Do Not Resuscitate. Charley Brindley
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sure you’re all right?”
“I’m good, Coach.” I stood. “Don’t worry. I was just…um…thinking about my Spanish assignment.”
On the sidewalk, I waited for the bus, trying to sort out my thoughts.
So many weird things. Some guy in a hospital room, dressed in a light blue suit. He’s the one who told me about the iPad in the loft of the round barn. An iPad is a computer. What’s a computer?
Someone came to stand behind me. I glanced around; Crammer.
I hope he starts something about his place in line. This time, he’ll be the one on the ground.
“Where did you learn to play basketball?”
In the Marines, I wanted to say. Wait a minute; I was a Master Sergeant in the Air Force. How did I get in the Marines, and in Vietnam? Where the heck is Vietnam? Oh, yeah. Southeast Asia.
“Um, I’ve got four brothers. We play ball in the backyard.”
“You going out for the team?”
“I don’t know.”
I saw Patsy and Melody come out the double doors of the school building. I waved to them. They waved back, smiling.
Crammer turned that way. “Friends of yours?”His expression looked like he’d just gotten a whiff of something rotten.
“Yeah,” I said. “They are.” I walked toward the girls. “You can have my place in line,” I said over my shoulder.
“Hey,” Patsy said.
“Hi. Which bus do you girls ride?”
“Um…three,” Melody said. “But we walk home.”
“How far is it?” I asked.
“About two miles.”
“That’s a long walk.”
“Better than riding the bus,” Patsy said.
I looked toward the place where bus number three would pull up. Ember stood in line, talking to Henry Witt.
“Let me guess,” I said, “Ember and her gang like to serenade you on the bus?”
Patsy nodded.
The four school buses pulled up, and the kids began to file on.
“I’ve got to get home to start on my chores,” I said.
“Don’t forget lunch,” Melody said.
“Right. See you two in the bleachers tomorrow.”
I found Mom in the kitchen, working on supper. I kissed her cheek.
“How was school today?”
“Good. Very good.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “I’m going to start on chores. I have a lot of homework tonight.”
“I thought you hated homework?”
“I have some interesting assignments. History and poetry.”
She stared at me for a moment, then smiled. “Can you gather some eggs for me?”
“Sure.”
I grabbed the egg basket and headed outside. On the porch steps, I stopped to look across the backyard, past the clothesline and beyond the blacksmith shop. There stood our barn. It was huge because Dad stored a lot of hay for the winter. It was also different than most barns; it was round.
How’d that blue doctor know about our round barn? And if there really is an iPad in the loft, everything just got a lot weirder.
In the barn, I climbed the ladder.
Wow, tons of hay.
I glanced around the huge loft.
Surely, they left me a clue; otherwise, I’ll never find it.
Lots of old harnesses hung on the walls. Cobwebs everywhere.
Spiders have been at work here for decades.
An old coal oil lantern, broken doubletree, leather mule collar stuffed with straw…all covered in dust and cobwebs.
Wait a minute.
I waded through the hay to the lantern. It was perfectly clean; no dust, no spider webs.
That hasn’t been here very long. A lantern lighting the way?
I cleared the hay, down to the floorboards–and there it was: A cardboard box, just about the right size. And two more boxes.
Inside the first one, I found an iPad.
I sat back against the wall, stunned.
That guy at the hospital, he said I’d find the computer here.
So, that was a dream?
I was seventy-nine years old, dying. He knew I’d end up here, my home when I was fourteen. I’m in my body as a teenager, but I have all my memories and knowledge of seventy-nine years!
This is one hell of a hallucination, and so elaborate.
I glanced around. Every detail perfectly recreated.
I died before Caitlion got back with my Big Mac. That must be what happened. Then what is this? Afterlife? No, I don’t believe in any of that crap. I’m lying in that hospital bed, hooked up on wires and tubes. Damn it. ‘Do Not Resuscitate.’ What’s the point of signing a legal document if no one reads it? I should have had it tattooed on my forehead.
My body died, and they’re pumping life support shit through my veins. My brain is alive but hopped up on painkillers. And my mind, with no control over my dead body, has to do something.
So, I’m constructing this elaborate fantasy to entertain myself?
Two minds. Conscious and subconscious. When we sleep, the subconscious takes over, feeding dreams to the comatose conscious part. Now I’m inside the subconscious, playing this ridiculous game of reliving my high school years.
How long can it go on?
Until Caitlion gets back from McDonalds. She’ll tell them to pull the plug. She knows very well I don’t want to exist as a vegetable.
How much time do I have?
In here, in my fantasy, time may not matter. And I won’t even know when they cut my life support.
Until that happens, I’m going to enjoy this little piece of make-believe.
I opened the iPad and tapped the screen.
Uh-oh. Password.
He didn’t tell me the password.
Probably in the ‘Instructions’ folder, which I can’t get to without the password.
Down in the lower right corner of the screen was a stylized thumbprint.
Could it be?
I wiped my hand on my overalls and pressed my thumb to the icon.
Bam!
‘Hello, Charley.’
They–or I–had thought of everything.
I found the ‘Instructions’ folder and opened the file called ‘Instructions.’
Hard to miss that.
‘One. You are not immune to anything. There are very few vaccines in 1945. Measles, mumps, diphtheria, and especially polio, are all prevalent. You can probably get a small pox shot. Remember, don’t touch sick people, and wash your hands often.’
Polio, I bet that’s what Melody has.
‘Two. You can’t tell anyone about your mission. They’ll think you’re crazy, and you’ll be locked away in an insane asylum.’
Mission?