Bringer of Fire (2 page)

Oh, I dearly loved both of them, but when I felt sick, I mostly just wanted to be left alone. Thankfully, my sister’s aversion to bringing any germs back home with her that might infect her husband or my niece and nephew kept her from staying long.

My best friend, Travis Cooper, called to see if I was okay or if I needed anything. He even offered to stop by. I liked him too much to give him what I had, so I declined.

Travis and I had gone through high school together, including playing on the football team. After I served six years in the army, he had helped me get my job at the Anderson Tag Agency, where he also worked, as I completed my bachelor’s degree.

Then the cancer diagnosis struck, and Travis was one of the important rocks in my life that kept me grounded through everything. Just as with my family, I owed him a lot.

Hell, whom was I fooling? Travis definitely qualified as family to me. Best of all, he knew when to give me some space when I needed it.

One thing was certain; I’d experienced enough “babysitting” during the worst of my cancer treatments. For nearly eight months, I’d moved back into my parents’ house just so someone could help take care of me. I’d never felt so damned helpless in my entire life.

I’d hated the sense of helplessness even more than the friggin’ cancer.

I sipped at the hot soup that Lexi had brought by.

Damn, it tasted good.

Then the reality of what had just happened washed over me again and I started to feel a little nauseous. I muted the television because the horror only continued, and the story hadn’t gotten any better as evening approached.

By the time that the fire and rescue workers had started to get the fires under some sort of control, there had been only twenty-three survivors from the estimate of over two hundred and twenty occupants. I still had no idea how many of those survivors might be people I knew from the treatment center portion of the building.

Though I wasn’t an avid churchgoer, I nevertheless said a number of prayers that afternoon.

I dispensed some ice cubes into a glass and poured a generous amount of 7Up into it. Mom had always given us 7Up or ginger ale when we had flu or stomach viruses as a kid. Come to think of it, I’d slurped down of a lot of both while I was sick from the cancer treatments. Not long ago, I had gratefully returned to just water, tea, and a little coffee once the new cancer drugs had started taking effect.

With the cancer at bay, I intended for my body to once again be my temple, just as it was during my time in the army.

I’d started working out again to build back the muscle mass that I’d lost. It felt great to weightlift once again. And despite the higher grocery costs, I’d even embraced both the whole and organic health foods movements. Mom and Sis were so proud of me, but my father had only laughed.

“I grew up on fried foods, and I’m doing just fine,” Dad had teased.

This from a man who consumed anti-cholesterol and high blood pressure medications like vitamins.

I sipped from my glass of 7Up, only to have my memory kick back into action. My heart nearly skipped a beat.

Holy crap. My treatments.

Lost in the horror of the news reports was the realization that I had no place to go for my three remaining treatments. My momentary fear was replaced by absolute guilt as I focused on the fact that so many people had died today; people who I’d sort of grown used to seeing and commiserating with.

People who I’d grown fond of.

“I’m sitting here feeling worried about my treatments when I should feel lucky just to be alive.”

Additional waves of guilt made their ugly appearance, and I went back to feeling as if I was mired in a daze. I sat on the couch sipping 7Up for the remainder of the evening.

I woke up out of a deep sleep with a start. The television was on, and I checked the time on the DVR. It was around 3 a.m.

But something was wrong.

At least, something felt different.

My mind felt completely clear, devoid of the bout of anxiety and depression that I’d felt earlier. Instead, I felt at peace.

“Strange,” I muttered.

I got up to stretch and felt only a slight degree of weakness in the pit of my stomach. Maybe the virus was finally working its way out of my system.

But I still felt a little icky and wandered into the bathroom to take a shower.

The hot water was soothing and I felt better than I had in days. While I was still somber about what had happened the previous day, I detected an absurd sense of calmness inside of me.

I hated to admit that it felt good.

After washing my hair, I reached out for the soap.

It slapped into the palm of my hand like it had been thrown there!

My eyes darted to and fro, half-expecting someone to be standing there after having handed me the soap. I looked at the soap dish. It was nearly a foot away from me.

“No way.”

What the hell was going on?

There was nobody I could call. The office building that served as the only contact for my treatments was destroyed, and for all I knew, everybody who had worked there might be dead.

So much for a calming sense of peace.

After I got out of the shower, I looked in the mirror at the visage of a guy who was way too young to look that tired and out of sorts. I ran my fingers across the faint scar running across my chin where an enemy bullet had grazed it during my tour of duty in Afghanistan during the nation’s second invasion of that country following the collapse of the country’s formerly sectarian government.

Yet another occasion when Lady Luck had been watching over me.

I ran my fingers through my once-again healthy head of hair, grateful that it’d finally grown out again. Fortunately, the experimental treatments hadn’t caused hair loss like my previous bouts of chemotherapy and radiation had.

My mind gravitated back to the soap episode in the shower.

Had I been hallucinating?

In the absence of an explanation, I did the only thing that
I thought any clueless person might do under similar circumstances—I started Googling for answers.

Hours later, I gave up on Google. It had been of little or no help. That is, unless I wanted to believe that I was spontaneously becoming a Jedi Knight.

I could almost believe there really was a test to measure something called midi-chlorians.

Geeks and nerds were so creative.

Likewise, I didn’t think that any of
The X-Files
episodes that had been referenced were applicable.

I’d never been part of the nerdy crowd, but I had to admit that, years ago, I’d appreciated watching
The X-Files
. It’d seemed much more grounded than typical science fiction.

Whatever happened to Gillian Anderson, anyway?

She was so hot.

During my Internet searching, I’d read some information on telekinesis, the ability to move objects with one’s mind. However, I wasn’t certain that I hadn’t been hallucinating versus actually moving inanimate objects.

Still, I
had
held the soap in my hand. Hallucinations didn’t usually generate lather.

In the end, I had no more prospective answers than when I’d started, and I still had no idea about what to do next.

I glanced at the clock and realized that it was almost eight in the morning. It was Tuesday, and I’d normally be expected into work at the tag agency by nine. While I’d taken Monday off due to illness, my boss had always been kind enough to give me my cancer treatment days off, as well.

However, I still felt a little puny from having the stomach flu, so I reached for the phone to call in sick.

The phone unexpectedly propelled into my hand like someone had tossed it to me!

I sat there feeling stunned as I stared at the phone like it was an alien artifact.

“I damned sure didn’t hallucinate that,” I said aloud, if only to reassure myself that I was still grounded in reality.

Then a haunting thought occurred to me.

Do insane people realize that they’re hallucinating?

A couple of seconds later, the phone rang and I abruptly dropped it, as if it had burned my hand or something. It rang two more times before I built up the nerve to snatch it up to answer it.

“Yeah?” I asked gruffly.

“Mr. Bringer?”

The woman’s tentative voice sounded familiar to me.

“Yes, this is Logan Bringer.”

“This is Maria Edwards from the treatment center.”

I knew her. Maria was the cute physician’s assistant who periodically met with me during my treatments.

A hopeful feeling surged through me as I realized that at least one person I knew had survived yesterday’s disaster.

“Maria! My God, are you okay?”

I heard what sounded like a sigh of relief.

“Mr. Bringer, I’m fine, thanks. I can’t really say much right now. The police asked me to contact as many staff and patients associated with our office as I could and then report back to them.”

“Who else---”

“You’re the first person that I managed to---”

Then I heard her start crying.

“Listen, Maria, I’m so sorry about your co-workers. I-I just don’t know what to say. I thought that I was the only person left for all I knew.”

I waited as she blew her nose and pulled herself together enough to speak again.

“I’m sorry. It’s just so overwhelming, Mr.---”

“No, call me Logan.”

She blew her nose again.

“Okay. But I really have to keep calling. There’s still half the list left.”

“Yeah, I understand.”

This entire situation was just so unreal.

“Listen, Maria, what do I do? I mean, should I---”

“No. The police said that they will meet with anyone who’s associated in any way with the building. The only thing that I can suggest is that you just stay near your phone for now.”

That didn’t sound particularly hopeful.

“Okay, thanks, Maria. Listen, are you going to be okay for now?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Logan. I need to do this.”

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Sure, I’ll try. You too.”

After I hung up the phone, I dialed the tag agency to call in sick for the day. Then I turned on the news.

The reporters were all speculating on a host of possible causes for the office building disaster, including an act of terrorism.

But if it’s terrorism, who would want to blow up an ordinary office building?

Chapter 2

I spent the remainder of the day and that evening half resting at home and half wondering if I was going insane. I called my sister to touch base, but Mom still called to check on me just before dinnertime. Travis called again, as well.

I almost told Travis about my strange side effects—or hallucinations?—but thought better of it for the time being. He’d probably think that I was crazy.

But then, maybe I was.

Perhaps that was why I didn’t dare try to tell either Lexi or my mother; I was hesitant over how they might react, too.

I ate more soup and crackers and drank more 7Up.

Damn, I’d almost forgotten how good cola tasted, and despite my health food mantra, I vowed that it would maintain its presence in my future diet.

Maybe it was merely the sugar, but my mood had quickly improved and my mind felt somewhat more settled. If only my stomach would return to normal as quickly.

The next day, I actually made it into work. It felt almost strange to be there, but at least it brought me back into more of a normal routine. Each of my coworkers asked how I was feeling and my boss, Larry Anderson, was also really supportive, but everyone acted somewhat tentative toward me, except for Travis.

“Hey, Dracula, shouldn’t you be back at home in your crypt?” he teased.

I sneered. “Thanks, buddy, you’re all heart.”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’ you look a little pale, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well, stomach flu tends to do that to a person.”

His facial expression turned serious.

“Listen, Logan, we were all glued to the TV in the break room yesterday. I’m still pretty shocked about the explosion. You okay?”

I sighed.

Good question. Am I okay?

“As okay as anybody gets under the circumstances, I suppose.”

“I keep thinking about what might have happened if you’d gone to your treatment yesterday,” he said.

I looked at him and noted the serious expression on his face.

“Yeah, me too.”

Within a couple of hours, I’d fallen into a pleasant workday rhythm and life began to feel a little more like normal. For a while, it felt good to distract myself with the mundane world of driver’s licenses and vehicle registrations. But eventually, I thought back to my conversation with Maria, and I felt morose all over again.