“Do you know what road this is?” Dee asked.
“I think it’s Highway 287.”
“Where does it go?”
“To the Tetons, then north up to Yellowstone and into Montana.”
“We want to go to Montana?” Naomi asked.
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Because after Montana comes Canada, and we might be safe there.”
They walked for several hours. No cars passed. The road seemed to be some kind of geographic dividing line—badlands to the east, foothills rising toward mountains in the west.
The clouds thickened and by late afternoon the first raindrops had begun to splatter on the pavement. They had walked about two miles, Jack figured, and hadn’t seen a glimmer of civilization beyond the telephone poles that ran alongside the west shoulder of the road.
“We have to get out of this rain,” Jack said.
They went across the road and up into the trees—tall, straight pines that offered little in the way of shelter.
It was getting dark and the sound of the rainfall filled the woods with a steady hiss.
They sat down against one of the pines, and Jack could instantly feel the difference in his legs from just a few hours of walking on pavement. His knees swollen. Shins riddled with pain like a million tiny fractures. He grimaced as he stood back up.
“I’m going to look for something to keep us dry.”
“Please don’t go far, Jack.”
He wandered away from them up the hillside through the old-growth forest.
After a quarter mile, he came out of the trees.
Stopped, chuckled.
He led them up through the woods into the clearing, gestured proudly toward their accommodations for the evening—the ruins of a stable.
“It ain’t the Hilton,” he said. “But it’ll keep us dry.”
The logs were so weathered and sun-bleached they looked albino. The tin roof, deep brown with rust, only covered half of the shelter, and they filed into the far right corner on the only patch of dry dirt.
The rain drummed on the tin roof.
“We’re lucky to be out of the mountains,” Jack said. “Probably snowing up there.”
Through the doorway, they could see the rain falling and watch the world getting dark—a grayness deepening toward blue.
Cole crawled into Jack’s lap, said, “My stomach hurts.”
“I know, buddy, we’re all hungry.”
“When can we eat?”
“We’ll find something tomorrow.”
“You promise?”
“He can’t promise, Cole,” Naomi said. “He doesn’t know for sure if we’ll find anything to eat tomorrow. All we can do is try.”
Cole began to cry.
Jack kissed his head, Cole’s hair still wet, said, “Hush, baby boy.”
It was still raining. They hadn’t moved from their corner and they weren’t going to be moving anytime soon with it so black out there they couldn’t see their hands in front of their faces.
“I wish we could have a fire,” Naomi said.
“That would be nice.”
“I know how,” Cole said suddenly, just a voice in the dark.
“How to have a fire?” Dee said.
“How we can tell if they’re good or bad.”
“Who are you talking about, honey?”
“If we hear a car coming down the road.”
“You’ve been thinking about that?”
“If they have the light around them, we’ll know they’re bad.”
Jack said, “What light, buddy?”
“The light around their head.”
“What’s he talking about, Jack?”
“I have no idea. Cole, what light do you mean? Do we have it around any of us? Me or your mother or sister?”
“No.”
“Do you have it around you?”
The boy was quiet for a moment. “Yes.”
“What does it look like?”
“Like white light around my head and my shoulders.”
“Why is it around you and not us?”
“Because you didn’t see the lights. They didn’t fall on you.”
“Remember when I asked you if you felt different after the aurora?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any bad feelings toward any of us right now?”
“No, Daddy.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“I don’t want to sleep in here with him.”
“Stop it, Naomi. He’s your brother.”
“He’s affected. He saw the lights like the rest of those crazy—”
“He’s a child.”
“So what?”
“Has he tried to hurt you or any of us?”
“No.”
“So maybe it doesn’t affect children the same way.”
“Why would that be?” Dee asked.
“I don’t know. Because they’re innocent?”
Cole began to cry. “I don’t want to hurt anybody.”
“I know you don’t,” Jack said, and he pulled the boy into his arms.
Jack woke several hours later to Cole moaning.
“Dee?”
“What is it?”
Still couldn’t see a thing in the dark.
“Something’s wrong with Cole. He’s shivering.”
Dee’s hand slid over his and onto the boy’s face.
“Oh, Jesus, he’s burning up.”
“Why’s he shaking?”
“He has the chills. Let me have him.”
She took Cole into her arms and rocked him and hushed him and Jack lay in the dirt as the sound of rain striking the tin roof tried to carry him off.
* * * * *
COLE looked pale in the gray dawnlight that filtered into the ruins of the stable.
Jack said, “What is it do you think?”
“I can’t tell if it’s viral or bacterial, but it’s getting worse.”
“We’ll stay here for the day. Let him rest.”
“A fever is very dehydrating. He needs water.”
“You want to keep moving?”
“I think we have to.”
“What else can we do for him?”
Tears welling, she shook her head. “Let’s try to find some water, then get him someplace warm and dry. That’s all we can do.”
Dark swollen clouds.
Cold.
Everything wet and dripping.
Jack carried Cole in his arms.
The boy had woken but his eyes were milky and unfocused. Not present.
They went down through the pine forest to the road.
The first mile was a straight and steady climb. Then the road curved through a series of switchbacks, and when Jack looked down again, Cole was sleeping.
In the bend of the next turn, he stopped and squatted down in the road, keeping Cole’s head supported so he wouldn’t wake.
“There’s no way,” Jack said. “I could carry him on my shoulders for a little while longer, but not like this.”
“We can rest,” Dee said.
“Resting isn’t going to make my arms stronger. He weighs fifty-four pounds. I just can’t physically hold him.”
He looked around. They had hiked up into snow—a sloppy inch of it upon everything except the asphalt, the evergreen branches dipping and bouncing back as the snow sloughed off.
“Jack, what do you—”
“Just let me rest for a minute. He’s sleeping, and I don’t want to wake him.”
They sat in the road. Everything still except the melting snow. The wind in the spruce trees. Cole shivered in his sleep and Jack wrapped his jacket around him. Every five minutes, Dee would lay her hand against the boy’s forehead.
Naomi asked, “Is he going to die?”
“Of course not,” Jack said.
They ate enough snow to quench their thirst and make them all much colder, and Jack fed Cole pieces of slush. After an hour, they struggled onto their feet and went on. The road kept climbing. Soon there was slush on the pavement, then snow. Instead of cradling him, Jack found he could manage the weight better by carrying Cole draped over his left shoulder. They would walk a ways and then stop and start up again, the periods of walking getting shorter, the rests longer.