Different Circumstances: Part 1 of ? by Marzee Doats

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Wednesday, September 20, as the bombs hit

"Son of a bitch!"

Jake Green didn't know if he spoke out loud or if he just thought the curse.  It really didn't matter as he was alone in the car, spinning out of control in what felt like slow motion, giving him time to note with unusual clarity the circumstances he found himself in.  The radio, on which he'd been listening to the President address a Joint Session of Congress, had blipped out.  The hissing sound of static filled the car, but he couldn't pry his hands off the steering wheel in order to turn it off.  The cloud, the explosion, over Denver - where he had been three and a half hours before - which he could still see in his mind although he'd instinctively shielded his eyes and looked away.  The station wagon that had come across the line and struck him head-on before careening off in the other direction, ending up, Jake noted in a shallow ditch.  And lastly, the terrified expression on the other driver's face; he was an older man in a ridiculous fishing hat.  That terrified expression, Jake knew, was no doubt mirrored in his own. 

The car continued to spin across the road.  Jake felt his head hit the steering wheel, and then he knew nothing of what happened around him for some time.

When he came to, it took Jake a moment to get his bearings, to even decide which continent he was on.  With a groan he tried sitting up, flinching as a sharp pain shot through his leg.  He winced, probing the tear in his jeans, determining that the gash in his leg wasn't too deep, though it was still bleeding.  "Get it together, Jake," he urged himself quietly, leaning against the door.  "Assess the situation."

It took some effort to get the door open, and Jake was wheezing by the time he extracted himself from the car.  He tested his injured leg, trying to put weight on it, but it buckled beneath him.  He braced himself on the bent frame of the car, looking it over in a glance.  It was salvageable, he decided, but it certainly wasn't going to get him anywhere tonight. 

"Damn it!" Jake swore.  He had to be at least twelve miles from Jericho, and there was no way he could walk even a tenth of that distance on his injured leg.  Across the road, Jake spotted the other car.  His vision was blurred, and he had to hobble, but somehow he made it to the other side.  However, the station wagon was a total loss and both occupants were dead.  Jake sighed.  His only choice, his only chance, was to start toward Jericho, and hope that someone who could help would come along.

He had had a plan for this day, and even without the mushroom cloud - and he really didn't want to think about that at this point - nothing had gone right.  His plane had landed in San Diego at ten after midnight.  Jake had crashed at the airport hotel until six, and then joined the early morning commuter crowds to catch a flight to Denver.  That was when things had started to go wrong, with the aircraft being held at the gate with everyone aboard while a repair crew worked to repair what the pilot had described as a "two inch doohickey vital to the proper functioning of the lavatory door." 

Jake had groaned along with all the other passengers, and had started to cross stops off his mental itinerary for the day.  He could skip the visit to the Richmond Ranch, Jake had decided, reclining his Business Class seat a few inches.  He would just find Stanley the next day while Heather was at school.  And, he wouldn't stop to buy flowers at Gracie's, or go to see his mom first, but instead head directly to Jericho Elementary to surprise Heather before she left for home, and then he'd try to cajole her into joining him for dinner with his parents.  But the repairs in San Diego had taken two hours, and they had lost his checked bag for another hour in Denver, and now his car was wrecked on the side of Route 40 with dusk falling and no one who knew that he was even in the country, let alone on his way to Jericho.  "Damn, you're an idiot," Jake scolded himself.

He didn't know when he started walking toward town, he just knew all of a sudden that the two cars were out of sight, and the road stretched on before him.  When he heard the voices - high-pitched calls for help - he wasn't at first sure they were real.  Jake stopped, turning slowly to scan the terrain around him, trying vainly to focus eyes that simply would not cooperate.

"Help!"  Jake heard the shrill cry again, and he twisted around, facing the direction from which the call had come.  "Mister!  Mister!  Please!"  Two children were there, suddenly, running down the soft ridge, headed for him.

"What?" Jake demanded, adrenaline pounding through his veins.  He half-hopped, half ran toward the two.  "What is it?"

They were a girl and a boy, he identified as they all moved closer to one another.  "Mister, help!" the little girl pleaded, and Jake found himself wondering who the hell would let such a small creature out on her own after all that had happened in the last hour.  But, it was the boy's statement that caused Jake's blood to run cold.  "I think they're dying!"

Jake followed the children up the small rise, and onto a road he was sure he knew the name of, but couldn't recall for the life of him.  "Crap," he muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth, willing his brain to re-engage.  He found a rhythm, a sort of modified skip that allowed him to keep up with the kids, who were both overwrought, practically crying.  "Hey, hey, it's going to be okay," he told them, hoping he sounded even a little bit comforting.

"Promise?" sniffed the little girl. 

The boy dropped his flashlight, emitting a frustrated whine.  They were all forced to stop, while he scrambled around in the weeds along the side of the road to find the light.  Jake rested a moment, breathing deeply and balancing on his good foot.  "I - I promise," he managed to get out.  "Who's there?" Jake asked.  "Where we're going, who's hurt?  Your parents?"

"No!" the girl wailed.  "Bus Driver Dave, our - our teacher, some of the other kids."

"Bus Driver Dave wasn't moving, and he wasn't breathing."  The boy had found the flashlight, and now stood facing Jake, his expression solemn.  "He's got to be dead."

"School trip?" Jake guessed, his heart rising in his throat.  "What's - what's your teacher's name?" 

The little girl answered, confirming what Jake had already guessed for himself.  Heather.  The kids were the right age, and Heather believed in the 'experiential value' of field trips.  Her classes went to more museums, plays, concerts and camps than any of the other students at Jericho Elementary.  She ran a constant series of fundraising bake sales, pancake breakfasts, bunco nights, and silent auctions.  Even her car washes - staffed almost entirely by eight year olds - were successful, and raised the money needed to cover transportation costs and admission fees.  Of course these were Heather's students.  "What happened to your teacher?" Jake asked.  "Was she awake?"

"She fell," the boy answered.  Jake nodded once, causing his head to start swimming again, but at least the kid took it as encouragement.  With the flashlight recovered, they all started to jog down the road again, and the child continued.  "We saw the weird cloud - was that terrorists? - and then that deer was running by the bus, and the bus crashed, and she fell down."

"Could she talk?  Did she get up after she fell?" Jake demanded.

"She asked for volunteers," the girl responded.  "We volunteered."  In the darkness ahead Jake thought he saw something.  "That's the bus," the little girl squealed, pointing ahead of them, confirming Jake's suspicions.  "The deer went crazy and started running all over the road."

The boy flashed his weakening light over the animal carcass under the front bumper of the bus.  Both kids made noises of revulsion.  "It's all right," Jake told them, feeling lame even as he said it.  "Just don't look."

He pulled the kids past the deer's remains, and pried open the bus door, shoving them both aboard.  Clenching his jaw, Jake let his bad foot down on the ground, and then quickly mounted the first step onto the bus.  "Damn it!" he swore as quietly as he could manage, pain racing up his injured leg.  He managed the next two steps more easily, able to use the metal railing to help pull himself up the stairs. 

The bus driver was slumped over the steering wheel.  Jake checked for a pulse, automatically, but found nothing.  He couldn't see any blood or other obvious injury, but Jake guessed that the other man was likely killed on impact, or maybe he'd had a heart attack.  At this point, he realized he didn't care; he just wanted to find Heather, safe.

"Is he alive?"

She sounded groggy, listless, like she'd been sleeping which, Jake thought, was something Heather would never do while with a bus full of children.  Still, the sense of fear that had gripped him since he'd realized she was out here, lost and hurt, subsided.  "I don't think so, babe," he murmured, grateful that the kids were all farther back in the bus where they couldn't hear his answer.

Heather gasped.  He was facing her now, then moving across the two feet that separated them.  Carefully, he squatted next to her, fitting himself into the space in front of the seat on which she was sprawled.  "Jake?" Heather questioned, her expression one of equal parts confusion and disbelief.  "Jake - What?  You're supposed to be in Iraq," she reminded him, her voice croaking.  "We - Sunday morning - we talked.  You were in Iraq."  Her mouth puckered then, and Heather burst into tears.  "Oh, God.  Jake.  I thought - I thought -"

"Sshh, sshh, it's okay, sweetheart.  It's okay."  He stroked her arm lightly, afraid to touch her any more than that, mindful of what the children had told him.  "Are you okay?  Are you hurt?"  he asked, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek.

"Yeah," Heather told him, although she shook her head 'no'.  "I think my leg is broken," she admitted, but in the next breath she demanded, "How are you here?"

Jake brushed a hand over the leg she'd indicated.  There were no protruding bones, but it was warmer than it should have been, and she yelped at his touch.  "Iraq's over," he said.  "It's just over," Jake repeated, not wanting to get into the laundry list of ways - paperwork, depositions, courts martial - that it wasn't really over.  The Iraq part truly was over, and it was anybody's guess if the rest would ever happen now.  "Can you feel your toes?"

"Yeah," Heather replied, gnawing her lip.  Even in the darkness, he could see the tears pooling in her eyes, but she was also starting to smile.  "I'll be fine.  I'm fine.  I promise."  She reached for him then, one shaky hand catching his.  She brought his hand to her mouth, kissing it, soothing knuckles that he hadn't realized he'd bruised.  "Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered.

Jake's injured leg was starting to tremble, and so he moved into a new position, seated on the floor beside her.  "It was over, quicker than I expected," he explained, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It was over, and I got on a plane," he added.  "I just wanted to come home.  I was going to surprise you."  Jake tugged on her hand, still folded together with his, and brought her palm to his lips.  He pressed one, then two, then three light kisses to the soft flesh he found there.  Sighing, he allowed his gaze to settle on his wife's face once more.  "Surprise." 

* * * * * * * * * *

Friday, October 12, five years before the bombs

"Son of a bitch!"

Heather Lisinski both felt and heard her car's tire blow, and it seemed like a bomb had gone off, or at least what she imagined a bomb would be like.  She could feel the car slipping out of her control, starting to spin, and she swore again.  "Damn it!"  But then, instinct, or at least the lessons her father had drilled into her took over, and she found herself gripping the wheel hard while she counter-steered, hoping it would be enough to keep the vehicle from rolling.  It worked, and with the car only fish-tailing slightly, she eased off the gas, and brought it to a stop at the side of the road.

She groaned, leaning her forehead on the steering wheel, while she worked to bring her breathing back under control.  "I really don't need a panic attack right now," she murmured, casting her eyes heavenward.  She inhaled deeply, praying, "No panic attack would be great."

Heather was not having a great day, or truth be told, a great month.  She was a first year teacher in a school that hadn't seen a new or an enthusiastic teacher in quite awhile, and Heather was both.  She kept running afoul of the unwritten rules that seemed to govern every aspect of life at Jericho Elementary, and now, just when Mrs. McVeigh had agreed to consider one of her proposals, she'd almost died in a fiery wreck on her way to see the man who could help bring her idea to fruition.  Heather checked her watch, and sighed.  She was now officially late for her appointment, and she still had a tire to change.

If there was one thing going for her at this moment, it was that Heather was good with cars.  In the Lisinski house, life had seemed to revolve around the garage and the driveway.  Her dad and brothers were all car buffs, and they were always tinkering with some old clunker.  Growing up, her mother had bought her dolls and cutesy craft sets with which she was supposed to have made her own jewelry or candles or soap, and although Heather would play with these, she was just as often found in the garage, helping her father.  Heather Lisinski could change a tire in her sleep.

Heather had the spare - a full size tire, and not the doughnut version the ten year old compact car had come with - and jack out of the trunk when she heard the sound of another car approaching.  Dropping the jack on the ground, she watched as one truly beautiful muscle car - late sixties vintage, she guessed, a car any of her brothers would have killed for - pulled off the road behind her.  The driver, dressed incongruously in a dark grey suit, climbed out.  "Can I help?" he offered.

"Oh, I can change a tire," Heather answered quickly.  "I mean, I know how, I've done it before..." 

The stranger was standing beside her now, staring at her shredded tire.  He allowed a long, low whistle.  "I'm impressed," he said, glancing at Heather sideways.  "On this road, the way everyone drives it, and looking at what's left of your tire...  Most people would've ended up in the creek."

Heather looked away, blushing, though not from the compliment.  This man was awfully good-looking, and she was sure she'd been caught staring.  She cleared her throat.  "Well, the driving test my father gave before you were allowed to use any car he owned was a lot more difficult than anything the DMV has ever dreamed up."  

"Big on defensive driving, huh?" her companion asked, reaching for the lug wrench in her hand, but Heather held fast, and they ended up in a short tug-of-war.  "Okay," he relented with a shrug.  "You keep that," he said, reaching instead for the jack.

"Really, I can change my own tire," Heather protested.

"You're obviously a good driver, so I'm sure you can, usually," the stranger answered, moving the jack into place.  "But in a skirt?"

Heather looked down at her clothing, and then back at the man, who was trying hard not to smile.  "Would you believe I forgot?" she asked with a groan.  She dropped the lug wrench, and buried her face in her hands.  "I'm sorry.  You're clearly a nice person.  I mean you stopped to help a woman you've never met change a tire, and you didn't know that you were stopping to help someone who is possibly having a nervous breakdown.  You didn't know you were stopping to help someone who has to wear skirts to work everyday because the President of the PTA thinks 'a certain level of formality' will help her son learn better.  A child, I might add, who can't manage two-digit addition, so I really don't think me in a skirt is going to help him get multiplication!"

"Who's the President of the PTA these days?" her companion inquired when Heather finally paused to breathe.

"Karen Harper," she replied, surprised by the question.  "Why?"

"Just curious," he answered, beginning to crank the jack.  "Although, Karen Harper doesn't surprise me.  She was the most evil of the Saturday night babysitters, when I was a kid.  She was Karen Whitmore back then, so of course we all called her Karen Witchmore."

"Please, stop." Heather requested, placing her hand on his arm.  "If you won't let me change my tire because I'm in a skirt, I really can't let you change it when you're in a suit."

He nodded, letting go of the jack handle, and standing.  "I have jeans in the trunk," he said, moving toward his car, already pulling off his jacket.

Heather followed him.  "Do you work at the bank?" she asked, while the stranger tossed his suit jacket onto the front seat and retrieved his keys.

"What?" he replied, shooting her a puzzled look over his shoulder as he walked toward the back of the car. 

Heather was blushing again.  "I just mean, you know Karen Harper - you know that she was an evil babysitter - so you must be from around here - and practically no one in Jericho wears a suit, not even the mayor," she explained.  "The only people I've ever seen in suits are at the bank."  The stranger had the trunk open now, and he peeled off his shirt, tossing it inside.  Heather was treated to a full view of his well-muscled - she couldn't help but notice - chest.  She turned around quickly, sure that she was now bright red.  "Or, the executives at the mine," she added, willing her voice not to squeak.  "They tend to wear suits, too."

"Trust me, I don't work at the bank or the mine," he answered from behind her.  Although she'd known him for barely five minutes, Heather was sure she could hear a smirk in his tone.  "I've been in Denver for a few days, dealing with lawyers," he explained.  "As they say, 'when in Rome'."

Heather nodded, though she had no idea if he could see her.  "My sympathies," she replied.

"Thanks," he said, his voice muffled, she assumed, by the shirt he was pulling on over his head.  "You can turn around now," he added.  She did, catching him laughing at her softly, but not unkindly.  He dropped a pair of worn running shoes on the ground, toed off his left dress shoe, and then shoved his foot into the sneaker without unlacing it.  "So, what's your name?" he asked, forcing his right shoe on.

"Heather," she told him, watching as he dropped his dress shoes in the trunk, then pushed it closed.

He held out his hand.  "Jake," he introduced himself.

Heather shook his hand, which was warm, and slightly rough, and definitely masculine.  "Nice to meet you," she sighed.  "And, thank you, since I haven't managed to say that yet."

"You're welcome," Jake replied.  They walked back to her car, and Jake returned to his efforts with the jack.  "So, Heather, where are you headed?  Don't tell me that you're letting Karen Witchmore Harper drive you out of town," he demanded, glancing up at her.  "You do know that there's nothing down this road but a few farms.  Plus, it's twenty-five miles from here to Sandy Mush, and Sandy Mush is maybe one tenth the size of Jericho."

"I'm not ready to leave town yet," Heather joked, shaking her head.  "I have - well, had an appointment anyway - at the Green Ranch," she offered.  "Do you know Eric Green?  Local legend, World War Two hero, former mayor, and all-around expert on Jericho history, ecology and geology?  I was hoping to get him to come and talk to my class, but now, this whole day has been a mess, so I don't know that it's worth bothering him."

Jake cranked the jack a few more revolutions, then checked the stability of the car.  Satisfied, he scrambled to his feet.  "He goes by EJ," he told her, "And I don't think you'll have any trouble convincing him," Jake added, jogging back to his car.  Heather followed, so he didn't have to shout when he looked back over his shoulder and asked, "What's your last name?"

"Lisiniski," she replied, watching Jake curiously while he reached in through the open driver's side window to retrieve his suit jacket.  He pulled a rather large cell phone out of the pocket, and then dropped the jacket back on the seat.

Pressing a button on the side of the phone, Jake spoke into it.  "Gramps?  Are you there?"

They waited silently for a moment, and then the phone crackled softly, signalling a response.  "I'm here Jake.  Where'r you?"

Jake held the button down again, and answered.  "Route 9, just above Johnston's Creek.  Look, I've got Miss Lisinski here," he continued.  "From the school.  You two have an appointment?"

"I was just about to head down the drive looking for her," the other man answered.  "Is everything okay?"

"She had her tire blow," Jake explained.  "She should be driving for NASCAR, 'cause everything is fine except the tire.  We're going to get the spare on, and then I'll make sure she gets to the ranch for your meeting."

"Copy that, Jake.  And, you change that tire for her, young man!"

Jake chuckled, shaking his head.  "Yes sir, wilco.  See you in a while."  He turned off the phone, and noticing Heather's interest, handed it to her for her inspection.  "Gramps didn't want to carry a cell phone, but when we found these ones that double as radios, he finally gave in."

"You're Eric - EJ - Green's grandson," Heather said unnecessarily.  She held the phone out to him.  "That's a great idea."

"Jake Green, yes," he answered, accepting the phone.  He turned and tossed it back into his car, on top of his jacket.  "And, I'm pretty sure the last time he called me 'young man' I was at most fourteen, so now you really have to stop arguing with me, and let me change your tire."

Heather laughed, shaking her head and holding her hands up in mock surrender.  "I give in.  You can change the tire.  I'll just have to be twice as obstinately self-sufficient tomorrow."

"C'mon," Jake invited, leading Heather back to her car.  "You can assist."

Jake, with what help he would accept from Heather, soon had the blown tire off, and the spare mounted.  Although it was a cool afternoon, he was sweating by the time he went to work on tightening the lug nuts.  Heather couldn't help but notice that it only enhanced his rugged appearance.  Jake Green had looked good in a suit, but he looked great in jeans and a t-shirt.  Heather groaned, annoyed with her sudden and uncharacteristic obsession with the superficial.  But of course, she argued to herself, Jake Green himself didn't strike her as superficial, so it was really just a bonus that he was gorgeous.  Not that it mattered one way or the other, she reminded herself, considering that the sum total of their relationship was twenty minutes on the side of the road, changing a tire!  Heather groaned again, shaking her head in an attempt to clear it of all thoughts about her companion.

"Are you okay?" Jake asked, giving the lug wrench one last twist.  "And, can you hand me the hub cap?"

"I'm fine, just thinking too much," she told him, somehow managing - she hoped - to sound nonchalant.  She handed him the hub cap, which she had been holding in her role as 'assistant'.  "Here you go."  Jake replaced it and stood up.  The two worked together to load the shredded tire and tools into her trunk.  Once that was accomplished, Jake held her car door open for her, looking somewhat amused at how flustered the gesture made Heather.

He checked the directions that she had to the ranch, and satisfied they were correct, instructed, "I'll follow you.  And, I'm going to be watching that tire.  So, even if everything feels all right, if I honk, pull over, okay?"

"Deal," Heather agreed.  She smiled at him shyly.  "And, thanks."

Jake smiled in return.  "My pleasure."

* * * * * * * * * *

Wednesday, September 20, two hours after the bombs

"Jake, I think some of the kids might be hurt," Heather said quietly.  She shivered, and he started to think that she might be going into shock.  "I need you to take care of them.  Don't worry about me right now, just worry about them, okay?"

He nodded, pressing one last kiss to her forehead before forcing himself to stand up.  "Is anybody hurt?" he called out, scanning the dark bus, trying to count kids.  There were more of them than he'd first realized; he wasn't used to Heather's students being so quiet.  He wondered if they were all in shock.  "Anybody?"

A few seconds went by, and finally he heard a small voice from the rear of the bus.  "Stacy's sick.  She can't breathe."

"What's wrong?" Jake demanded, limping down the aisle.  The children were all watching him, their eyes wide with fear.  "What happened?" he asked, kneeling next to the girl, Stacy, who was wheezing. 

The little boy behind Stacy spoke, and Jake realized he was the one who had called him back.  "When the bus stopped," he said, making sure he had Jake's attention, "She was like this."  The boy demonstrated, resting his chin over the back of the seat.

Jake turned back to Stacy, reaching out to examine her neck.  "It's okay, Stacy," he assured her, but the little girl pulled away, clearly panicked.  "Let me see it," he ordered.  "Lemme see?" Jake tried more gently, then, "Let me just see, Stacy."  It was enough, and she stopped trying to pull away from him.  Jake checked her neck, trying to be as gentle as possible.  "It's okay, it's okay," he soothed.

"You have an ice pack?" Jake called out, catching Heather's eye.  "We gotta stop the swelling now."

Heather nodded, and instructed Lucas to get the first aid kit out from under the seat.  Lucas carried the box back to Jake, who rifled through it, quickly finding the instant ice pack.  Heather watched her husband work with Stacy, coaxing the little girl through her fear, and was overcome with a feeling of relief.  Despite everything that had happened this day, Heather was grateful - grateful that Jake was here, taking care of her kids when she couldn't, grateful that he wasn't in Iraq, grateful that the mushroom cloud she'd seen over Denver hadn't happened until he'd passed through, grateful that she wasn't a widow who would never know what had become of her husband.

Jake was frequently away from Jericho, away from home.  Even the office he ostensibly reported to was in Denver, more than three hours away, and Jake rarely went into the office, though he did avail himself of the secure parking space that came with his position.  He was often gone for weeks at a time, but the last year had been the worst.  Heather hadn't seen him since the end of July, and he hadn't been in Jericho since the Super Bowl.  Stanley Richmond, Jake's best friend, had taken to referring to Jake as 'Heather's imaginary husband', though he knew better than to do so when Gail Green was in earshot.  Heather took his teasing in the friendly, joking manner in which it was offered, sharing Stanley's frustration over Jake's prolonged absence.  Her mother-in-law, however, would not be as forgiving when it came to a perceived attack on one of her children.

"Calm down!" Heather heard him tell Stacy, bringing her back to the moment. She sat up as far as she could without injuring her leg, watching Jake work with the little girl, willing Stacy to cooperate, though Heather knew she had to be nearly out of her mind with fright.  "Hey, hey, Stacy," Jake prodded, shaking Stacy's shoulder. 

He bowed his head then, and Heather felt her heart start to race.  She didn't know what was going on, but she knew Jake, and even in the dark she could read the hunch in his shoulders; it wasn't a good sign.  All of a sudden Jake was on his feet, looking over the crowd of children.  "All right.  Look, I need everyone's help right now," he told them.  He sounded mostly calm, but Heather could detect an edge of distress in his voice.  "Who has a pen?  Does anyone?  Does anybody have a pen?"

"We have pencils," Lucas told him, and Heather had to suppress the urge to groan.  She talked to Jake about her job a lot - mainly because, usually, he couldn't talk to her about his - but obviously he hadn't picked up on the fact that third graders with pens were dangerous creatures, and so she restricted her students to pencils.

"No, I need a, I need a tube," Jake explained.  "Something hollow - a straw."

"I have a straw."  Heather turned to see which of the girls had spoken up.  It was Julie, who had surprised her earlier when she'd volunteered to go for help with Lucas.  Heather smiled encouragingly at the girl, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Jake beckoned Julie forward.  "Here, lemme see it, lemme see it, c'mon!" he ordered.  She held up her juice box, with the straw still attached.  Jake shook his head.  Heather knew he was frustrated.  "That's too thin," he muttered.  "Does anyone else have a juice box?"

Heather, who recognized the sense of hysteria building within herself, almost laughed when practically every kid on the bus pulled one out.  It didn't make any sense.  She'd only had these kids for three weeks, this was their first trip of the year, and it wasn't as if her field trips were known to be disasters.  She planned good outings!  Why would all of their mothers pack extra juice boxes?  Still, she sighed in relief, glad that they had.

Jake deputized Julie to collect straws, which she did quickly at his urging.  "Make 'em into a circle," Heather heard him instruct the little girl.  She realized then that he had his knife out, and that he was disinfecting it with an alcohol wipe.  Heather closed her eyes, suddenly understanding what he was planning to do.  She took a deep breath, trying to quell the wave of nausea that rolled over her, but to no avail.  Heather leaned over and vomited on the floor in front of her.

"Who's the strongest kid?" Jake was asking.  "You!" Heather sat up in time to see him point at Austin.  "I need you to hold her shoulders down in case she wakes up, okay?"  Heather could barely see her husband through the crowd of children that had gathered around him now.  "Don't look!" he ordered, seemingly addressing Austin, but Heather hoped the others were all listening too.  Then he asked, "Where's my straws?"

Julie handed her band-aided together straws to Jake.  Everyone on the bus seemed to be holding their breath while he attempted CPR.  After what felt like forever, but which Heather realized was about twenty seconds, Jake pulled back, half stumbling into the aisle, until he came to a rest on the edge of the seat across from Stacy.

"How'd you learn to do that?" Lucas asked Jake, awestruck.

Heather couldn't hear Jake's answer, but she knew that was probably for the best.  Whatever Jake told the kids would undoubtedly be a half-truth, if not an outright lie.  He didn't exactly lead a conventional life.

The next thing she knew, Jake was standing in the aisle, leaning over her.  "I need to check the damage to the bus, figure out if it's drivable." 

She nodded, and he disappeared out the door.  "Kids," Heather addressed her students, "I know some of you are scared, but I want you to know that you're all doing a good job, a really good job.  I am so proud of you."

"Mrs. Green?"  Julie started, a little unsure of herself.  "Who is that man?"

Heather chuckled softly, realizing how confused they must all be.  "He's my husband, honey.  He's Mr. Green," she clarified, although she knew how much Jake hated that she made her students call him 'Mr. Green'.  "I'm sorry, I should have introduced him to you all earlier."

"Wow," Lucas responded.  "Your kids are lucky!"

Heather didn't bother to remind Lucas that she didn't have any kids, if only because she agreed with the sentiment.  Her children, when she had children, would be very lucky indeed.

Jake re-boarded the bus and moved past Heather, saying, "I should be able to drive it.  I need to check Stacy."  A minute later, he carried Stacy forward, laying her on the seat behind Heather.  "Julie," he called the other girl forward, "Can you sit here with Mrs. Green, and help her watch Stacy?"  Julie nodded, and Jake showed her how to sit on the end of Stacy's seat without disturbing her. 

"Okay, do you hear how she's breathing right now?" he asked both Heather and Julie.  "You hear that noise she's making?  If it stops you have to let me know."

Julie nodded again, whispering, "Okay, Mr. Green."

Jake smiled at her, catching Heather's glance over Julie's head.  "So much for anonymity," he complained.  His wife attempted a smile in return, but otherwise didn't respond.  Jake took a deep breath.  He needed to keep going, keep moving.  He checked Stacy again.  "Stacy, you need to stay awake for me, honey.  Julie, you're going to help Stacy out, right?" he prompted the other girl.  "If she closes her eyes just shake her gently on the shoulder.  And, make sure you can always hear her breathing, like -"

Jake was interrupted by the sound of retching.  He looked away from the two girls and at Heather, who was leaning over and throwing up on the floor in front of her seat.  He moved forward, resting one knee precariously on the edge of her seat, trying not to jostle her leg.  He rested one hand lightly on her shoulder, unable to speak for a moment as his senses were assaulted by the sound and smell of vomit.  "Heather, babe," he murmured softly, stroking his hand down her arm.  He didn't feel he could offer any true words of comfort; 'It'll be all right' was an obvious lie in light of the evening's events.

"I'm okay," she gasped, looking up, a moment later.  Her eyes were watery, full of tears.  Heather wiped at her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater, grimacing at the taste of bile.  "I think it's just the pain, the stress.  I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he comforted, rubbing her arm again.  "Do you think maybe you hit your head?" 

"Maybe. I don't know.  Maybe when I fell."

"Okay," Jake started to nod, stopping because his own head started to swim.  "I did hit my head, and I need to get you and Stacy to town. I need to move the bus driver," he told her quietly.  "Which two boys can help me without getting upset and losing it?"

"Lucas," Heather answered, "Your biggest fan. And, Kevin."  She called the two boys forward, and she and Jake quickly explained to them that they needed to move Bus Driver Dave so that Jake could drive them all home.  The two boys were somber, but accepted the task, silently helping Jake move the body.

Jake moved into the driver's seat, taking a deep breath to steady himself.  Glancing back over his shoulder he addressed his charges.  "All right, everybody, sit down!"

He turned the key, the bus rumbling reluctantly to life.  Jake shifted into first gear, and gave the engine a little gas.  He eased the bus forward, the deer carcass crunching beneath the tires; he hoped he was the only one aboard who realized the source of the sound.  With care, Jake steered the bus back onto the road, breathing a sigh of relief that everything seemed to be working.

He looked back.  Julie was leaning over Stacy, Heather directing her actions.  Heather realized that the bus was slowing and turned to look at Jake, shaking her head 'no'.  "Hurry!" she told him.

* * * * * * * * * *

Friday, October 12, five years before the bombs

Jake followed Heather the last mile down Route 9, to the turnoff to the Green Ranch, glad that her tire appeared to be fine.  She slowed to navigate the unfamiliar, winding gravel drive, taking the right fork toward the house. Jake parked behind her in the circular driveway, and climbed out of his car.  His grandfather was already greeting Heather.

"I am very happy to meet you as well, Mr. Green," she practically gushed.  "And, I apologize for being late.  And," she continued, still talking a little fast, "I know you said to dress for the outdoors, and I was going to, but I had to break up a fight.  I didn't want to be late, which of course I was anyway, so I still ended up leaving school without -"

"Miss Lisinski," Grandpa Green interrupted gently.  "I'm just glad you reached us in one piece and unharmed.  I see that my grandson has taken good care of you?"

Heather smiled brightly, first at his grandfather, and then at Jake.  "Definitely!  And, despite my best efforts to thwart him."

Jake laughed, joining the conversation.  "She was quite determined to change her own tire."

"Sorry," she apologized, blushing becomingly.  "It's a hazard of being the only girl in a big family.  I am forever competing with my brothers."

"So, you drive like Dale Earnhardt, teach multiplication with the best of them, and break up fights after school," Jake mused, not really sure where he was going with any of it.  For some reason, he felt compelled to make Heather notice him.  He knew from her reactions earlier that she found him attractive, and she was certainly cute, in an innocent, fresh-faced way.  But, she'd also surprised him in at least five different ways during the last half hour.  Jake had buried himself away on the family ranch for the last four months, and suddenly that didn't seem like the best idea, not when it meant he'd missed meeting Heather Lisinski before this point.  "What was the fight about?"

Heather shook her head.  "What do sixth grade boys fight about?" she asked rhetorically.  "Actually, that's not true.  This was just a bully, picking on a smaller kid," she explained.  "Coach Bauer's son -"

"Travis."  The Green men spoke in unison, identical looks of distaste on their faces. 

"Yeah, Travis Bauer, who constantly picks on Dale Turn-"

"This was Dale?" Jake interjected.  "Is he okay?  Is he in trouble?"

Heather gave Jake an amused smile.  "Do you know everyone in this town?" she asked.  "I took them both to the office, and stayed so Coach Bauer couldn't come in and convince Mrs. McVeigh that this was just 'boys being boys' again, and to punish them both with a week of detention."  Heather sighed, "Aside from another torn shirt, Dale's fine, and not in any trouble."

"Thank you, Miss Lisinski," Grandpa Green said softly.  "We all think of Dale as an honorary Green, so you will understand our interest."

"The little brother I never wanted," Jake joked.  "'Til this year, my Mom's watched Dale after school, nights, weekends, since he was born, so his mother could work.  It's a long story, I'll - I'll have to tell you sometime," he promised, surprising himself.  Had he just implied there would be a future occasion where he would lay out for her one of the more sordid tales Jericho had to offer?  "Did you bring your change of clothes with you?"

"That I managed to do," Heather replied.

"Well then," Grandpa Green instructed, "Jake can show you to the guest room so you can change, and then we will give you a tour of the homestead."

Heather grabbed her backpack from the passenger's seat of her car, then handed it over to Jake with only a minimum of protest, managing to maintain a modicum of dignity.  He led her into the house, both of them laughing about their power struggle in the driveway, and then showed her into a small, neat, rather frilly bedroom on the ground floor.

"Here you go," Jake declared, depositing her bag on the bed.  "The door on the right is a bathroom, if you need it, and the door on the left is a closet," he explained, pointing out the two doors in the southern wall.  "You probably won't need that."

"No, probably not," Heather giggled. "Thank you."  Jake turned to exit, but before he was out the door, she asked, "So, you live here with your grandfather?"

"For the moment," Jake responded.  "My grandmother passed away five years ago, and Gramps was fine here by himself for a long time, but now he's turning eighty, and my parents are making noises about attendants and live-in nurses.  He'd hate that, so for now I'm here." He shrugged.  It wasn't the whole story, but at least it was all true.  Besides, Jake again felt himself anticipating telling Heather everything, if only he got the opportunity.

"You're a good person, Jake," Heather told him, her expression thoughtful.

Jake laughed nervously, dispelling the suddenly intimate mood.  "I don't know about that," he argued.  "And you don't either.  You haven't even known me for an hour," he reminded.

"I know," she agreed.  "But, I do know.  It's weird.  But I just feel - Somehow I know."

He cleared his throat.  "I'll let you change," Jake said.  "We'll be in the kitchen.  Back down the hall, all the way to the other end."

"Okay.  Thanks, Jake."  Heather smiled at him, and this time, let Jake go.


* * * * * * * * * *

Wednesday, September 20, two and a half hours after the bombs

Johnston Green faced a crowd unlike any other he'd encountered during his thirty years as mayor of Jericho, Kansas.  Yes, these were the same citizens he dealt with every day, but they'd never been this nervous, this upset, this scared. They had never had a reason to be, until now.

"My boy is still out there!" a man in the crowd called out, frustration and fear evident in his tone.

Johnston nodded.  "And, the sheriff is out there right now, looking for your boy and my daughter."  He took a deep breath.  Maybe authoritative and in-charge was not what this crowd needed, he thought.  Maybe, as much as he hated it, they needed to be reminded that he had his own stake in this. 

"My daughter-in-law is out there, too," he started again, speaking loudly so that his voice carried over the gathering.  "She's with your kids, and any of you who know her, you know she is doing everything she can to take care of your kids, to bring them home safe."

The crowd was silent for maybe five seconds, but then erupted with questions and grumblings again.  Johnston didn't bother to try and respond this time.  He stepped off the fire truck, moving toward the fire chief, ready to order him to disperse the throng of people.  But then, he thought he heard honking.  It was faint, and he climbed back on the ladder truck in order to see over the crowd.  He looked down the road and spotted a flash of headlights.  The honking was louder now and a wave of anticipation ran through the crowd. 

A vehicle came around the corner, and someone yelled, "It's the bus!" 

It was the bus, and seconds later it pulled to a stop parallel with the fire truck, the crowd melting away to allow room. 

The first of the paramedics boarded the bus while Jake was still shouting for help.  They stopped, ready to treat Heather, but she waved them off.  "Not me!  Don't worry about me!  Stacy needs you," she told them, pointing to the girl laying on the next seat.  "She's had -"

"One helluvana emergency trach," one of the paramedics said.  "Who did this?"

"He did," Heather whispered, pointing to Jake.  "My husband."

Julie, Lucas, and a few of the other kids who were sitting near the front managed to make their way around the paramedics and out into the crowd, where they were swept up into their parents arms.  "Stacy's hurt," one of them called out, and her mother came forward, crying.  She tried to board the coach, and met one of the firemen, carrying her daughter out.

In the relative quiet that fell over the bus at that moment, Jake, too exhausted to get out of his seat, looked over at Heather.  "Doesn't this remind you of how we met?" he asked, chuckling grimly.  "On steroids?"

Heather nodded, sighing.  "Déjà vu all over again."

"Heather -"

"I love you, Jake," she interrupted, and then the parents of the remaining children swarmed aboard.  It took a few minutes for the rest of the kids to exit, and Heather and Jake were content to simply watch one another across the space that separated them, not bothering to talk.

Gail Green felt she had maintained her patience as long as anyone could reasonably expect of her, especially since one of the firemen had said that Mrs. Green was injured.  Dodging the last parent and child disembarking, she forced her way on board the bus.  Now, she was sure she was seeing a ghost.

"Jake!" she shouted, wondering if she was hallucinating.  "My God, Jake!  What - Jake!"

"Mom," he answered wearily, almost falling out of the seat and into her arms.

"How?" she asked, holding his head to her breast.  "Your face!"

"I'll be all right, Mom," he breathed against her neck.  He pulled back, shaking her off gently.  "Heather, Mom.  Heather," Jake directed his mother's attention to his wife.  "We think her leg is broken."

"Oh, honey!" Gail let go of Jake reluctantly, calling to her other son.  "Eric, help your brother!" she ordered, crossing to her daughter-in-law.  "Get April."

Eric Green boarded the bus, and helped his brother stand up.  "Where the hell did you come from?" he demanded, shaking his head.

"Around," Jake answered tiredly.  "Trust me, I won't ever try to surprise you all ever again."  Eric helped Jake to a waiting ambulance, and the EMT helped him climb aboard, trying to force him onto the gurney.  "No," Jake protested.  "My wife is right behind."  The EMT allowed him to sit to the side, and immediately started checking Jake's vital signs.  "Hey!" he called after Eric, who was already turning away.  "Hey, there's an empty prison bus out there," he told his brother, breathing hard.

"Whereabouts?"

"Cedar Run," Jake replied, relieved that he at least knew that much.

Eric nodded.  "Relax," he ordered.  "I'll take care of it," he promised, disappearing around the ambulance.

Jake's parents appeared in the doorway, Heather limping between them, her arms around their shoulders.  Jake pulled off the blood pressure cuff the EMT had left on his arm, and moved forward, on his knees to try and help.  "This is ridiculous!" Johnston complained, and for once Jake was in complete agreement with his father.  "Get this gurney out here for my daughter!" he ordered a passing fireman. 

The EMTs who crewed the ambulance reappeared and helped pull the gurney out.  Johnston and Gail helped lower Heather down, and in a few minutes, she was loaded into the ambulance, beside Jake, who reached for her hand.  Gail climbed on board as well, shooting the EMT a look that dared him to kick her off.

"Look at you both," Gail clucked, mother-hennish.  "You're both a mess!"

"We're fine.  We're going to be fine," Jake told her, hoping it was true.  He pulled Heather's hand to his mouth, kissing it absently.  "Stop worrying."

Gail snorted, shaking her head.  "Good luck with that," she told him.  "I'm your mother, it's my job."  She sighed, content for a moment to simply watch her children.  "Jake, what - how -"

"My Iraq assignment finished up," he reported, massaging the back of Heather's hand with his thumb.  "I was planning on surprising you all tonight."

Gail stared at her son.  "Iraq?  You were in Iraq?"

"You didn't tell her?" Jake asked Heather, obviously confused.  "Why wouldn't you tell her?"

Heather turned her head away, staring at the side wall of the ambulance.  "I've never figured out what I was supposed to tell or not tell," she answered dully.  "I've given up trying to decide." She dragged her arm over her eyes, and groaned.  Heather struggled to sit up, tugging at her sweater.  "This is gross," she complained, tears in her eyes, and Jake and Gail both moved to help her take it off.  "Thanks," she said softly, facing them both.  "I figured - I figured, whatever you wanted anyone to know, you told them."

Jake didn't say anything, just moved to wrap his arms around Heather.  She resisted for a moment, but then gave in, settling her head on his chest.  He pressed kisses to the top of her head, her ear, her forehead, her nose, her mouth, murmuring "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Gail sat back, inching as far away as possible, trying to give them their privacy.  She loved them both dearly, but this was between them, and Gail knew she had to stay out of it. 

After a minute or so, Heather pulled herself out of Jake's arms, though she held onto his hand.  "Gail," she faced her mother-in-law. "Do we know what happened?  Do you know what happened?"  Heather's lip quivered, but she didn't cry.  "My Dad?" she asked, a sob echoing in her voice.  "My brothers?  Mikey?"

"Honey, we don't know much.  We haven't heard anything about New York or New England -"

"What do we know?" Jake interjected, repeating Heather's query.  A wave of guilt washed over him.  He hadn't given a moment's thought to her family in Buffalo, or her younger brother, who had just started medical school at Yale.

"We know Denver, we know Atlanta," Gail told them speaking slowly.  "So far, that's all we know.  Your Dad is trying to contact the state government for more information, for instructions.  But for now, that's all we know."

Heather blinked.  "Oh, God," she murmured, gripping Jake's hand tighter.

Johnston, standing in the open back door, cleared his throat.  "The kids are talking, everyone's talking," he told them.  "You two did a great thing out there tonight."

"Thanks," Jake managed, but Heather remained silent.

"Your grandfather would have been proud," Johnston muttered, not quite able to meet Jake's eye.  He pulled one door closed.  "I gotta see what's taking those guys so long," he complained, stepping away.

Heather faced her husband, able to truly look at him, in the light, for the first time in nearly three months.  He looked awful, and she figured she looked ten times worse, but she'd never been so happy to just look at his face.  She pressed her hand to his cheek, apologizing under her breath when she accidentally brushed his cut and he groaned.  "I'm glad you're home," she told him, her voice breaking.

"Me too," he breathed, kissing her palm.  "Me, too."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *