Flightsuit (15 page)

The suit's travel through the trees left no trail for Ethan.  All he could do was travel in a straight line in the direction the suit traveled and hope it didn't change direction. 
Where would it be going?
  Ethan had no frame of reference to guess. 

He maintained a steady pace through the woods, dodging around trees
and, where he could, avoiding briar and bramble.  When he couldn't immediately spot a clear path, he plowed through briars with his forearms up to protect his face.  Ten minutes tearing through the briars traced a red patchwork across his forearms.  He stopped, caught his breath and checked the scratches making sure none was too serious.  He smiled and gave a quick headshake. 
Stupid
, he thought.  His hands dropped to his sides and he closed his eyes, concentrating on the path before him, channeling his attention forward and mentally pulling blinders shut to the side.  He opened his eyes.  He swung his arm up and to the side and dry, brittle briars broke away.  He stepped into the thick briars and pressed them away sending brown dust into the air around him.  He picked up speed again.

As he made his way, he thought of Ray.  He'd developed a habit of thinking conversations with his son since the day he'd died.  During the time Ray was in the hospital, he'd prayed for God to heal him, to give him the full life he deserved, then to take away his pain and finally for God to take care of Ray when the boy had moved on. 

He'd prayed on his knees, begging for Ray to live, hundreds of times during his last years, but had spent even more time with short wish-prayers while he worked or drove to the hospital or sat exhausted in the stiff chair by Ray's bed.  Most of these wish-prayers, didn't have formal introductions or pleasantries, no "Dear Lord", or even "Lord…" just "please" or  "help him," or something similar, dozens of times during the day.  His heart would catch right in the middle of whatever he was doing and he'd think of Ray.  He'd plead from his shattered heart.

In the last days, Ray slept most of the time.  Ethan framed mental conversations with him.  Missing Ray's smiling words, Ethan's mental conversations mingled
increasingly into his day even before he passed on.  In all the long years after his death, Ethan had more conversations with Ray than they'd actually experienced in his short life, imagining responses from fragments of pieced-together memories.  

Got to hurry
, he thought, but it was more of a question. 

But we've also got to be careful
, Ray answered.
You saw what almost happened…

I know.  It was close, but it's under control. 

Ethan imagined Ray shaking his head, his little eyes staring.

I pulled it back again
, Ethan thought. 
I just lost control for a second, there was a lot going on, and…

But it affected him,
Ray said from somewhere indistinct. 

Ray was right
.  Yes, I think so.  He had trouble catching his breath and I thought he might faint, but I rolled it back in time.  He's young.
  Ethan scowled as he climbed the steep hill, putting his hand on each knee as he stepped to push up.

How are we going to get him out of that thing?  Should have brought the crowbar, maybe I could crack it open at the seam.
  He stopped to listen. 
Have to find him first anyway.  If he's changed direction…
Ethan trailed off worrying.

Ethan sensed Ray was still concerned and reassured him,
I've got this under control.  I think I can control it now.
  Ethan knew Ray was waiting for him to open up. 
It's been so long…

I don't think so Dad
.  Ethan's throat constricted hearing Ray say "Dad".  He swallowed.  Ray seemed to sense his heartache and softly asked,
What about Oscar?

Ethan reached the ridgeline.  In the summer, with every tree covered by leaves, there were only a few ridgelines that actually offered a view of the surrounding hills and valleys.  Most, like this one were boxed in by leaves and branches allowing only gaps through the trees to see the valley below.  A large rock outcropped the ridge.  Ethan climbed up on it for the additional elevation, the rock also providing a quiet place to stand without rustling leaves.

He listened, slowly turning, careful to avoid falling from the rock.  He heard shuffling in the leaves over the next ridge, or maybe further.  It sounded like something running, or at least moving faster than the slow walking pace of a deer or a bear.  Ethan tried to focus his hearing on the sound, but instead heard the sound of helicopter blades thrumming thick, humid air.

Ethan looked up, trying to pinpoint the helicopter.  It wasn't close enough to see, and the tree cover overhead was dense. 

Might be someone looking for the boy
, Ethan guessed,
or a routine overflight looking for marijuana plants
.  In any event, it wasn't close enough to help, just close enough to completely cover the shuffling sound. 
Go on
, Ethan thought,
move on
.

He was still looking up, when something white caught his eye.  It was only above the treetops for a second before he lost sight of it.  He heard sticks break and leaves rustl
e in the direction whatever it was seemed to travel, but couldn't see or hear anything else above the low thrumming of the distant helicopter blades.  It was maddening.  The dense woods already limited his vision to short distances, making him more dependent on sound – and the helicopter reduced even that.

What was that?
  He hadn't seen it straight on, only from the periphery, but he was sure that it was white.  It stood out sharply in the green treescape.  He looked in the direction of his earlier pursuit and then back where he'd seen the white shape. 

The helicopter was closer to the direction he'd been traveling. 
If that is a search and rescue copter, and Leo is in that direction, they will find him before I do.  If that white movement was Leo though, he's going in almost the opposite direction – they won't find him, or at least I can probably get there first.

Ethan set off in the direction he'd seen the flash of white, unsure if he'd made the right choice.  As the helicopter left his original route and he heard it coming in this direction though, he began to hope he'd chosen right after all. 

Leo wasn't expecting the suit to leap.  When it did, it took him a moment to figure out what was happening. 

It walked up the ridgeline faster than he could have climbed it unencumbered.  It reminded Leo of a train.  The Clinchfield Railroad still carried loads along the Nolichucky River.  Trains sliced through the mountain valleys several times a day.  When you were close to the track, you kept an ear out in both directions.  There was something abrupt and surprising about a train suddenly appearing around a bend.  Even when you were clear of the tracks, it was a disconcerting surprise.  The train seemed out of place in the quiet.   

Reaching the ridge top, the suit slid to a stop on small gravel.  It squatted down into a deep crouch, extending Leo's arms to brace on the ground in front of it. 
It's the same pose that Ethan carved
, Leo thought.  Then, something smacked the back of his head hard, and green leaves and branches smashed into his face.  They flew through the tree tops, then sailed into clear air.  He felt leaves brush the boot tips. 

Air rushed at his face, then both of the suit's arms were in front of
him, shielding him as the leap's arc dropped him back into tree branches.  Thick branches cracked against the suit, with the leap's great momentum shattering the smaller ones out of the way.  The right arm whipped out and down.  Leo saw pieces of a huge dead limb and a mass of flying splinters flash past before the right arm came back to shield him.

Leo tightened his eyes against the impact he kn
ew was coming when they hit ground.  He expected a bone-shattering impact.  Leaves and branches exploded around him when the suit hit.  It was still traveling vertically and horizontally, but Leo could hardly tell anything had happened.  It felt like he'd jumped down from his bed.  Momentum slid them for several yards through the leaves.  The boots ripped deep into the soft dark soil and wet, fallen leaves. 

Before all the momentum was gone, the suit started running, changing direction.  Leo twisted his head to look back.  The suit had leaped from one ridge to another
, avoiding the thick rhododendron and briar growth that accumulated in the crease. 

This last mountain was steeper than all the others they'd passed.  Giant Poplar trees ran from ground to sky, with trunks straight as rulers.   The giant trees surrounded the clearing, digging deep roots into the ground away from the cliff edge.  Small scrub trees sunk their own tough roots down through rocky loose gravel nearer the edge. 

It was treacherous, sliding footing.  Leo would normally crawl low or even go on all fours to peer carefully over such sheer edges, fearing the loose rocks would give way underneath.

The suit ran up the very edge, boots sliding for traction.  Leo saw the edge ahead had fallen away leaving two large stones jutting precariously into space.  The suit didn't slow, launching from one rock to the other with a long stride.  Leo felt his heart trying to fly up out of his chest.

Looking left, he saw the tall trees too far away.  On his right, he saw only air and hazy green distant mountains.  He held his breath, expecting to slip and fall over the edge at any moment as the suit ran.

Then they crested the ridge.  Unable to see the ground near his feet, Leo expected the suit would sail off into empty air.  He felt the boots sliding across the rocks.  Finally, the sliding stopped and the suit stood up from its running crouch.  They were in a clearing atop a high cliff.

He couldn't see the ground, but the open air all around him was assurance enough that the suit must be standing directly over the cliff's edge.  His fingers tingled and his palms felt cold and sweaty as he peered over the collar's rim.  He saw the tops of tall Poplar trees in the valley below.  On all sides he looked out over valleys and mountains covered by trees, packed so tightly that he couldn't see ground.  Leo looked toward Iron Mountain.  He couldn't see any of the
houses through the tree cover, but thought he was looking at one of the mountains that circled the village valley.

Twisting his neck, he saw the forest behind the clearing.  Large rocks scattered a boundary between forest and the rock scrabble clearing.

The suit stood on the edge.  After a few minutes, the arms moved.  Both arms stretched out to each side, palms open.  It froze in position, as if the suit relished the warm midday sunlight. 

Then it was quiet.  The suite made no movement or sound.  Leo heard the squeaks and chirps of grey nuthatches as they regrouped in the clearing.  He heard, or possibly felt, a very low vibration coming from the suit.  When he focused on it, he thought it might have some minimal change of scale or pattern, but it was so faint Leo he thought it could just be his imagination.

Gradually, he heard a new sound, very faint, but increasing – a helicopter.  Leo straightened, the stiff and sore muscles of his neck locking his head in place, his mind gauging the subtle difference in volume, triangulating the helicopter's position.

He held his breath hoping the helicopter would continue growing louder. 

A branch cracked in the woods behind him.  Leo tried to see the sleeve's map, hoping it might identify a potential rescuer, or at least assure him that it wasn't a threat, but the arms were still fixed outstretched.  The map was too far to read and at the wrong angle.

He craned his neck to one side, then the next, trying to see what was coming.  The crunching and shuffling leaves suggested a person walking rather than the mulling casualness of an animal looking for food.

"Hello?" Leo asked.

Taylor pulled himself onto a sunbaked gray sandstone rock and breathed deep.  He felt the blood pumping through his jugular vein.  It thrummed in his ears. 

He was slick and slimy with sweat.  Dust and dirt mixed with sweat to make a gritty grime.  He pulled loose shirttail from his waist and wiped face and forearms.  The shirt was soaked through with sweat already, but he felt better getting the grime off.  The painful presence in his mind had blasted him several times during his trek through the woods.  He was in poor physical condition and stopped several times when he couldn't force himself to go further.  After a minute, images would flash into his head.  He learned quickly that failure to respond to the images would be corrected by the painful jarring.  Trying to breathe in the thick and humid air was like pulling oxygen out of water.  He sat on the rock expecting to receive another prod again before he could rest.  A moment passed, and another though, and he gratefully used the opportunity to catch his breath, never taking his eyes from the white figure standing on the cliff ahead.

Although he was far outside the usual range for a timesharing connection, almost fifty feet, he felt his mind beginning to connect with the person in the white suit.  For some reason, the suit was facing the cliff edge.  The toes of its boots
appeared to be almost hanging over the edge.  It reminded Taylor of the mountain statue overlooking Rio de Janeiro that stood on the precipice with white arms outstretched.  His mind recognized the figure in the suit as a boy.  He sat, still breathing hard, while he allowed the connection to fix in place.

"Hello?" the boy said again.  Taylor felt his fear, his racing rabbit's heart, trapped in a snare and fearing the step of the hunter.