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Authors: Anderson Atlas
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find that flower. Allan described them as large like a sunflower. But instead of sunflower seeds in the middle, it has a bulb full of thick, dusty pollen. The outside petals weren’t long and skinny like a sunflower, but short and round and heavily layered. It would make a beautiful flower, if they were real.
“Follow the sign for the Boy Scout camp,” Laura says.
A half hour later, Mrs. Domley pulls onto a dirt road. The canyon that cradled that fabled river is not far away now. The road condition deteriorates, but is still traversable. She takes a left at the Marigold fork— a drive that leads to a large Boy Scout camp. Once she passes the camp, the clearly marked signs end.
“Slow now. The field is just over the next rise.”
However, the MINI Cooper doesn’t quite make it over the hill. The last rain washed out the middle of the road. What is left is a deep crack the little yellow car could only pass if a giant picked it up and placed it on the other side.
“This is the end of the road for us.” Mrs. Domley looks worried. “Can Allan get by this?”
“Oh, no problem. He’d go around. Stay here, let me go and see if he’s in the field. I’ll be right back if I see him.” Laura says. “He’ll be zig-zagging all over the grass looking for the flower.”
“Okay, dear. Don’t go too far without getting me. If you need to get on the hiking trail, I’ll go with you,” Mrs. Domley says.
“But your allergies.” Laura’s mother had epic allergies and was not a fan of hiking because of it.
“I’d rather get a migraine than have you hike alone. Check the field then come get me.”
Laura nods and hops out of the small car, holding her phone in one hand and the two coffees stacked in the other. She checks her cell to see if she missed a call or text from Allan. He hasn’t responded to her, and now her phone doesn’t have service.
On either side of the dirt road are tall pine trees and thick ferns, but once she gets to the top of the hill, it opens up. A huge field of grass extends to the other side of the canyon. This time of year the wild flowers are in full bloom and as stunning as a fireworks finale. Every color of flower—yellow poppies, white chamomile, purple cornflower, golden tickseed, red trumpet vines—were showing off, soaking up the warm sunlight. She’d never noticed so many types of flowers until meeting Allan. His meticulousness gives her goose bumps.
However, she should be able to see his chair in the grass. She scans the field. It’s two or three hundred yards across. The river runs along the far side next to a canyon wall. She squints in the morning light, wishing she had a pair of binoculars. No Allan. Her eyes water and she blinks furiously. Rubic was right, he’d never come up here by himself.
When Laura turns around, a woman emerges from behind a thick tree trunk. She’s pointing a gun. Laura drops the coffees and screams.
Chapter 7
Mysterious Coffee Cups
The knock on the front door had ripped Rubic from a strange, but pleasant, dream. When he binges on junk food he usually dreams unusual things. This dream was no less odd: filled with talking pepperonis, rain that was dark and fizzy like soda pop, and a mudslide made of pudding. He’d answered the door and spoke to Laura rather rudely. He felt guilty for being short with her.
“Oh, we’re slobs!” Rubic declares thinking Allan is in his bedroom. On many nights the two binged on junk food and fell asleep to movies.
Rubic shuffles his tired body down the hall to Allan’s bedroom and knocks on the door. “Hey, bud. Laura’s outside,” The door swings open, squeaking lightly. No Allan. He notices Allan’s light-frame wheelchair against the wall and his empty closet. He’d left!
Rubic’s dreariness evaporates. He got rid of Laura and, after closing the door on her, stood in the entryway, thinking. Where would that boy go this time of the morning? And on a Saturday? Rubic, having lost Allan before,
“Follow the sign for the Boy Scout camp,” Laura says.
A half hour later, Mrs. Domley pulls onto a dirt road. The canyon that cradled that fabled river is not far away now. The road condition deteriorates, but is still traversable. She takes a left at the Marigold fork— a drive that leads to a large Boy Scout camp. Once she passes the camp, the clearly marked signs end.
“Slow now. The field is just over the next rise.”
However, the MINI Cooper doesn’t quite make it over the hill. The last rain washed out the middle of the road. What is left is a deep crack the little yellow car could only pass if a giant picked it up and placed it on the other side.
“This is the end of the road for us.” Mrs. Domley looks worried. “Can Allan get by this?”
“Oh, no problem. He’d go around. Stay here, let me go and see if he’s in the field. I’ll be right back if I see him.” Laura says. “He’ll be zig-zagging all over the grass looking for the flower.”
“Okay, dear. Don’t go too far without getting me. If you need to get on the hiking trail, I’ll go with you,” Mrs. Domley says.
“But your allergies.” Laura’s mother had epic allergies and was not a fan of hiking because of it.
“I’d rather get a migraine than have you hike alone. Check the field then come get me.”
Laura nods and hops out of the small car, holding her phone in one hand and the two coffees stacked in the other. She checks her cell to see if she missed a call or text from Allan. He hasn’t responded to her, and now her phone doesn’t have service.
On either side of the dirt road are tall pine trees and thick ferns, but once she gets to the top of the hill, it opens up. A huge field of grass extends to the other side of the canyon. This time of year the wild flowers are in full bloom and as stunning as a fireworks finale. Every color of flower—yellow poppies, white chamomile, purple cornflower, golden tickseed, red trumpet vines—were showing off, soaking up the warm sunlight. She’d never noticed so many types of flowers until meeting Allan. His meticulousness gives her goose bumps.
However, she should be able to see his chair in the grass. She scans the field. It’s two or three hundred yards across. The river runs along the far side next to a canyon wall. She squints in the morning light, wishing she had a pair of binoculars. No Allan. Her eyes water and she blinks furiously. Rubic was right, he’d never come up here by himself.
When Laura turns around, a woman emerges from behind a thick tree trunk. She’s pointing a gun. Laura drops the coffees and screams.
Chapter 7
Mysterious Coffee Cups
The knock on the front door had ripped Rubic from a strange, but pleasant, dream. When he binges on junk food he usually dreams unusual things. This dream was no less odd: filled with talking pepperonis, rain that was dark and fizzy like soda pop, and a mudslide made of pudding. He’d answered the door and spoke to Laura rather rudely. He felt guilty for being short with her.
“Oh, we’re slobs!” Rubic declares thinking Allan is in his bedroom. On many nights the two binged on junk food and fell asleep to movies.
Rubic shuffles his tired body down the hall to Allan’s bedroom and knocks on the door. “Hey, bud. Laura’s outside,” The door swings open, squeaking lightly. No Allan. He notices Allan’s light-frame wheelchair against the wall and his empty closet. He’d left!
Rubic’s dreariness evaporates. He got rid of Laura and, after closing the door on her, stood in the entryway, thinking. Where would that boy go this time of the morning? And on a Saturday? Rubic, having lost Allan before,
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