Layne Hansen - Careful Measurements

“Goodness, son!” Harris exclaimed.

The man tried to speak but only a croaking sound escaped his throat. He gave up trying to speak and made a drinking gesture with his hand.

“You want some water?” Harris asked.

The man nodded, his eyes rolling back and then returning to meet Harris’ gaze. The old farmer lowered him to the gravel road and shuffled back to his truck. He returned, sloshing water out of a plastic bottle as he opened it. Harris held the bottle out towards the man, who wrenched it from his hand and drank greedily. He spilled more down his shirtfront than he drank.

“Thank you,” he rasped and then took a more careful drink.

“You’re welcome,” Harris replied, concern and confusion furrowing his brow. He reached down and helped the younger man to his feet.

“Thank you,” the younger man said again, limping towards Harris’ truck bed.

“You’re welcome.” He looked the man up and down again. He was trying to figure out why someone would be out here, on his land, dressed like a soldier, and in this condition. “How?” he said, perplexed. “Where?” Harris gave up trying to make sense out of what he was seeing and asked, “Where did you come from?”

The younger man gazed at Harris, either not sure what the question meant or how to answer. Finally he turned and pointed towards the northwest.

“You were over there,” Harris proclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise and recognition.

Some sort of experiment had been going on a few miles northwest from where they stood. He’d never gone there himself but a few of his rancher and farmer friends had done business with residents there.

The man nodded, tears rolling down his dirt-streaked face. Whether unashamed or too tired to care, he didn’t try to wipe them away.

“What’s your name?” the farmer asked, still unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

“Patton,” he croaked. “Patton Larsen.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harris said out of habit. “Wish we could’ve met under better circumstances. Ronald Harris,” he said, offering his hand, which Patton shook weakly. “You hungry?” Harris asked.

Patton nodded solemnly.

Harris walked to the open door of his truck and searched for food.

“Sorry young man,” he said, crinkling a bag of pistachios. “I only have these. Don’t think you could eat these do you?”

Patton shook his head and shrugged.

“Well, I don’t live too far from here,” Harris said. “Let’s head to my house and you can tell me how you got out here.”

Tears formed in Patton’s eyes again. “There are more of us… people like me… people with me,” he said, his voice breaking.

“Where?” Harris asked, his eyes growing wide with surprise.

Patton raised his arm and pointed down the hill towards a tall, gangly figure walking towards where they were standing. He then turned and met Harris’ gaze with a mirthless smile and a desperate look in his eyes. Harris grimaced. He said a silent prayer, asking for the help or the wisdom and the clarity of mind to know what to do.

“How many are there then?” he asked, feeling a surge of emotion crawl up his back and then his neck.

Patton shrugged. They got into the truck and drove down the hill towards the second man, who appeared to be in worse shape than Patton.

“How did this happen?” Harris asked after an awkward silence, still bewildered.

“They had a reason to live and a reason for us to die, I guess,” Patton said coolly, his eyes seeming to lose focus and then come back again.

This statement made no sense to Harris but he said nothing, assuming it was just babble. They reached the solitary figure in less than a minute. He was tall and painfully thin with dirty, disheveled red hair. He looked to be wearing a uniform, but it wasn’t military. It looked like someone in jail would wear. Harris opened the truck’s tailgate and the two helped him sit. Harris held a water bottle towards the man, who took it gratefully. The red-haired man opened it and commenced to drink as Patton had.

“How you doing?” Patton asked his comrade.

The man turned and looked at him with drawn and weary eyes and then looked down at his wet shirt.

“You said there are more of you?” Harris asked Patton.

Patton nodded grimly and stood. Beckoning the farmer to follow, Patton hobbled over to the next rise. As they reached the crest, they could see down the next stretch of gravel road, which went nearly all the way down to interstate. When Harris saw it his jaw went slack. A group of about a dozen people was slowly making its way up the slope towards them. They were all similar to Patton in appearance. Two pairs of people were carrying others on makeshift litters. Upon further inspection, Harris realized that Patton was in the best shape of anyone.

Harris looked at Patton and Patton met his gaze. Tears welled up in both of their eyes. Simultaneously, they made their way down the hill to meet the group and to try, somehow, to help them.

Years earlier…

The passenger train slithered across the landscape like a snake following its meandering prey. In between cities and towns the engineer could get the train up to nearly a hundred miles per hour. The train was torturously slow, however, when it climbed through the Sierra Nevada Mountains. To Patton Larsen, the slower the train traveled, the better. He was going to his destination willingly, but he was still anxious. The permanence and uncertainty of his decision still bothered him, like buyer’s remorse. This was, perhaps, his last chance to leave his past behind him and to possibly build a future. Patton shook himself out of his stupor and watched the passing landscape again.

Spring was coming early to this part of the country. Snow and ice clung to the ground in places, but for the most part it looked like the weather was beginning to turn. The sun was bright and the few clouds that he could see were unthreatening. Most noticeable was the crispness of the colors. The tall pines and wild grasses were a lush green, the snow a bright white, and the exposed earth was a rich brown.

As often happened, Patton’s mind turned inward. He suddenly thought of his mother.

“I think you’re just running away,” she replied when he told he was going away, possibly forever. “This damn experiment. What are you trying to prove?”

“Nothing. Maybe I am running away, but I don’t know what else to do.”

She turned away from him in that way she did when she was about to cry. Patton usually let these types of conversations wane, but this was too important. He had to make her understand.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. “Do you want me to go back to the hospital? That was hell for me too, you know.”

She nodded and clasped her hand around his, squeezing it then releasing then squeezing it again. She turned to him with tears running down her face. “You didn’t lose everything in that wreck,” she replied, nearly inaudibly.

She was implying that he still had her. He bowed his head reverentially and said, “I lost enough, Mom.” He nearly choked on the last word. Patton paused and composed himself. “I love you Mom, but if I don’t do this I’m afraid of what I might do to myself.”

She understood what that meant and it would have to be enough for her. She’d lost her husband, but they’d lived a long life together. She had never lost a child, but Patton’s leaving would probably be as painful. Patton lost his wife and three children, all at once, in what must have been a terrifying few moments. The ordeal caused him two years of emotional agony. Patton had tried and tried to put it behind him, but finding his way through the maze of pain was impossible. Now, here he was, on a train, headed to some experiment and a new life. He had no idea what to expect. Behind Patton was the pain of a broken and unfulfilled life. Ahead of him was, well, he didn’t know yet.