Chapter 1

A life that has staggered onward for far too long. A world so gray and ... normal. It was a January Tuesday, one of thousands, promising to be no different from any other. Apollo had dragged the sun upward; its destiny, to remain nothing but a dull glow behind thick clouds, then be hauled beyond the horizon.

After the usual morning run and laps, I stood knee-deep in boxes. The house was mostly done, but the garage remained challenging. So much stuff. For the hundredth time, the larger stacks of crap to be donated sat apart from a smaller pile destined to accompany me into an endless future.

The low whine of a small engine tugged my focus out through the open double-door. A compact sedan drove past just as a chilly winter gust slapped a T-shirt against my torso. Long gone was concern for the chilliness making my bones ache.

With a subdued squeal of brakes, the car pulled into the neighboring driveway. Somebody was moving into the old Harris place. They’d been a pleasant enough couple, living in the older, brick-fronted two-story until Kenneth passed away in early fall. His widow had departed for California to live with their kids.

A week later, the house had gone on the market, but winter isn’t a hot time for home sales. Yet it had sold. When the sign out front disappeared, I’d expected the buyers to arrive, but that’d been a while back.

Well, there they were. Bundled in hats, coats, and gloves, a slight man, a petite woman, and a college-aged girl piled from the vehicle to look around. When they saw me, I sent them a quick wave and a grin. That only got me three wide-eyed surveys.

Okay, a guy clad in only shorts and a T-shirt might’ve been an unusual sight, but as I said, the cold meant nothing to me anymore. Just a marker, matching the grayness and the absence of leaves on clacking tree branches. Before I could concoct some excuse about being from Alaska or Siberia, a rumble approached, and they looked past me at a large, white truck.

Once the vehicle halted along the road before their new home, they joined a pair of overall-clad workers and began unloading. The muted chime of my phone reminded me of an afternoon flight, and thoughts of wandering over to introduce myself and help disappeared. Duty calls, and all that.

An hour later, amid the faded concrete of an airport parking garage, my sigh sent a plume of vapor into the cold air. Never enjoyed traveling in winter, whether by boot, horse, carriage, boat, or plane. But, duty - an old friend in Vegas had asked for help. A team was struggling with its newfound responsibilities.

So off this fool dutifully traveled to do the latest dutiful thing in support of a duty that had stretched for so long, too long. On the other hand, it was warmer in the desert. But the week of intensive training flew by, and far too soon, the land of gray, dead trees zipped past on the ride back home.