“You’re old,” Don said with a sniff. “That’s to be expected.”
Rodney made a face. “Don’t you start in on that again.”
“Your blood pressure is high.”
“So what? Not like it matters now.”
“You have an enlarged prostate.”
“I’m gay,” Rodney said, deadpan. “It helps.”
Don didn’t want to laugh. He wanted to stay angry. He wanted to have this out. But he laughed. Of course he did. To most, Rodney was slightly dour, a little grumpy. Don thought he was one of the funniest people he’d ever known. Yes, he was biased, but no one could make him laugh like Rodney.
“You’re terrible,” Don said as he chuckled. “Just awful.”
“I am aware, yes.”
The vehicles in front of them began to inch forward once more.
“We’re all lost,” Don said. “I think we go through most of life feeling that way. But now? With all of this? It’s exponential, to a point.”
“What do you mean?”
“It can only go so far. I think we’re reaching the peak. I don’t know why, but I’m feeling… calmer? Calmer than I have in days. Even with all we’ve seen in the last weeks, all we’ve heard, I’m getting calmer, not more scared.” He paused. “It’s almost like I’ve been infected by the hippies.”
Rodney tapped his hands against the steering wheel. “It’s the inevitability. We know there’s nothing we can do to change it. It’s almost like acceptance, I guess. You know what I’ve noticed? Cell phones.”
“What about them?”
“Look at the people out there,” Rodney said, nodding toward the windshield. “See the people standing outside? See the people in their cars? You pass by people, and their heads are always down, looking at their phones. Always on their phones when they’re driving, when they’re walking, when they’re eating or on the shitter or watching TV. That little magic rectangle filled with everything known to mankind. All of our history. Everything we’ve learned. It’s all there. But no one’s looking at their phones anymore. Not really. It’s like it took the end of the world for people to look up and see each other.”
“Amelia,” Don said.
“She saw people too,” Rodney said darkly. “But in a different way than most people. We aren’t good, Don. We aren’t bad, either. We justare, like most people. We’ve done things right. We’ve done things wrong. We’ve made catastrophic mistakes. But we’re not like Amelia. We have purpose.”
“She did too,” Don said. “Or she thought she did. Does that make her any more right or wrong than we are?”
“Well, yes, Don. We didn’t kill people.”
“When you put it like that, I suppose you’re right.”
They sat in traffic for a long time.
Swan Lake in Montana, with waters so clear the stones resting on the lakebed were visible. They’d been here before. Not quite in this area, but close. Bigfork wasn’t too far away, along with an even bigger lake: Flathead.
Something was wrong with the sky. As dusk settled, the reds and oranges of a sunset did not appear: rather, the sky was a shifting mixture of violet, green, and a blue so dark it almost looked black. One could be forgiven if they thought it was the aurora borealis. It wasn’t; the space anomaly had done something to the light in the sky, making it look surreal, as if from a dream.
The moon was full, bright. Don thought about what the Man in Charge had said, how he hadn’t given much thought to the moon beyond it being in the sky. That had all changed, and Don wondered why he’d never really thought about it before, not like that. When had he lost the curiosity and wonder found in youth? Did it disappear with the cynicism that comes with age? He’d spent so much time with his head down, trying to get through life. Now, he never wanted to look away from the sky again.
They weren’t alone. The campground by the lake wasn’t full, but there were plenty of people around: some in cars, some in trucks, some in RVs bigger than Don and Rodney’s. Tents had been set up and fires were going. Music played from multiple different directions: country music, oldies, classical. To their left, Garth Brooks sang. To their right, Run-DMC. In the distance: someone hadan electric keyboard and was playing “Clair de Lune.” That song again.
Don and Rodney had kept their distance. Some had waved at them as they’d gotten out of the RV, but most minded their own business.
Until the two young women came over.
They were sitting in ratty folding chairs. Canned soup on the fire. Chicken noodle. Warm juice. Slightly stale bread. A feast of champions. Don didn’t mind.
“Looks like we’re about to have company,” Rodney said quietly, and Don looked up beyond the fire.