“Where Brian Went” by Jack Kaulfus, page 6

        The tarmac was empty. For the first time since landing, panic began to flutter at the base of Brian’s stomach. He took a deep breath, and on the exhale, he spelled the names of his family waiting at home. Then he did it again. He glanced over his shoulder, memorizing the look of the path back to the building.
        There was a path on the opposite side of the tarmac, so they followed it up a rocky incline, toward the sound of rushing water. They climbed steadily for a while, maybe an hour. Brian wasn’t sure – his watch wasn’t working anymore. The rain let up, and a warm, humid mist settled upon his skin like a blanket. Brian wished he had taken the lead; in front of him, Michael was limping, slowing down. He couldn’t even see Frances any more as the path narrowed and leveled out ahead. Over the hill, he told himself, they’d get an idea of their whereabouts. Over the hill, they’d be able to see. Maybe get a drink.
        Michael sat down on a rock just off the path on the right. He pulled the leg of his jumpsuit up over his knee. It was swollen into a bluish baseball-sized knot. Brian knelt in front of him and touched the tight skin surrounding her patella. He called for Stephanie and Frances, but the water was like a wall of sound.
        Michael shook his head, his eyes bright and slightly vacant. “I don’t want to do this.”
        “You should elevate it,” he told him, standing. “I’ll come back when I see what’s over the hill.”
        “She’s okay,” Michael said. “They’re okay.”
        Michael shifted the bulk of his weight from the rock to the ground. Brian helped him get his calf up onto the rock. His lips had stiffened into a dark line.
        “I’ll come back,” Brian promised again.
        “Just wait a minute. They’re okay. I’m here.”
        Brian shook his head. He turned, leveraged his weight, and forced himself to keep going.
        Now, as he neared the summit, as the sound of rushing water grew louder and louder in his ears, he found himself registering the crosshatched trees around him as seasonless, purposeless entities. The trunks didn’t look any different from the ones nearer the tarmac, but he slowed and touched the bark of the nearest pine just to reassure himself. The tree was porous beneath his fingers, damp and soft, spongy. He pressed harder, and as he did, he caught a rhythm in the swollen, strident sound of the water - a skip on a looped recording. He withdrew his hand; his wet palm left an imprint that quickly filled again.
        By the time he raised his face to the sky to call Frances’ name, the clouds above him were darkening again. He was surprised at the sound of his own voice – the way it centered between his ears and stuck there. Maybe nothing was coming out of his mouth. Maybe it was all pointed inward. He looked down at his feet. The traction was off. When he willed himself to stop, the ground below him kept going a split second longer.
        Brian forced his legs to move forward – not daring to look down at his feet again. When he glanced back over his shoulder to holler at Michael he knew before his eyes registered the absence that Michael would be gone. This path had been designed for him. He knew there had been others on this path before him, and that there would be others on this path, later.
        He was not surprised to be alone at the summit. He could see just fine: the trees and the blowing, white-tipped grass. Even under towering thunderheads, the city spread before him was bright as broken sunlight on a windy lake. There wasn’t a wall, really, but he knew he couldn’t get down there.
        The sound of the water at the bottom of the hill below was hushed by the roar of a plane engine. Brian turned, only half expecting to see an AirTrack commuter lowering over the trees behind him. There was, of course, nothing.

**

        Two days later, the briefing rooms were full of shifting groups of people. His hands, still raw from the scrabble back in through the window of his locked room, were giving him all kinds of hell. More and more bands of people gathered at the back of every briefing and took off into the hallway. The word down the line was that four were too many. Two, too few.
        Brian pulled at the collar of his jumpsuit, wondering what day it was back home. He looked around the room for Frances. At the afternoon briefing, he thought he’d caught a glimpse of her, only to lose her again in a crowd. She was still wearing the thick silver chain around her neck. That evening, he watched from the balcony overlooking the glassed yard, and her necklace glowed white in the diffused, falling light. It was comforting. He decided to wait. He wouldn’t try to leave again without her.
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