Even sound took on a life of its own.
The wind was akin to people whispering in his ear, each one a voice of judgment from the past; his father, his mother, his siblings, even Skye. All blaming him. See. This is what happens when you leave home. This is what happens when you help someone. This is what happens when you’re not here. You should have stayed on the farm.
Hours turned into night. Two nights.
The hallucinations got worse.
He’d seen his father before him beckoning him to follow him into the light.
It didn’t matter if he squeezed his eyes shut — the torment never ceased.
Perhaps someone will see me.
Maybe the farmer will find me.
But there was no one coming. Who would be out there? The world had gone to hell, and anyone with a lick of sense would be hunkered down, weathering out the storm, listening to battery-powered AM/FM radios, and waiting on emergency updates. That’s what he should have done. He should have stayed in Los Angeles County.
But instead, he was out of the city. Alive. Alive? It seemed like a cosmic joke.
Colby berated himself, going back and forth between blaming himself to blaming her — Alicia. Memories came rushing back: the bail-jumper, the proverbial pain in the ass, the blackout, Carl, Daisy, Manny, Leo.
And who could forget the near-death experience outside his home or the confrontation with Russians?
Then this happened.
He sighed.
Where was Alicia now? Probably raped. Dead. Dumped in a ditch?
If he’d just listened to his intuition he wouldn’t be in this situation. It hadn’t failed him yet. They’d made real progress using that old 70s truck those Russians had left behind. Hell, they’d covered two hundred and eighty miles in two days. It should have taken them roughly five hours to cover the same distance on an ordinary day, but with all the detours, clogged roads, and trouble, it had taken far longer.
From L.A. to Humboldt it was roughly six hundred miles, now only three hundred remained.
Halfway home.
They were halfway when problems arose.
He groaned thinking about it. If she’d just listened to him. Why didn’t she listen to him? Better still, why didn’t he ignore her request?
They could be miles down the road by now. Closer to home.
It didn’t matter now. He wouldn’t see that curtain of redwoods again.
High above him, birds circled just waiting for him to take his last breath. One day his skeleton would be found, a morbid sight, a puzzle for someone to solve.
Again, his father appeared before him.
Go away, go away! He mumbled through cracked lips, his throat as dry as the Gobi Desert.
Then as if the sight of him couldn’t be worse, he saw her.
Skye.
Beautiful. Skye.
Those deep blue eyes, that fair skin, her scent. It was as real as the last time he held her. Perhaps he was even dead already. Yes, that’s what this was. Limbo. Purgatory. A holding state for his soul before he stood before the Good Lord and was judged for his crimes, for murder, for unforgiveness.
He would plead his case, say it wasn’t his fault, that he was born a Riker. He had no choice. He didn’t get to choose his parents, his culture, his country, his life? From the first day he sucked air into his lungs, he was destined for trouble.
A huge breeze blew up in his face, bringing grit into his mouth.
A fine layer had already settled all over him.
Colby spat, feeling the cold nip at his extremities.
Although he was in California, January was still cold. Cold for California. Not cold enough for snow but cold enough to suffer from hypothermia. The body’s default temperature was 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit. Hypothermia could set in once the body fell below 95. It was way below that. At night it must have been 30 degrees or even lower. He was already showing signs of confusion — seeing and hearing things that weren’t there.
Colby.
Skye’s voice carried on the wind.
Was the veil between the here and there so thin that he could hear her?
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he said, not able to even produce tears.
He was a fool to believe that he could escape the past.
Run away to L.A. Dodge the bullet. Avoid the inevitable. Who was he kidding?
Colby pushed the dark thoughts down as far as he could. The way he always had. It’s what had allowed him to function — to avoid hitting the bottle and becoming another bum on the streets of L.A.
He lifted his head one more time, thinking he heard a bark, but it wasn’t Kane. Kane was gone too. Just like Alicia. Probably shot and lying beside the road, nothing more than roadkill for the vultures to feast upon.
Let go. Let go, Colby.
The voice inside became stronger.
He’d fought it, clinging to this life and all its regrets, but maybe he could go. Maybe it would be better.
There was no way to change what had led him to this spot, no way to change what lay before him, no way to change who he was. Every experience, both good and bad, had brought him to this place of misery, this landscape of death that would become his grave.
A blurry figure before him beckoned him into a golden light.
But that’s all it was, sunlight in the distance, a beautiful flame.
As the sun faded upon the horizon and another day merged with night, Colby closed his eyes, ready to move toward the light behind his eyelids. While he had a heart full of regrets, a past of mistakes and pain, at least he’d lived on his terms, tried to amend his wrongs, and spent his final days helping someone. That had to matter. His words were barely audible. “I’m coming, Father, I’m coming.”
TWO
Delirious. The world flared up around Colby, nothing but a blur as something rough turned his jaw from side to side. Light stabbed through his eyelids. White. Blinding. Too much. Too bright. He grimaced, a groan escaping his cracked lips. Then the
