Agoraphobia

Day 362 (LOOK! LOOK! LOOK!)

It was May 28th, almost one full year since the peak. It was a pleasant spring day. There was a blue sky above and warm rays of sunshine peeking over the treetops.

We were on a scavenging expedition. Uncle Peter was driving, and Frank was in the front passenger seat. I was in the back, keeping Frank's folded up wheelchair company. Bryce was not with us that day.

"Hey, Frank," I inquired. "Have you ever been married?"

"No."

"Think you ever will?"

Frank considered that. "It's been my sad observation that career-driven lawyers make bad husbands. In all good conscience, I'd have to marry a woman I didn't particularly like, so I wouldn't feel crummy about ruining her life." He permitted himself a half-smile.

"Do you still consider yourself a lawyer?"

"Of course I do. I'm just... between cases right now."

"Between cases?!" balked Uncle Peter. "When do you expect we'll ever need a lawyer in this community?"

"Anytime now," responded Frank flatly. "Crime and dispute are inevitable. Consider that unfortunate double homicide in the 'Bad Dad House'. What if one of them had survived the fight? An attorney would have been needed to represent the survivor or he might have been unfairly executed."

"No he wouldn't." insisted Uncle Peter, "I won't permit an execution."

"What? Why not?"

"Killing a defenseless person is wrong." answered Uncle Peter with a righteous nod.

Frank blew air through his lips derisively. "Executing a criminal ensures he'll never pose a threat to anyone again."

"So would a life sentence, the operative word being 'life'."

"If your self-interests were at stake, I'm quite certain you would think differently."

"That's a rather cynical view."

"I'm not a cynic, I'm..."

"...a realist." interjected Uncle Peter, finishing Frank's sentence perfectly.

"How did you know I was going to say that?"

"Because all cynics THINK they're realists."

"Well I—

"LOOK! LOOK! LOOK!" I screeched, startling Uncle Peter so badly he almost ran the truck off the road before coming to an abrupt stop.

"What the hell?!?" snapped Frank.

"LOOK! LOOK! LOOK! DO YOU SEE IT?! DO YOU SEE IT?! DO YOU SEE IT?!" I bleated with such incredible volume, Uncle Peter winced.

"See what?!" he demanded, looking about.

"THERE! THERE! THERE! THERE! THERE! HELICOPTER! HELICOPTER!"

Frank and Uncle Peter looked up. There it was. A helicopter. Flying above and away from us. It was like spotting a unicorn. It had passed over us, heading in the same general direction as we were. Uncle Peter pursued. But it soon disappeared over the trees on the horizon.

"It was heading for New Athens," observed Uncle Peter. "...Or at least in that general direction."

"Should we go to New Athens?" I ventured.

"Helicopters don't run on regular gasoline," reasoned Frank. "They need special fuel. So we can safely assume the helicopter is working out of an airport or military base, right? And it was traveling away from Scott Air Force Base."