“When is the church set to reopen?” He asked as he headed back to his truck.
“In a month. They’re going to have an open house and a picnic. Do you want to go?”
John felt like declining but then reconsidered. “Sure I’ll go. Only if you go.”
“Of course I’ll go. Mom will be there, too. It’ll be the last Sunday in June. Put it on your calendar.”
They both climbed back in the truck and drove over to Madeline’s apartment. Most of the drive was quiet until Madeline spoke up.
“Do you think Dr. Minton made it out of the river alive?” She said.
“No,” John said. “Although I checked the news this morning and didn’t see any mention of him or anyone else drowning in the area.” He looked over at Madeline but could see that something still bothered her. “Even if he made it out, what could he come back to? He already torched thousands of acres. And for what? To force your dad to show his technology?”
“What was it he told you before he fell into the river? ‘There’s always room for one more player at the table?’ Who’s the other player? You?”
“I’d rather not think about it anymore,” John said as he parked his truck in front of her apartment building. “See you at church in the morning?”
“Your church or mine?”
“Let’s try yours again,” John said before he gave her a long kiss goodnight.
As she climbed out of his truck she cradled the two books her mother gave her.
“Are you really going to reread those books?” He asked.
“I’m not sure I ever read these. Maybe I did and I don’t remember them very well.”
“Are you saying he was a prophet?”
“Hardly,” she scoffed.
Just as she opened the security door, he felt an immense sense of peace wash over him. “Do you think your parents will ever get back together?” He yelled out to her before the door closed.
“I don’t know. It’s a nice thought.”
As he drove off through the southern side of town, he studied every building and tree that was forever altered in that single afternoon. He checked the rearview mirror and eyed his rocket launcher in the bed of the truck. If more rockets and more sensors translated into more lives spared then he would have to redouble his efforts soon since the storm chasing season was now well underway.
Chapter Twenty
After church John sat at home in his workspace and fired up his desktop computer. The workspace was originally a bedroom but he converted it so that it was now filled with bookcases, a desk, two laptop computers, and a table reserved for electronics and rocket work. The orderly room became a retreat for him over the years since he found peace in overcoming problems in his technological work. He consistently found a means of control and stability in programming even if the events of the outside world descended into chaos.
While his word processing software came up on onscreen, he gathered together the data from the final chase that ended near Wick as well as chase notes from his week with Dr. Ferganut. When everything was ready, he composed an exhaustive summary of the most recent events that included National Weather Service damage surveys, radar images, and atmospheric maps. He then added a handful of notes about other pyrocumulus events from other areas of the world for future reference.
He paused a moment to think through Dr. Ferganut’s comments on the weather, creativity, and the need for boundaries. He began to type up a summary.
Fire. In the physical world, it comes in two different forms—controlled and uncontrolled. A controlled fire cooks your food, powers your car, or launches a rocket. An uncontrolled fire can put a family out onto the street, burn down a neighborhood, or level a forest. It’s the second form that worries me the most.
In the creative world, a controlled fire can paint a masterpiece, invent a lifesaving device, or change the world. An uncontrolled fire…
John stopped typing and looked up from the screen lost in thought. He wanted to write more about creativity but did know how. He also wanted to review his notes and pictures from the interview and maybe assemble a rough outline. Did he even have enough material for a biography or only enough for an article? Should he organize it chronologically or functionally? What would he use for a title?
He panned around his workspace and looked on at an unused plastic box half-full of the smaller Ferganut pellets. He considered the discussions he, Captain, and Dr. Ferganut had about deploying nets of sensors in the skies above a storm as a means of capturing better data. If it could be scaled to analyze whole storm systems the discoveries could be astonishing.
Madeline poked her head through the doorway of his workspace. “Are you in the middle of something?”
John stared longingly into her eyes. There was a steady warm glow to them he had not seen in weeks. He thought about sharing his vision for the book, an improved data gathering system for storms, and more. He saved his work instead, powered down his computer, and stood next to her.
On the table next to the box of sensors he picked up his ragged road atlas. The pages for the state of Maine broke free and hit the floor.
“Think you need a new one yet?” She kidded.
He picked up the Maine pages and stuffed them back into the atlas at a random location. He set it back onto the table and turned it to the Nebraska pages. “But look,” he said. “Every page in here tells a story.”
“You’re right. The story is you need a new atlas.”
“Oh come on. There are a lot of memories here.”
Madeline rolled her eyes.
“And there are a lot of states we haven’t explored yet.”
“You mean the pages without stains or marks on them?”
John studied the red highway lines, the blue rivers, and the green forest blocks on the map. He traced his finger along the Snake River until it joined the Niobrara River west-southwest of Valentine.
Madeline tugged on his hand and led him to the front door of the house. “Let’s go for a walk,” she said in a sweet voice. She opened the door but then froze in place.
“What is it?” He said.
She reached down, picked up a red Stratego piece from the front step, and handed it over to John. “Is this another one of Captain’s jokes?”
John took the piece from her hand and turned it over. On the other side was the image of a miner. “Hardly. But I think someone is about to find their way inside your father’s basement lab. And it won’t be me.”
About the Author
Michael Galloway is an outdoors enthusiast whose interests include camping, fishing, hiking, writing, and technology. He has a degree in Journalism, and has been writing software in one language or another for over twenty years. He currently lives in Minnesota with his family.
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Also by Michael Galloway
An Echo Through the Trees
Theft at the Speed of Light
Horizons
Gathering the Wind
Corridors
Fractal Standard Time
Ionotatron
Chronopticus Rising
The Chronopticus Chronicles Series
Race the Sky
The Hammer of Amalynth
Windows Out
The Fire and the Anvil Page 13