Free Race Across the Sky by Derek Sherman Page A

there. They would never let him out of here. He had found a home, of that there was no doubt. Whether it was a healthy home, that was the question. He looked through the back window out at the field. The older military man, John, and a large-boned woman with star tattoos stood on the grass in some kind of yogic pose, their arms raised toward heaven. Behind them the base of the mountain was cast in amethyst shadow.
    And then he saw a slender silhouette walking calmly toward the house, thin amber hair slipping over his ears. And like healthy cells mutating into cancer, Shane’s good feelings transformed into a thunderous resentment. He opened the back door, ran down the steps, and charged him. He felt he might be flying. When he met the yellow-shirted figure of his brother, bone thin and of sour smell, Shane shoved him with both hands.
    â€œI’ve been waiting for you for hours.”
    Caleb looked surprised.
    â€œYou asked me to come here. You wrote to me.”
    â€œI was meditating. If I came to see you, I wouldn’t be angry if you went to meditate.”
    â€œIf you came to see me,” Shane spat back sarcastically. “When exactly is that happening?” His voice rose into the bruised sky. “It’s so incredibly
now
, isn’t it Caleb? To do this extreme running lifestyle thing? In the fifties you’d have been riding trains and talking about individuality. In the sixties, you’d have moved to a commune. Every generation has its way to rebel against society. But it’s all as conformist as working at any consulting company.”
    Caleb’s voice came oddly even. “This isn’t about conforming or not. I don’t care what anyone else is doing.”
    â€œWe know that, Caleb.” Shane looked up to the thin branches. The summer mountain air was breathless around them. He felt so tired he could hardly believe he was still moving. He heard his words coming out of him too fast, as if whole sentences were simply syllables. “But you care about Mack. He tells you what to eat, how long you can sleep, and you do it. And you care about that girl, June.”
    Something in Caleb’s face noticeably changed, and Shane straightened. It came to him now. The way Caleb had looked when he’d walked in and seen them talking. The way she’d looked back at him.
    â€œIs that why you wrote to me? Because of June?”
    Caleb paled. “I call her Bluebird.”
    â€œBecause of her eyes.”
    Caleb’s eyes swelled. It moved him beyond words, that Shane could see her that way.
    And Shane watched the old Caleb materialize out of the blackness like a ghost. It was in the muscles around his mouth, the relaxing of his shoulders. He touched Caleb’s shoulder. “What do you need? You want to get in the car? With her? Just tell me.”
    â€œI need to help her.”
    â€œWith what?”
    Caleb started to tremble, looking around at the aspens. “She can’t breathe. Her lungs don’t work. Her feet are all swollen.”
    â€œOkay. We’ll take her to a doctor.”
    â€œI did that.” Caleb looked up, as if pleading with the sky. “They did a blood test. There’s something wrong with her genes. Mack is doing energy healing but I don’t think it’s working. This is . . .”
    â€œThis,” Shane said respectfully, “is beyond him.”
    Caleb looked spectral. Shane had thought it was the physical stress he put on his body that had aged his brother so drastically, but now he saw there was more than that.
    â€œYou work with doctors,” Caleb whispered. “You know about new drugs. Can you find out what we should do?”
    â€œI . . .”
    Caleb bent his forehead to his brother’s. “I’ll leave here to help her.” He pulled back, blinking, as if shocked at having said these words out loud.
    Shane stared at him, his mouth dry.
    Caleb walked past him to the