Bloodline (The Forgotten Origins Trilogy) (2 page)

“Of course I want to drive!  You really believed me?”  Putting on what I hope
appears to be a real smile; I slide across the bench seat and snatch the keys from her hand.  The dim light must help, because she smiles back at me and walks around the front of the truck, her step a little lighter.

Jacob climbs into the backseat, reaching over to
seize the blanket. “I’m cold,” he complains, “and hungry.”

“Well
, it’s too late to get anything in town, but there’s a frozen pizza and rocky road ice cream at home!” Mom offers, her spirits lifted by the suggestion.  We all agree that greasy cheese and chocolate are exactly what we need.

As
we pull out of the lot, Mom erupts into a series of violent sneezes.  It startles me, especially since she doesn’t have allergies.  After four or five of them, it seems to have passed and she laughs at herself, sniffing.

“Bless you!  Geez, what was that?”  I ask,
studying her.  The street lamps illuminate her face randomly as I drive under them, and a sense of foreboding fills me.  For whatever reason, the sneezing bothers me more than the crazy scene we just drove away from.

“I must be getting a cold,
” she says, while digging around in the glove box. Coming up with an old tissue, she blows her nose fiercely.  “I’ll be fine silly.  It’s just the sniffles.”

Just the sniffles,
I tell myself.  Looking to my left, I can still make out the dark, looming mountains.  Somewhere out there, not too far away, is what’s left of that meteorite; still hot from its journey through space. A shiver runs up my spine and I find myself envious of my brother wrapped up in the blanket behind me.

Opening my eyes to an intense light, I roll over in bed and the warmth on my shoulders confirms my suspicions.  Sunlight!  Smiling, I remember that it’s Saturday.  Even though it’s early April, here in the Pacific Northwest, sunshine can never be taken for granted.  We live in what’s considered the Eastern part of Washington State, but since we are located on the slopes of the Cascades we get caught in a rain shadow.  Summers are usually nice and hot but spring is unpredictable.

Sitting up, I rub at my eyes and try to focus on
the window.  Yup, that’s definitely sunshine!  Throwing back the covers I decide to spend the day outdoors.  Maybe I’ll even take Jacob fishing at a nearby creek.  Sometimes it has rainbow trout this time of year.

Glancing at the computer on my desk, my joy wavers slightly.  I’m drawn
over to it, turning it on with a hesitant hand.  I had eagerly looked for news stories when we got home last night and to my relief, there hadn’t been any mass reports of casualties or anything like that.  From what I could find, most of the Northern States and Canada got the show of their lives, or millennium really.  There were local reports of numerous meteorites entering the atmosphere and several that were suspected to have made impact.  One gal in our county claimed a piece landed in her pool, but that was under investigation.

The one that we saw seemed to be the biggest and the scientist
s were saying on the late news that they were organizing a team to go look for it this weekend.  It could have been as big as five feet when it hit, which is huge for a meteorite. However, it landed in an extremely rough, secluded area, so odds are that it might never be found.

I don’t know why I’m afraid to look at the stories this morning.  I just feel…off.  Like there is something hanging over my head and if I acknowledge it, it’s going to fall.  Stupid, right?  I bring up the news sites and browse through the top stories, most o
f which are about the Holocene shower.  It’s everything I expect to read and nothing weird.  Several on-line pictures confirm that it was as crazy as I remember.  It hadn’t been a dream.  So what’s bothering me so much?

Shrugging, I exit out and turn off the computer.  Maybe it’s because of Dad.  Thinking
back I try to recall what he had said about the shower.  I know he studied it extensively because it was a rare event, but I don’t know why he thought it was
so
important.

Three years ago he
talked about taking the whole family to Egypt to see his parents. I was always bugging him to go, but when he suggested it for my birthday and that we watch the shower to celebrate my ‘sweet sixteen’, I was surprised. I didn’t think we could even see the meteors that good from Egypt.  I know I asked him about it, and what was it he had said?  Something like: “it didn’t matter and we’d be safer”.  I thought his response was strange and out of character for him.  He said something else another time and I drum my forehead, trying to remember.

Closing my eyes in concentration, to my surprise I am taken back a year later
, to the day my parents left for their trip to Egypt.  The last time I ever saw him.  We were in his office and he was getting their passports.  He hugged me and whispered that we might have to change my birthday plans.  I had pulled back and looked at him quizzically.  My birthday was still almost two years away.  Smiling, he drew me in for one final squeeze.  He told me not to worry, that we would talk about it when he got back from Egypt.  Only he never returned.  With everything that happened in the weeks after, that had seemed so irrelevant that I’d forgotten about it. I still don’t see why it should matter now.

When my birthday
had rolled around, there was no way that Mom could afford to take us all to Egypt.  I don’t know if she would have, even If money weren’t an issue.  There were too many bad memories.  She gave me a list of options, but in the end, I decided that I didn’t want to be anywhere else but here.  I had a modest party with my family, a few friends from school and my best friend Missy flew in from Idaho.  We grew up here together, but her family moved last year because her dad got laid off and Idaho was the only place he could find a job.  It sucked.

Grabbing a robe off my bed, I wander down the hall and stop at the door to Dads office.  I go in every once in awhile, when I’m feeling alone.
The door squeaks slightly as I push it open and step inside.  I love the smell of this room; a mix of polished wood, old books and antiques.

Flipping on the light, I look around at all the familiar, comforting things that belong
ed to him.  Hanging on a peg next to his desk is his duty belt from work.  His Glock pistol, taser, and other items he’d purchased himself are still there.  It hasn’t been touched since he worked his last shift, four days before he died.

I
walk across the room to my favorite item, nestled in a rack on the far wall.  Running my hand down the smooth stock of an aged rifle, I let it linger on the intricate carving on the wooden butt.  I assume the work was done by my Great Grandfather, who had passed the rifle down to his son, and then to my dad.  Who knows?  Maybe it dated back even more generations than that.

The rifle may be old, but i
t still works.  Dad taught me how to hunt with it.  I shot my first deer not far from here, hidden in a blind that he built himself years before.

There are two other guns on the wall, both which look just as nice
, but this one is my favorite.  The memories associated with it are precious, and although it was never formally left to me, I think of it as mine.  Mom didn’t say a word the first time I took it out by myself, about a year after his death.  I didn’t bring anything back.  I’d had a nice little buck lined up in my sites, but after several heartbeats…let it walk away.  It just hadn’t seemed right.

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I turn to the other wall, where there
’s an assortment of fishing poles.  Grabbing two of them, I turn to go, but am stopped short when I see a book out on Dads desk.

Leaning over, I try to read the
tiny text on the yellowed, brittle paper, but I can’t figure out what it is.  Setting the poles against the wooden desk, I sit down to examine it.  The cover is made of worn leather, and even though I have poured through his collection several times over, it doesn’t look familiar to me.  Frowning, I try to read the title, but it’s too faded and I don’t even think it’s in English.  What is that, Latin?

Turning the pages
back to where it was left open, I can see that there’s a combination of what I’m guessing is Latin and hieroglyphics.  Hand-written notes are scribbled all over the margins in what has to be my fathers’ unique script.  “Since when did Dad speak Latin?” I ask the empty room.  “And who left this here?”  Perplexed, I rise to go find Mom and question her about it.

Before I reach the hallway, I hear wet, rattling coughing from her room next door. 
Dropping the book back on the desk, I rush towards the sound of my mom gasping for breath.

“Mom!  Are you okay?”  She
’s sitting in the middle of her bed, surrounded by used Kleenex.  Her nose is red and her eyes have heavy bags under them.

“I’m okay now,” she says
as she tosses another wad of tissue onto the pile.  “I just needed to clear my throat.  I swear I feel like I’m drowning in snot!”  Lying back against a stack of pillows, she looks closely at me.  “You’re not sick. That’s good.  Going fishing?”

I look at the poles in my hand.  I don’t even remember picking them back
up.  “Oh! I was thinking of taking Jacob down to the creek, but we don’t have to go.  It wouldn’t be right leaving you here when you’re feeling this crummy.”

“
Don’t be so dramatic Alex; it’s only a head cold.  If it’ll make you feel better, you can get me some breakfast, and bring me a bunch of vitamin C. Then go do whatever you want, there’s no reason for the two of you to be cooped up in here with me.”  Rubbing at her nose again, I can tell she is trying her best not to cough.

I know
Mom well enough to understand it’s best to do whatever she says.  I would never win this argument, and she’ll be happy if Jacob and I enjoy the sunshine, even if she can’t. “Got it!” I tell her, smiling. “I’ll be right back with your order.”

I go to the kitchen, but
just stand staring into the open refrigerator, unsure of what I want to attempt.  None of us are great cooks.  That was Dad’s department.  There’s a carton of eggs and a couple of other things I could use, but honestly, the only reason we have eggs is because our neighbor keeps bringing them to us.  She’s very proud of her hens.

A
fter some internal debate I close the door without removing them.  Instead, I grab a pack of frozen waffles.  Sticking four of them in the toaster, I go in search of some vitamins.  I locate them in the back of a cupboard at the same time that the waffles pop up.

I’m rather proud of myself
when I place the food and other items in front of my mother.  I even found some orange juice.  “Thank you Alexandria,” she says with a mock British accent, tucking a napkin regally into her nightshirt.  Laughing at her, I’m glad that she still has a sense of humor.  That’s a good sign.

“Jacob!  Breakfast is ready!”
I yell on my way back to the kitchen.  I find him already there, his mouth crammed full of food, including what was going to be mine.  Fighting the words that threaten to come out, I instead get the box back out of the freezer.  It’s easy enough to make some more.  Jacob can be a bit…sensitive, and I want today to be positive.  “How about we go fishing when you’re done?”

Looking at me with a huge grin on his face, he nods
excitedly.  “Seriously?”

“Seriously,
” I reply, pointing to the rods in the corner for proof. “I think we might find some trout down in the creek.”

“Sweet!  I haven’t even gotten to use
my new pole yet.  Grandpa has to stop getting me that stuff for Christmas; I have to wait too long!  Watch him get me a snow sled this summer for my birthday.”  Jacob rolls his eyes for emphasis as he swirls the last of his waffle in a puddle of syrup.

Eager to leave, he
drops his empty plate in the sink and runs to his room.  Our Golden Retriever, Baxter, chases after him.  The two have been inseparable ever since an old friend of Dad’s gave him to us, right after his death.  It was strange at the time, because we didn’t even know him, but Mom was polite about it and didn’t want to refuse the gift.

Once
the guy left town, she swore that we’d have to find the dog a home.  It was the day after Dad’s funeral and Jacob hadn’t spoken or interacted with anyone for almost two weeks.  It all changed that afternoon when Baxter went to him in his room and proceeded to lick Jake’s face until he started to giggle.  It was like music to my mom’s ears. From that moment on, boy and dog were one, and Mom was in love.  Baxter seemed to know Jacob needed his help, and it was amazing to see how therapeutic their relationship was.  It took time, but Jake slowly came back to us and Baxter stayed.

Running back down the hall to my room, I pluck my phone off its charger and send a quick message to Missy.
  While waiting for a response, I decide to look through some pictures I’ve taken and slide my finger over the screen.  I love this phone!  It was my main birthday gift, and even though I had begged for several months, I never really thought I would get it.  Dad always had a thing against cell phones.  He and Mom eventually had to have them for their jobs, but they weren’t smart phones.  I feel kinda guilty, because mine is nicer than Moms. I thought I might get an old style like hers, but I didn’t expect this.

A little chirping noise indicates
I’ve got a response and I quickly read it:
Ya, sunny here 2.  Going on a bike ride.  Wish U were here!!!!!
!


Missy likes to use lots of exclamation marks and smiley faces. 
I already miss her.  It was nice to see her for my birthday, but it seems like months ago, not two weeks.

We’ve probably been setting some sort of texting record ever since, although both our parents laid down the law about not texting after ten at night and turning them off if we’re driving.  I guess the thrill of it is wearing off a little bit, because I didn’t even take it with me last night.  It dawns on me that I could have used it to record video of the meteors and groan at the missed opportunity.  I
t probably would have gone viral!

I type out a quick response, telling her that Jacob and I are going fishing
, and then toss it on my bed.  No way am I taking it out in the woods with me!  I know we’ll end up in the water, and I would die if it got ruined.  Not to mention it was made very clear to me that it would NOT be replaced if something happens to it.

By the time I get ready, check in on Mom and go out to the garage, Jacob and Baxter are there waiting for me.  Jacob has some lures in his hand and seeing me, holds them up.  “How about these?”

Smiling, I open up a different tackle box.  “Those are nice ones, but way too big for these trout.” I pull out some foul smelling glittery fish paste and red salmon eggs.  “These will work better.”  Putting them back, I latch up the small box and pick it up.  “You wanna carry the poles?”  In reply he drops the hooks and grabs them from me.