parked on a hill, maybe he would come back this way someday and need the vehicle.
Loading gear into the wagon he had carried all the way from Key West, he put on his pack and started walking down the middle of the bridge clogged with three lanes of vehicles. The dogs stayed close to him with Raven out on point as normal.
On the other side of the bridge Jamestown National Park emerged, the site of the first permanent settlement in America, a horrifically swampy and disease-filled location with little room for crops or grazing animals. A place where for the first one hundred years of its existence, five out of seven settlers died within their first year of arrival. It looked peaceful enough now, but Sam was uninterested. He had taken the tours and he moved on steadily towards his destination.
Sam found a pickup truck with a camper top he was able to get started and filled up with fuel. He drove onto the old historic scenic road and was surprised at how few abandoned vehicles he encountered. He supposed it was because the scenic road didn't really lead anywhere other than to connect the triangle of three historical sites: Jamestown, Old Williamsburg, and Yorktown.
He slowly made his way to their neighborhood and street and not much had changed since he'd visited it last almost six years before. The old maple in the front yard had fallen down in some windstorm, missing the house by inches. Even the windows appeared unbroken. He got out of the truck and walked to the front door and remembered the letter and photo on the door, both of which were tucked away safely in his pack. No notes or instructions this time.
Sam h ad misplaced his keys years ago but knew there was a spare hidden inside a small stone rabbit in a planter near the door. He picked up the rabbit and took out the slightly tarnished key. He put it in the lock and had to work it back and forth for several minutes to get the lock to turn. It finally did, and Sam forced the door open with his shoulder and heard the weather stripping around the door come unsealed from the wood with a loud sucking sound. Stale pent up air rushed past him, and he left the door open. The dogs shot into the house and started sniffing around. They seemed fascinated by the smell of master everywhere.
Memories flooded through him. The happiest times of his life had been in this house. He and Rachel had raised a girl here. They had comforted each other when they had lost little Jimmy at only one month old. Life here had been so wonderful that he was now ashamed he had taken it for granted. He had always assumed it would go on forever and even looked for better days ahead failing to appreciate what he had. Sam had violated one of his grandfather's favorite axioms, 'Boy, don't try to get happier than happy. Just happy is rare enough.'
Sam spent some time looking at the pictures on the wall and the mantel. He smiled and even cried a little. They had loved each other and known they loved each other. They were dead now, but it wasn't his fault. It wasn't even his fault he hadn't been here at the end, just chance, one of the ways things worked. It might have even made dealing with the end worse if they were dying before his very eyes and he wasn't even getting sick. That sort of emotional guilt could destroy you. No, it was better this way he thought...at least he was going to believe that because it was the only option available.
He finally summoned the courage to walk up the stairs to their bedroom. Somehow he already knew Rachel and Barbara would be together, and he was right. He found them in the master bedroom, huddled in bed. Time had taken away the pain and rigor their faces certainly showed at the end. Dead dry skin stretched over bones and their faces were no more horrific than thousands he had seen before. Sam understood that these two husks were not his wife and daughter, they were both long gone. These were just the tangible memories of their brief time in his life and on earth. He
Loading gear into the wagon he had carried all the way from Key West, he put on his pack and started walking down the middle of the bridge clogged with three lanes of vehicles. The dogs stayed close to him with Raven out on point as normal.
On the other side of the bridge Jamestown National Park emerged, the site of the first permanent settlement in America, a horrifically swampy and disease-filled location with little room for crops or grazing animals. A place where for the first one hundred years of its existence, five out of seven settlers died within their first year of arrival. It looked peaceful enough now, but Sam was uninterested. He had taken the tours and he moved on steadily towards his destination.
Sam found a pickup truck with a camper top he was able to get started and filled up with fuel. He drove onto the old historic scenic road and was surprised at how few abandoned vehicles he encountered. He supposed it was because the scenic road didn't really lead anywhere other than to connect the triangle of three historical sites: Jamestown, Old Williamsburg, and Yorktown.
He slowly made his way to their neighborhood and street and not much had changed since he'd visited it last almost six years before. The old maple in the front yard had fallen down in some windstorm, missing the house by inches. Even the windows appeared unbroken. He got out of the truck and walked to the front door and remembered the letter and photo on the door, both of which were tucked away safely in his pack. No notes or instructions this time.
Sam h ad misplaced his keys years ago but knew there was a spare hidden inside a small stone rabbit in a planter near the door. He picked up the rabbit and took out the slightly tarnished key. He put it in the lock and had to work it back and forth for several minutes to get the lock to turn. It finally did, and Sam forced the door open with his shoulder and heard the weather stripping around the door come unsealed from the wood with a loud sucking sound. Stale pent up air rushed past him, and he left the door open. The dogs shot into the house and started sniffing around. They seemed fascinated by the smell of master everywhere.
Memories flooded through him. The happiest times of his life had been in this house. He and Rachel had raised a girl here. They had comforted each other when they had lost little Jimmy at only one month old. Life here had been so wonderful that he was now ashamed he had taken it for granted. He had always assumed it would go on forever and even looked for better days ahead failing to appreciate what he had. Sam had violated one of his grandfather's favorite axioms, 'Boy, don't try to get happier than happy. Just happy is rare enough.'
Sam spent some time looking at the pictures on the wall and the mantel. He smiled and even cried a little. They had loved each other and known they loved each other. They were dead now, but it wasn't his fault. It wasn't even his fault he hadn't been here at the end, just chance, one of the ways things worked. It might have even made dealing with the end worse if they were dying before his very eyes and he wasn't even getting sick. That sort of emotional guilt could destroy you. No, it was better this way he thought...at least he was going to believe that because it was the only option available.
He finally summoned the courage to walk up the stairs to their bedroom. Somehow he already knew Rachel and Barbara would be together, and he was right. He found them in the master bedroom, huddled in bed. Time had taken away the pain and rigor their faces certainly showed at the end. Dead dry skin stretched over bones and their faces were no more horrific than thousands he had seen before. Sam understood that these two husks were not his wife and daughter, they were both long gone. These were just the tangible memories of their brief time in his life and on earth. He
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