In fact, I had heard of them, though not seen them. I wasn’t so far removed from society to not be able to drive for a while to a library where I’d occasionally read the papers or log online. I was not too surprised to learn of the searchers’ fruitless efforts; I am but a tiny blip in an endless land, and I wasn’t exactly specific with my whereabouts in ‘my’ book.
My mother acclimated marvelously, the years of strain seeming to disappear from her face. She rejoiced by the river or in the thickets of wood, listening to the crystalline water or the brooding leaves, and I’d often find her asleep in the filtered sunlight with her observation journal by her side or on her breast. Her rather seamless transition into this brave new world inspired me to approach her one day, “Let’s invite the rest of the family.” At this, her heart swelled in excitement over ‘rescuing’ (her word, not mine) our loved ones and bringing them to this ‘oasis’.
And so, that was done, and soon we had a proper colony established here. I embraced Townsend and gave him a half-joking rebuke but thanked him for giving me the push I needed to turn kinetic potential. There were fifteen of us total, each with his own private sleeping quarters and bathroom, though most of us gravitated toward communal living, regularly sharing meals by a bonfire or bathing together in the cold river. Like a hostel, many of us often ‘had sleepovers’ in a building with several bunkbeds, in tents, or directly on the grass under the stars. We were happy, and most people’s mental and/or physical health approved much like my mother’s.
Just as we were all setting down into the routine of things, a truck – one of ours – rolled toward our camp. I mentally tried to remember who had left, but before I could recall, Townsend killed the engine, pushed open the door, and jumped out. I watched him swivel his head around. There was something in his hand. Just as he called out “Willy!” our eyes met and he jogged over to me.
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