Chapter 17: The Wild Season

Our house was just north of the campus at 117 Cider Lane, a small dead end road that hooked like a candy cane. We were about three quarters of the way around the handle of the cane, in a two story cottage.

The three bedrooms upstairs were not all of a size. The back bedroom was the largest, about half again as large as either of the front bedrooms. The front bedrooms however had huge dormer windows with awesome window seats and a view towards campus. The back bedroom had smaller windows, even though it had more of them, and no window seats. Somehow it had been decided that Greta and I would have the back bedroom. There was also a small sitting room behind the stairway that enjoyed the view from the other front window, and there was a small sofa, two overstuffed chairs and a coffee table and radio.

The living room and kitchen downstairs were cozy and warm, and even more so with Mrs. Emerson in residence within them. She was a warm, sweet dumpling of a woman who wore an apron like a uniform and always seemed to have something in her hands being peeled or sliced.

Joe, Luther and I had no real time to let the true atmosphere of our new home away from home sink in. We were in meetings and practices immediately. Coach Clark left a no-nonsense impression during recruiting, and he did little to change that impression during the first few days of meetings and practices. He also left no doubt that passing was not his primary focus on offense. We were run ragged, and those who had already had a season or two under him laughed at us and told us we were fools for coming to WSU. Tom Roth, the quarterback, was quick to point out that if we were fools for coming, what did that make him and the other returning players?

We were no ship of fools though. We were a rhinoceros of fools, a tank of fools. We were buried in the dirt and mud and banging our way through it for yardage and whatever glory Coach Clark permitted us to enjoy.

The practice schedule barely left us time to be students. Against the advice of the coaching staff, I ran for the student council, and spent what little free time I had shaking hands and asking for votes. I had a light class load. This was for the experience after all, there would be no sophomore year.

There was little energy left over. Greta and Carrie complained, at first, but understood that we were only going to have the one year, and that we intended to give it everything we had. The two of them complained at first of a few guys deciding that absent boyfriends should be replaced. But if we could dredge up the will to run another 50 wind sprints for Coach Clark, we could dredge up enough energy to meet these idiots and explain things to them. Could and did. Once they'd met us, they were very understanding of our point of view on the matter.

I should have expected it, but I was just too dog tired and preoccupied with football. I 'woke' in the middle of the night to find myself once again standing beside my old pickup truck on that lonely dirt road. Sammy, Sammi, The Sergeant and the Author were there, and standing in front of them was another me.

"Hi Sam," he said with my voice.

"Hi Sam?" I answered back.

"Call me Slammin' Sammy," he said. "Its what the sports writers nicknamed me."

Slammin Sammy was wearing a Baltimore Orioles uniform, and had a bat on his shoulder.

"So," I said, looking him over. "Professional baseball, eh?"

"You got it," he said, stepping over to shake hands. "I never fell for the football thing as a player. Did go to WSU like you though. You're going to be messing with a little history this year, Sam."

"Well, I'm kind of used to the idea of that," I answered with a snort.

"Yeah, but I mean WSU sports history in this case. This was a special year for Cougar football. This team became known as the 'Cardiac Kids', and they're somewhat legendary, at least as far as WSU alumni are concerned."

So we talked baseball, and we talked sports and athleticism in general. This Sam Kendall definitely shared my new physique.

"You didn't think that you just got it from thin air, did you?" he asked. "All me, kid. All me."

This version of me was just a little bit arrogant, I decided. But he had a keen sense of humor, throwing in little jokes as we talked. I knew it was time for the conversation to get serious when the rest of the echoes gathered around.

"Sam, you have had questions about how the event is going to work, and what is going to happen," Sammi began.

"We haven't said too much so far, but now its time to reveal a little more," Young Sammy added. "Ask us."

Damn! Finally. I caught my breath and tried to lock my gaze on all of them at once.

"Okay, when everyone goes, what's going to happen to everything else? The buildings and roads and such?"

"Nothing," the Author answered. "Almost everything will be left behind."

That was good news, and what I had been hoping to hear. I'd had visions of everything man made disappearing, and all our work to gather supplies and secure sites winding up being a wasted effort. Then the word 'almost' echoed back in my brain.

"Almost?" I asked. Slammin Sammy grinned big at that. No, I couldn't keep think of him as 'Slammin' Sammy', it just grated on me, and with his own arrogance to guide me, the Star seemed to be a good fit.

"Good boy! The aliens who are doing this don't really 'see' the buildings and roads and other human construction, but some things do register for them, and since they are in one sense, cleaning up after themselves, they will not leave any nuclear weapons, fuel or refined radioactive materials behind. They won't leave concentrated amounts of chemical and biochemical weapons behind."

"But there could still be small amounts left here and there, away from places like the ordnance depot?"

"Yes, so you'll have to be careful."

"What about other refined products? Gasoline, heating oil, that sort of thing?"

"We're not sure," Little Sammy said finally. "Large refineries maybe, but smaller sites?" He left that question unanswered.

"You're not sure?" I said, with perhaps a small trace of anger in my voice.

"We're sorry, but we only know things that rise to a certain level of conscious attention by the aliens. These kinds of things haven't risen to that level, so we don't know," the Sergeant said, defensively.

"I'm sorry," I returned. "I should be happy with whatever you can tell me. Your uncertainty just took me by surprise."

"Us too," Sammi admitted. "And don't forget, we keep talking about this in the future tense, but for us, its all happened already. We're from the future too, remember."

"Do we need to worry about the aliens seeing those of us who survive?"

"No," the Sergeant explained. "They don't really see people as physical objects, and so those people who you've touched are not giving off the 'vibrations' anymore that they recognize as being people."

"Vibrations?" I asked, jokingly. The Sergeant caught my mood.

"Yeah, well I'm just a grunt without his gun. You get an explanation using the words I know, okay?"

"I know a lot more words than the Sarge, and I couldn't do any better describing it," the Author added with a laugh.

"What about the people who I can't shake hands with?" I asked.

The joking mood died instantly. Slammin Sammy slammed his bat into the ground. "There may be people who already don't have those vibrations. They might survive too."

"Why does that make you angry?" I asked.

"There may be other actors in this drama besides us," Sammy said. "Not echoes of other people, but other forces besides those we think we know of, and they may be trying to influence the results."

"Wild cards," yhe Author suggested. "There are those who think there should always be a balance to the forces applied."

"Who?" I asked. "What other actors? What's really going on here?"

I started to fade out, and as I did, the Star plopped his bat back on his shoulder and spoke the words I didn't want to hear.

"Can't tell you that, Sam. You never save the world in a vacuum though. Too much involved. Have a good year."

I woke up to the sounds of my own voice in my ears, and unanswered questions rattling around in my head. They were driven out by the sound of Greta's voice.

"Happy birthday Sammy," she breathed into my ear, before she shifted in the dark and I was lost in the bliss of a little early morning birthday gift.