One of my children had left.
“Daddy?” Daisy called my name. “I tried to stop him.”
I felt the cold air hit me the second I made it to the front hall. The door was open. I didn’t grab my coat, just shoved my feet into my boots without tying them, then barreled down the stairs.
He couldn’t be far? It was only a minute or two.
How wrong I was.
I stepped out into the deep snow, the blustering wind pelting me with the hard falling flakes. It was a near white out. Running out into the street, I looked left and right. My inner being shook with a panic I had never felt before. Standing there in the middle of the barren street, I screamed out my loudest, “Beau!”
I swore the only person that didn’t hear me calling for my son was … my son. Three people meandered to the sidewalk, but most looked at me like I was nuts, like I didn’t know what I was doing.
There was a brief moment, not the first nor the last, I doubted my own sanity.
Were they looking at me as if I were one of The Lost? Was I? Had I lost my mind? I wondered, the way they looked at me, didn’t say anything.
I couldn’t worry about them. I stood there in the street yelling for Beau. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to run and start searching, I had a feeling where he may have gone. I needed a coat, but didn’t want to leave the street in case he came back and I couldn’t leave Daisy alone with Maranda.
I panicked, felt overwhelmed and even thought for a split second I was over reacting.
Just stop. Breathe. Think about it. I knew I had to make choices when Maranda stepped outside wearing only her nightgown.
Like a child, she turned in circles tilting her face to the falling flakes and smiling.
I was mortified and just didn’t know what to do.
It took everything I had not to scream. I had to get it together.
I rushed to Maranda, “You need to get inside.”
“Isn’t it beautiful.”
“Please get inside.”
“What are you doing?” Maranda asked me.
“Beau ran off.”
“Who?” she asked.
I closed my eyes, taking a second, trying again, to keep it together.
“Travis?” I heard the woman’s voice call my name, seeping through the wind.
One hand, still holding on to Maranda, I turned, looking over my shoulder to see my neighbor, Terri.
“Hold on,” she hollered, holding up a finger as if to tell me to wait. She lived across the street, and like us, occupied an apartment above her store, Meehan Used Books. It was obvious she had rushed out. Her winter coat was half on. One sleeve dangled, nearly tripping her as she wrangled the wandering Lost, like a preschool teacher grabbing toddlers, ushering them back into her bookstore. She closed the door and placed a chair in front to keep them in. Then placing on her coat the rest of the way, she made her way toward me.
I was surprised to see her, a couple days earlier, I swore I saw her packing her car. As she drew close, I saw she looked as exhausted as I felt. The snow landed on her short dark hair, plastering it to her head.
“Travis, what’s going on?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. No,” I said desperately. “Beau took off. I … I have to look for him. I can’t leave, Maranda. She’s ... she’s …”
Terri cased Maranda and drew a sympathetic look. “Lost?”
“Yes.”
“Daisy?”
“She’s fine. For now. I can’t leave, I can’t go. I have to find my son.”
“Travis, I can’t stay here, I’m taking care of people, but if you want, you can bring Maranda to me. I’ll keep her while you look,” she said.
“Daisy?”
“I could use her help.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” I reached out, grabbing her shoulders. “Thank you.”
“It’s okay. Just get her some shoes,” Terri said.
I glanced down and looked at Maranda’s bare feet sinking in the snow. “I will. I’ll be right over. Thank you again.”
Feeling a little better, slightly calmer, I led Maranda into the building. I just had to quickly get her dressed, get Daisy, then I could go and find my son.
<><><><>
“Daddy, why are we going to the bookstore?” Daisy asked, holding my hand as we made our way down the stairs. “Does Mommy want to read?”
“Sweetie, I have to go look for Beau. Ms. Terri is going to watch Mommy because Mommy is sick.” I opened the front door and led Daisy and Maranda outside. “You’ll help her.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
Maranda moved slowly, totally mesmerized by the snow, I had to hurry her, too much time had already been lost. Even though I had a good idea where Beau had gone, I still needed to hurry. I didn’t know if he had on a coat or even shoes.
There was a certain hard reality that hit me when I stepped inside the bookstore. The lights were low and mainly only the light of day lit the store.
Neighbors I had known from seeing, talking to, were there. Some wandered looking at books, others just sat, staring out.
I guess Terri noticed my surprise when I walked in.
“I’ll take her. Go look for your son,” Terri said.
“How many ... how many people are you taking care of here?” I asked.
“Nine.”
“Nine?” I replied in shock. “That’s a lot.”
“Not as many as Mr. Matthews from the bank,” she said. “But I guess we handle what we can. I was headed to find my parents in Ohio … then I just …” she sighed out. “We all have to do our part, right?”
I couldn’t even say ‘right’ or agree, because ‘my part’ wasn’t more than my family and that was all I could handle.
I apologized for adding more to her burden, thanked her again, then I left.
The snow had let up some, but the street and sidewalks were covered with a fresh layer.
There were tire tracks and worst of all, there were no footprints other than the ones we just made.
There was no indication what direction Beau had gone, and to find him, I just had to follow my instinct.
ELEVEN – DROPLETS IN THE SNOW
My first thought was that there was no way, no possible way that Beau could have made it to the middle school. Even though it was only a mile and a half, he wasn’t out there long enough to make it that far on foot, especially in the snow. But I had to try. After all, he was insistent he had class, it only made sense that was where he’d go.
I had only made it three blocks before I saw the flashing lights of the police car parked on the side of the road by a pickup truck with Joe Randal. It looked like Joe was dressed for the artic, heavy parka style coat with dark glasses, as he stood by the back end of his truck.
My heart took a nose dive to my gut, and immediately I thought the worst when Chief Fisher waved me down.
Please, no. Please no, I thought.
I wound down my window.
“What’s going on Chief?” I asked, nervously.
“Hey, Travis, where are you headed? Didn’t think I’d see you out on the roads.”
“I um … Beau took off. I don’t know where he went. Have you seen him?”
“Not in this area, we just got back here a couple minutes ago.”
“Have you seen any footprints?”
“Travis, there are lots of footprints around here. Lots of folks wandering,” he said. “Which is why I am gonna ask you not to drive.”
“I have to,” I replied. “I have to get to the school. He was saying this morning he had school.”
“I get that. I do. We’ll even help you look, but I can’t have you driving. Heck, we stopped driving an hour ago. Been walking around.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “I need to go. I need to look and look fast.”
“I get that. Can you do it walking?”
“Why can’t I drive?” I asked.
“Because, Travis, there are bodies under the
snow. We’re gathering them.”
All the air escaped my lungs and I found it hard to even inhale.
“I don’t know why,” he continued. “But a lot of folks were drawn to leaving, walking out. Maybe they instinctively, like your boy, thought they had to go somewhere. Most of the people we’re finding weren’t wearing coats or shoes.”
Immediately I thought of how my son was out in the snow, just like the others. “I’ll not drive.” I wound up the window and turned off the ignition. I grabbed my gloves, the blanket, and flashlight and opened the door.
“I appreciate it,” the Chief said. “And we will look for Beau.”
“I think he went to the school.” I placed on my gloves. “Chief, how ... how is this happening? How are these people out here?”
“You were watching your son and he’s out here,” the Chief answered. “Imagine how many people have no one to keep them safe, feed them, it’s tragic. I’m at a loss. There’s not many of us still standing.”
If he meant to layer on the guilt because I was able bodied, it was working. Him, Terri, Joe Randal, they were all doing what they could. I wanted to, I really did. Maybe I had to rethink things, work it out that I could help as well. But at that moment, there was nothing I could do but leave my truck and look for my son.
To me, there was always something dismal about the snow. No matter how beautiful it was, unless it was Christmas morning, the snow blanketed the world in a cold silence, burying all signs of life beneath it.
That was what it seemed to do in my town.
Nothing grew beneath the blanket of white, it was a part of the cycle of life. Birth, grow, live … die.
Like the flowers and the grass, the snow in High Water buried the living.
Not only had twisted science taken from the life they had, knew and loved, the cold was taking their last breath.
This was not the world any of us envisioned. When I was a youngster, the end times, apocalypse would happen with a bang. Bombs, meteors, even zombies weren’t quiet. But this … this was torture, the existence of mankind slowly rolling out into extinction with a whimper.
The idea that it was ‘God’s End’ hadn’t crossed my mind. Having come from decades of Sunday school, bible studies, a preacher grandfather and heavy handed ‘God says’ household, I knew what the Bible said about the end. Book of Revelation, yeah there were plagues, but a whole bunch of other stuff that was like nothing we looked at.
I hadn’t entertained it, in fact, dismissed it, mainly because I let go of that style of life and belief, and it hadn’t crossed my mind until I passed Saint Peter’s Episcopal Church a half mile from the school.
The old fashioned, one steeple white building sat on a corner lot. The Pastor was out front shoveling snow from the steps. I paused to wave and ask if he had seen Beau, when I noticed the sign.
It read.
Pray.
The Rapture is among us.
The rapture wasn’t in the Book of Revelation, it was in Paul, and while interpretation had it lifting up people, body and soul, to heaven, Paul used the Greek word for ‘snatched’, people were ‘snatched’ away.
For a brief moment, reading the sign, I wonder if that indeed what was happening. Maybe God had said enough of man messing with nature and in His own way snatched the ‘faithful’, those who believed in the vaccine.
Snatched them.
Even though physically they were with us, they were gone.
“Are you lost?” asked the pastor, now standing not far from me.
I suppose it was his way to get a reaction, to see what I did or said.
I shook my head. “No, Reverend. I’m actually looking for my son. Have you seen a boy, thirteen around?”
“Sorry, son, I haven’t. Is he … Lost?”
“He is.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ll find him.”
“I’ll pray for you,” he said.
“I appreciate it.” I started to leave and stopped. “Reverend, your sign. Do you believe that?”
“I put it there, didn’t I?” he replied.
“Yeah, but do you believe it?”
“I don’t know.” The reverend placed his hands on the shovel handle. “I don’t. I suppose I put it there for me and others. To me it’s easier and more comforting to believe that God is behind this. That our loved ones are in a better place. That they’re already gone and their body is going through the motions.”
“How is that easier to believe?” I asked.
“Because the alternative, the scientific explanation is worse. If God didn’t do this, if God hasn’t already pulled them out of their bodies and put them in a better place,” he said, “Then right now, all those Lost, are truly in a living hell. And we are right along with them.”
How true his words, but sadly, science and man caused this.
It was hell.
The only comfort in it all was hoping that those like Maranda just didn’t know.
I moved on, realizing I had been out for over an hour. The phones were still working, and I called the chief. A fear of mine was Beau returning home and no one was there.
He assured me he had someone watching and checking, yet no sign of Beau.
I turned the bend from the church on to Garden Boulevard, four lane road north of town where I’d find the school. There were slightly, snowed over tire tracks on the road, the first I had seen since I left the Chief. They weren’t that old and not much snow had filled them in.
They moved recklessly, and I wondered if it was the slipperiness of the road or perhaps a wayward Lost driver.
I followed the tracks and finally made it to the school. The tire tracks kept going, but I didn’t. I just knew by looking at the front that he wasn’t there. It was dark, the staircase was completely covered with snow, so much so it looked like a hillside. No indentations at all from footprints. No one had been in the school since before the first heavy snow had fallen.
But I was there. I had to check anyhow.
The snow came nearly to my knee as I attempted the steps slowly, feeling for the next rise, I knew there to be at least ten steps.
There were three sets of double metal doors at the entrance. I tried the center ones first … nothing. But the set to the right was unlocked and I went inside.
The bang of the closing door, echoed in the hollow hallways. I turned my flashlight on to brighten the way and called out, “Beau! Beau, you here?”
My own voice bounced back at me. I looked on the floor for wet footprints. Surely, if Beau was there, he would had entered through the front doors.
I was wasting time and I knew it. I turned to leave when I heard a sound.
A faint banging. It was steady. A bang, a few seconds and a bang again. My boots squeaked on the linoleum as I spun around and raced toward the sound.
Rounding the bend, my boots squeaked again on the floor when I came to a grinding halt. It wasn’t my son. It was the school janitor. In a repeat motion, holding on to his cleaning cart, he pushed forward, the cart hit the wall, he’d bounce back and try again only to hit that wall.
I didn’t bother calling out. I knew, he like almost everyone … was Lost.
Defeated, I turned and left the school. I tried to follow my own footprints down the stairs, but it was still slick.
“Beau! Beau!” I yelled my loudest making my way to the street. “Beau!” I turned left then right.
Where was my son?
I took a deep breath to call out again, and that was when I saw it. Or at least I thought I did. Had I not been looking, I would have missed it. Twenty feet or so past the school, closer to the sidewalk was a dark spot. Was it a shoe? A bag. Something was in the snow.
I ran to the spot, crouched down for it and saw it was a book. A big, thick book. I would have pulled it out of the snow had I not noticed the pattern in the snow that formed right by it. It reminded of the time that Maranda was frustrated and flung the paint from her brush on to the white canvas. Only this
splatter wasn’t blue, it was red.
Deep red.
Blood.
And like any splashed paint, drops scattered.
In the snow, blood droplets created a treasure map dashed line, leading me to the embankment on the side of the road where I saw part of a bare foot protruding from the mound.
“No, no, no.” I rushed over to the snow and immediately my hands dug through. “No, no. Please no.”
My hands paddled through fast and furiously with each inch of snow more drenched with blood than the previous.
A leg. A bloody bare leg was uncovered next.
In the ice cold weather, I felt the burning heat of emotions take over me. I prayed, my God, I prayed with all my heart that the body I discovered was not my son. To let it be one of the countless wandering souls of town that froze in the bitter cold weather.
It didn’t take long for me to discover it wasn’t a neighbor or stranger, it was my son.
A sickening feeling filled my gut as I pulled my son out of his bloody, snowy entombment. His body only cold from the weather, the blood still fresh. I frantically searched for a pulse, but there was none.
Curling him into my chest, my knees dug deep into the snow, I gut screamed as loud as I could, as I cradled my son against me.
No amount of screaming could release the pain I felt in my body and soul,
Holding him, I saw flashes of his life.
His birth, first step, infatuation with wrestling. I saw the life he would never have, to grow up, love, have a family.
Paralyzed in pain, I was crushed. My son, my first born ... was gone.
<><><><>
The driver of the car was dead.
Good.
I didn’t care.
The car was found a half mile down the road, crashed into a pole. I didn’t need Chief Fisher to tell me his ‘police interpretation’ of what happened. I knew.
Beau was going to school. Some driver, not knowing what he was doing, or going, hit him and kept going. The intense impact not only sailed Beau to the side of the street, he landed so hard, the snow collapsed and buried him.
I saw that for myself.
The only consolation was, he probably never knew what hit him. For my son that gave an inkling of comfort, for me it did nothing,
Last Dance at the End of the World Page 7