cart taxi. “Make sure you lock up when you’re all done,” she said to him.

  As she climbed into the passenger seat of the small cart, Rebecca desperately wanted to jump back out and run back to Matthew, but it was too late. The golf cart started pulling away, and the sudden jerking motion it made as Eddie accelerated forced her to grab hold of the handle on the dash with her left hand. With her right hand down at her side, she made a slight waving motion to Matthew as she looked back to where he was still watching them from the porch. Matthew waved back at Rebecca, and the two continued to hold their gaze until the golf cart had turned the corner down the street.

  If Rebecca had known how long it was going to be before she was able to hold and kiss her husband again, even as she and Eddie were several blocks away and heading for the highway, she would have instantly freed herself from the cart and sprinted back home to Matthew’s arms. There was, however, no way that she could have known. The only person who knew how long it would be, and what lay ahead for them, was the same person that had stood on her porch and watched her ride away. It would have only been in a moment of weakness and selfishness that he would have warned her of the dangers ahead. That selfishness may have kept her with him temporarily, but then more could be jeopardized, as the encroaching darkness surrounding Cottonwood would simply seep into another available opening.

  Thirty-Five

  The Dead Zone

  It wasn’t the most attractive or original of terms, but the name that the Colorado State Patrol had first given to the area around Cottonwood, where normal internal-combustion vehicles failed to operate, was at least appropriate and spread quickly. Suddenly, everyone was calling it the “Dead Zone.” The area had been the topic of news reports around the state, the nation, and even internationally. It was a scientific oddity and curiosity. Internet sites discussing and chatting about the Cottonwood Dead Zone sprang up shortly after the story hit the media. People around the world wanted to know every detail about the strange occurrence in Colorado.

  Speculation abounded as to the cause of the Dead Zone, and it was far more popular on the web to talk about the cause rather than the immediate practical effects on daily life in Cottonwood. The most common theory was that it was related to some kind of secret government project for testing military weapons. There were many variations of this theory, but the essential details were the same—some branch of the U.S. Military was involved, and by the use of a secret weapon had, either deliberately or accidentally, shut down all internal-combustion vehicles around Cottonwood.

  The most popular web site related to the Dead Zone had been quickly set up by one of Cottonwood’s very own citizens—Vince Pasternack. He had personally looked at vehicles inside the zone and could testify directly about their strange lack of operation. On his web site, he put forth the view that the event was a secret military project based on electromagnetic-pulse weapons. Another popular theory ascribed the phenomenon to aliens, and even one person was convinced that it was a sign from God of the coming end of the world.

  All the theories speculating about the cause of the Dead Zone made for interesting Internet chat and news stories, but those who were truly on the frontlines, right in the Dead Zone, were still far more concerned with trying to ascertain all the facts, rather than trying to look for causes. Workers from the state had brought in two special electric tow trucks normally used at airports to tow aircraft. They had towed several vehicles from the area, and when a certain distance away from Cottonwood was reached, the vehicles were let down from the towing bar, and an attempt was made to start them. Surprisingly, they all started right up, their engines purring like kittens returning home after being lost.

  While most of the members of the Cottonwood emergency committee and the contingency from CDEM were talking and enjoying their lunch at Ernie’s, Gwendolyn Mercer sat at the end of a long table with her cell phone in one hand and pen in the other. Her chicken caesar salad, a house specialty at Ernie’s, sat off to one side, untouched. Since ordering her lunch, she had made phone calls trying to secure additional all-electric vehicles for the area, and she had also talked with the workers who were towing the vehicles near the Dead Zone boundary. They described to her the curious fact of formerly stalled vehicles functioning perfectly after being towed a certain distance from the town. She found that fact incredibly curious.

  Gwendolyn also made a phone call to the most respected engineer in Colorado, Akash Mudali. Holding master’s degrees in both electrical and mech
anical engineering, this seasoned professional was frequently sought for his expertise in both disciplines. Gwendolyn asked Akash to lead the research effort into the cause of the Dead Zone. He lived near Denver, and he told Gwendolyn that he would be glad to research the phenomenon but would require a day or so to prepare.

  “Do you think you could be here by Monday at the latest?” asked Gwendolyn, taking notes while talking on her cell phone to Akash.

  “I think that’s doable for me,” said Akash. He was a no-nonsense straight shooter. He saw the world in black and white. He never said “maybe” or “I’ll try.” Things for him were either “doable” or “not doable,” and you could take him at his word. For everyone who knew Akash, if he said something was doable, you could sleep well, knowing it would happen. If he said it was not doable, you needed to find another plan, not another engineer.

  Gwendolyn was satisfied with Monday. “I’ll have my staff arrange for an electric car for you. They’ll call you with the details. We’ll also reserve a room for you here, beginning Monday night at the Cottonwood Inn. It’s the nicest place in town, or maybe the only one. There are not a lot of choices.”

  “That sounds fine,” said Akash. “I appreciate this opportunity, Ms. Mercer. I’ve investigated a lot of things, as you know, but I think this one sounds most interesting—I love these little mysteries.”

  Gwendolyn and Akash finished their conversation, and she felt she’d accomplished enough over lunch to put away her cell phone and take a few bites of her untouched salad. She jotted down a few notes as she continued to eat, and she began to write less and eat more, as her taste buds told her it was the best chicken caesar salad she’d ever had.

  At his home in Denver, Akash Mudali immediately sat down and looked at a more detailed map of Colorado to identify exactly where the town of Cottonwood was located. He knew he must have been through the town many times on his way to other nearby places like Telluride, Durango, and even further southwest to Mesa Verde. He finally found it as he traced the highway south from Montrose, where the Uncompahgre River branched off to the Little Bear.

  In searching online for Cottonwood, Colorado, and the Cottonwood Dead Zone, Akash was amazed at how quickly the number of Internet sites had blossomed, as the event was only a day old. He chuckled to himself when he read both the alien and secret military testing conspiracy theories. He found it amusing, but predictable, that people always went to the extremes in trying to figure out a mystery. His experience had taught him that the answer is almost always far simpler, and certainly far more rational, if one understands the laws of science.

  Akash’s natural curiosity and skills in science and math had led him to the obvious career choice of becoming an engineer. He was fascinated by the mysteries of the natural world, and he liked to figure out how to make things work or how they did work by using known laws of nature. He also liked to figure out why things weren’t working when they ought to be. The Dead Zone around Cottonwood was an amazing opportunity for him to apply his skills in helping to solve what he thought could easily become one of the biggest mysteries that Colorado had ever seen. His excitement grew by the moment as he began to think about where to start the investigation.

  There had never been an electrical or mechanical failure in which Akash Mudali could not eventually identify the cause. Sometimes it took a while, but his record was perfect—every mystery given him had been solved. He was proud of that unblemished record—proud more than anything because it meant the world was understandable to him. There were no true mysteries in his eyes, only things humans currently did not understand. For Akash, everything in the universe ultimately had a scientific explanation and could finally be understood by the application of reason and the human brain. This was his religion and his faith—it was his life. The mysteries of dark matter and dark energy, so perplexing to modern scientists, were of no concern to Akash. He was confident these, like all mysteries, would be understood in time. Akash Mudali had, as of yet, not fully grasped, nor was he willing to contemplate, the existence of realities and mysteries outside of time and outside the grasp of human reason alone.

  Thirty-Six

  Playing Dice

  “God does not play dice with the Universe.”

  –Albert Einstein

  A package had been delivered to Agent Westmore’s motel room shortly after he’d finished his morning shower and was getting dressed. Wrapped inside a brown paper bag was the orange prison jumpsuit Mick had been wearing the night before. As the agent took it out of the bag to get a better look, a handwritten note fell from the bag onto the dirt-stained motel carpet. The handwriting was awful, but so was the agent’s, which seemed to make it easier for him to decipher the messy words. The note read:

  Dear Mr. Westmore,

  I always keep my promises, so here’s the jumpsuit. I hope it helps you. I want to tell you something I didn’t last night. This is the real truth, so please believe me. I swear it’s the truth. The guy I told you traded me my clothes for this jumpsuit, really didn’t trade me, and we didn’t really pick him up on the road like I said. He was sleeping at a picnic shelter outside of town when we found him that night. It was late, and a bunch of us went there to party. We always park and shine our headlights into the shelter when we party. When we got out and walked up to the shelter, this guy stood up from the ground. Some of us thought he was some kind of hobo or something, so we decided to have a little fun with him. We kind of got in a circle around him, and then I noticed a small backpack on the ground. I picked it up, and he asked for it back, and then we sort of had a tug of war with it. I pulled real hard, and a small box flew out of the backpack and hit the ground. The box sprang open when it hit, and in the headlights, everyone could see it was a real sparkly ring of some kind. We all went for it at the same time, but this guy was really fast. He picked up the ring first, and then we all started to jump on him, but he must know some kind of karate or something, because he really kicked our butts. Some of us went running back to the car, and some of us tried to keep fighting, but he was a really good fighter. Finally, I was real tired and sore but was the last one standing by him, and everyone was yelling at me to get in the car. That’s when this guy said something really strange. I remember the words like it was yesterday. He said, “I’m going back to Colorado to get married, so I can’t give you this ring, but here’s something you can have.” Then he pulled the orange jumpsuit from the backpack and tossed it to me. “Now you wear that a lot,” he said to me. “Wear it every day until someone comes for it, and someone will come. Don’t be afraid, Mick.” That’s what really freaked me out. How the hell did he know my name? I don’t think anyone said it that night. My friends never call me Mick, and they were standing at the car yelling my nickname at me. M or Big M is what they all call me. I thought he was crazy, so I ran back to the car with the jumpsuit, and we drove off. I swear this is what happened, but was afraid I was gonna get in trouble for messing with this guy. I swear he gave me the jumpsuit, and I didn’t steal it. I didn’t want anyone thinking I was afraid of anything, because I’m not, so I’ve been wearing the jumpsuit every day since that night.

  Mick

  Agent Westmore folded up the note and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He then searched all the pockets of the jumpsuit and found a receipt in one of them, from the fast-food restaurant across the street. It was dated the previous night. The agent tossed the receipt into the trash can and found all the other pockets empty. He folded up the jumpsuit and put it back into the brown paper bag.

  The agent checked out of the motel and drove the short distance across the street to the fast-food restaurant. He pulled out his briefcase and trudged through the familiar doors, thinking of something hot with melted cheese and eggs on it.

  The agent was greeted by a young, bright-eyed, blond-haired girl with a voice far too cheery for so early in the morning. A few minutes later, while nibbling on an egg and english muffin sandwich, the agent took out the next unread document from the Ma
tthew Duncan case. It read:

  Court Transcript, Part I

  Edgewood County Court

  Official Court Transcript

  Case #020086044

  The People vs. Matthew William Duncan

  Presiding Judge: Montgomery Nelson

  Attorney for the Defense: Jenna Yates

  Attorney for the Prosecution: Philip Silverstein

  Defendant: Matthew William Duncan

  Court Reporter: Chandra Anders

  Bailiff: Dale O’Connor

  (WHEREUPON the following was heard and recorded in open court, to wit:)

  Bailiff: All rise. Court is now in session. Judge Montgomery Nelson, presiding.

  Judge Nelson: Thank you. You may be seated. We are here today for the trial of Case number 020086044, The People versus Matthew William Duncan. Members of the jury, during jury selection, you have all had a chance to become familiar with the relevant members from both sides in this trial. Before giving you further instructions, I would now like to reintroduce them and make certain that none of you have since that time, had any contact with or know any of these people, or have any other reason to otherwise feel prejudiced against them in any way so as to interfere with your fairness or impartiality in this case.

  Let me first reintroduce the Prosecuting Attorney representing the People of the City and County of Edgewood in this case, seated there in the brown suit coat, Attorney Philip Silverstein. Please raise your hand Mr. Silverstein so the jury can make certain they know who you are. (Mr. Silverstein raises his hand). Thank you.

  On the other side of the podium, seated at the opposite table and wearing a purple blouse, is the Attorney for the Defense, Ms. Jenna Yates. Could you please raise your hand, Ms. Yates, so the jury can identify you. (Ms. Yates raises her hand). Thank you.