Read A New World: Sanctuary for Free Online

parking by the two abandoned Humvees sitting cross-wise at the rear of the booths.
    “You’re not shitting,” I say trying not to breathe.   Drescoll pulls up and parks beside.   Several Green Team members exit heading over to the empty Humvees.
    ‘Why don’t you take this one as well,” I say walking over to his window.   “We’ll take the Jeep.   Just wait and make sure we can get it started.”
    “Okay, Jack.   Good luck to you,” he replies.
    “You too.   See you in a couple of hours,” I say grabbing the tool kit I brought with us from our supplies.
    Robert and I walk over to the Jeep I left parked in the visitor lot so many days ago, avoiding the booth with the boots still poking out from the doorway.   Seeing the Jeep parked there brings a little comfort.   It brings a small sense of normalcy and familiarity in a world distinctly lacking in the normal.   Climbing into the familiar seats of the Jeep, we start it up and pull out of the parking lot; waving to Drescoll and the others as we exit.
    Mom’s house is only about a forty minute drive.   We should have no problems enroute as we have travelled this way before and didn’t notice any road blockage on the way.   The lanes to the hospital in Olympia became congested but the left lane was clear as far as I could tell.   We drive out of the gate and turn south onto Interstate 5.
    “Whatcha thinking about?”   I ask Robert as we pick up speed.
    “Nothing really,” he answers.   “Just hoping Grandma is okay and thinking about Mom.   Wondering if any of my friends made it.   That sort of thing.”
    “Have you tried calling or texting any of your friends?”   I ask avoiding talk about his mom for the moment.   In truth, I really don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry.
    “Yeah, but I haven’t heard anything back.”
    “I’m really sorry about your mom, kiddo.   I know that must really hurt.   Do you want to talk about it?”   I ask.
    “Not really,” he answers.   I can tell he is holding back the tears that want to come out with the sadness he is feeling.
    “You know, this genetic change may not be a permanent thing,” I tell him keeping my eyes on the road ahead of us.
    I offer this as a hope, not really a false hope but in all honesty, I am at a loss for words.   There isn’t really anything comforting to say when dealing with a loss that great.   He looks over with a “you’ve got to be kidding” expression.
    “Seriously Robert, we can’t ever give up hope on something we want or wish for.   At any rate, know that I’m here if you ever want to talk about that, or anything.   I’m here for you.”
    “I know, Dad.   I feel at a loss right now as to what to do or where I fit in.   I mean, I was fine while we were flying as I knew what to do and had a place.   Now, I feel like I don’t know where that place is,” he says turning his face to the window.
    “There is always a place and there’s plenty to do Robert.   You and the girls will always have a place with me,” I attempt to answer his feelings of being uncertain.
    “I understand and know that, but that’s not what I really mean,” he says.   “I guess I mean that I’m thinking you won’t let me help, that you’ll try to keep us safe and won’t let me participate.   There are guys on the teams that are close to my age and I always get left behind.”
    “I completely understand.   It’s really hard for me to explain the protective nature of being a parent; the desire to keep your kids safe no matter what.”
    “But I’m not a kid anymore,” he interjects.
    “I know and you’re right in that I need to let go a little.   I would like to wait until you can be trained better but, well, just know that it’s hard for me to let you be put in a dangerous situation.   But you also need to learn,” I reply and pause for a moment to collect my thoughts.
    In truth, I have thought about this a great deal and haven’t had any