Living Among the Ruins

By Christopher Williams

Alan Thompson was only seventeen when the pandemic spread around the world. In a matter of weeks, human civilization collapsed. The vast majority of the human population died from the disease; they were the lucky ones.
Forced to adapt to a world without police, government, or any social order, Alan and a handful of other survivors begin a search for a way to survive in a world turned upside down.
But not all the survivors want to live and let live. One dreams of making himself king of what remains and he will do whatever it takes to make his dream come true.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Williams
• Release date: Aug 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463948408

Christopher Williams

Christopher Williams is The Telegraph's Deputy Business Editor, with a focus on M&A, business politics and the media industry, a role he's filled for the past seven years. Prior to that, he has covered tech, media and telecoms for a number of publications (including in California) – notably freelance projects for the Sunday Times, The Economist and the Guardian. Born and raised in Sheffield, he is based in London.

Book preview

Chapter 1

April 16th

Professor Nikolai Zolnerwich of the Moscow Institute for the study of Life History paced nervously back and forth. Every few moments he would catch himself pacing and make a conscious effort to stop, only to find himself pacing again a few moments later. Undoubtedly he looked like a man waiting on word of the delivery of his firstborn child. He didn’t care about appearances just now, too much was at stake. If he couldn’t stop himself from striding back and forth, he had at least managed to stop bugging the technicians that were bent over their keyboards and monitors.

Six long months of hard field-work were nearing an end, he just wasn’t sure what type of ending to expect.

The Institute had partnered with numerous other Colleges and Universities and were conducting an experiment in the mountains of Antarctica. They were attempting to drill through the ice and reach the waters of a sub-glacial lake named, Lake Clark.

Over the last several years, multiple attempts had been made to drill through the ice sheet and reach the sub-glacial lakes. The belief was that these lakes had been covered by the ice, and therefore isolated from the atmosphere for up to a million years. Several of the lakes had been reached and water samples retrieved, but the lakes were not as isolated as once believed. Evidence had been discovered recently that showed that every so often, enormous amounts of water flowed under the ice from one lake to another. Even though microbial life had been discovered in the lakes, exactly how old this life was up for debate; some scientists even argued that the underground lake system came into contact with the atmosphere, meaning the life in the lakes might not be all that extraordinary after all.

Lake Clark was different. It was located higher in altitude and in-between three mountain peaks. The mountains formed a sort-of natural bowl. Satellite imagery and ground-penetrating radar had been used to map the area around the bowl, and the evidence suggested a high probability that Lake Clark was isolated due to the granite base of the mountain range. It seemed highly unlikely that water was flowing either to or from Lake Clark. In affect, Lake Clark was their best option for finding a completely isolated body of water. In addition, the lake was at a higher altitude, and therefore had been covered by ice for a much longer time. Conservative estimates put Lake Clark’s isolation from the atmosphere at two million years.

Nikolai and his colleagues were in a race against time. In the southern hemisphere, summer is from December to March, meaning that summer had already ended and they were officially into Fall. In addition, their base was at a higher altitude, meaning they had colder temperatures to deal with. The first snowstorm had already come and gone, and a second one looked to be on the way. They were so close to their goal, but if they didn’t reach the lake soon, then the Institute’s administrators would most likely order them to stop due to safety concerns about the worsening weather.

Being ordered to stop now would ruin everything they had worked so long to accomplish. The expense of this expedition was staggering, which was one of the main reasons so many other colleges and universities had been invited to participate. The cost was simply too prohibitive for one school to manage. Leaving now would mean starting practically from scratch next summer. He seriously doubted if the majority of their university partners would continue to contribute money without any benefit from this year’s drilling.

Even if they broke through to the lake today, they would have at most probably a week to collect samples before they were ordered to leave.

The main issue they were encountering was the thickness of the ice. Prior to this drill, Lake Vostok had been the deepest lake to have been reached by drilling. Lake Vostok was covered by approximately 3,700 meters of ice. Lake Clark was covered by nearly 6,000 meters of ice, making it nearly double the depth of Lake Vostok.

Professor, one of the techs called.

Nikolai hurried to the young man’s side, pleased to see that it was Oleg who had spoken. Oleg was a graduate student in the Institute’s School of Geological studies, one of Nikolai’s own students. Yes? he asked, hating the urgency in his voice.

Sir, the readings indicate that we’ve broken through the ice.

Are you sure? Nikolai demanded, leaning over Oleg’s shoulder and staring at the terminal. It was a stupid thing to do. Nikolai was from a different era, and the readings scrolling across the monitor meant nothing to him. He could feel others moving closer up behind him, they too wanted to see what was happening.

Yes, sir. At a depth of 6,103 meters, the drill broke through into open water. Oleg turned in his seat, an enormous grin splitting his face in two. Sir, we’ve reached Lake Clark.

Nikolai hesitated only the briefest of moments before saying, Quickly! Get the drill out and begin taking the samples. It was vitally important that they get the samples, at the very least they needed nearly 200. They’d promised each college and university at least one sample. For the investment of funds they’d received, they had better deliver on that promise. But 200 samples was the bare minimum; in reality several thousand just might meet the demand for samples – it was going to be a long week.

Clapping broke out behind Nikolai and he turned to see the other professors, grad students, and technicians all grinning and celebrating. He allowed himself a moment of enjoyment as well, but only a moment. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, was the old saying and as the ranking professor on site, Nikolai knew first-hand exactly what that saying meant.

Professor, one of the grad students said timidly.

Nikolai looked toward her and she dropped her eyes.

Was I ever that meek? he thought vaguely. No, he probably never had been as meek and timid as this current batch of grad students, but there was a very good reason for that. He’d grown up in the old Soviet Union, whereas most of these students were born after its collapse. No, there was definitely justification for these student’s weakness. Sometimes he wondered about the future. What would happen when these soft children were in charge?

He realized, with a start, that he’d become lost in his own thoughts. Damn if I’m not going soft in the head! In reality, it was simply that he was exhausted and desperately needed sleep, but still he hated showing any weakness in front of students. What is it? he barked, a tad angrier than necessary.

The poor girl jumped a bit, but she held her ground.

Perhaps she wasn’t as scared of him as he thought. He wasn’t sure if he was happy about that or disappointed.

Shouldn’t you call Rector Kalganov?

Nikolai chose not to answer, instead he just stared at the young woman. After a moment, she dropped her eyes again, this time murmuring apologies. Nikolai nodded his head once and then turned and strode from the main room of the building into a smaller side room.

While it was true that the girl should have held her tongue, it was also true that she was quiet correct. Rector Stepan Kalganov was the head of the Moscow Institute for the study of Life History and it was his doggedness that had pushed this project forward. Undoubtedly, he would be here himself if he wasn’t nearly ninety years old.

Nikolai paused just inside the doorway. Whereas just moments ago he was terrified of having to call Rector Kalganov and inform him of the mission’s failure; he was now basking in the thought of notifying him of the experiment’s success.

Professor? said the young communications tech. He sat on a small three-legged stool which sat directly next to a long, low table that was covered in telecommunications equipment.

Nikolai could see the hope and excitement in the young man’s eyes. He’d certainly heard the cheering, but had been unable to come see what it was about. The communications station was one of the most important in the whole base. Truly the communication equipment was their lifeline to the outside world.

Nikolai smiled and nodded his head. Open a link to Moscow. I must inform them of our success.

The young man grinned and even snapped a salute. Right away, Professor.

It took several minutes for the tech to reach Moscow, and even longer for Rector Kalganov to get on the line. Satellite communications were tricky, and Nikolai feared they would lose the connection before speaking to the Rector, but in this his fears went unrealized.

Yes? This is Kalganov, the Rector’s old, wheezy voice called over the speakers.

Even though the old man was thousands of miles away, Nikolai unconsciously stood straighter.

Kalganov was a legend, a former professor himself who had managed to navigate the tricky waters of the old Soviet Union. The man had even been alive back in the days of Stalin. He was one of the last ones in academia who could remember the Stalinist days.

Sir, Nikolai said loudly into the microphone. The link between Antarctica and Moscow wasn’t the only barrier to their communicating. Even though Kalganov’s mind was as sharp as a tack, he was going a bit deaf. Sir, it’s my pleasure to inform you that less than ten minutes ago, the drill broke the ice into the waters of Lake Clark.

There was the briefest of pauses before Kalganov’s voice crackled through the speakers once again. Good, good. Have you began taking the samples?

Yes, sir. We began immediately upon breaking through the ice.

And your people are following protocol? We do not want the contamination in the water.

Of course, sir. We have been running practice sessions for weeks now, just to make sure that the water is uncontaminated.

Excellent. I had begun to worry that we would fail in this experiment, and I seriously doubt whether the other universities would contribute money for another attempt next year.

Yes, sir. If the weather holds, we should easily get several thousand samples.

Good. We need that many if not more. Do not fail us now, Nikolai. Your place in history is assured, but just what type of memory will people have of you? Will it be the lead scientist on an experiment that gave us insight into the world of several million years ago, or will it be the lead scientist on a failed mission that embarrassed the Institute?

Once again Nikolai stood straighter. I will not fail you, sir.

See that you don’t, Kalganov said and then the line promptly cut off.

Nikolai took a deep breath and turned away from the communications gear. He hoped the weather would hold long enough for them to get the samples. Re-entering the main room, he studied the enormous amount of activity that was taking place. Before they’d broken through the ice, everything had been so calm, almost lethargic, but now the energy level was on the verge of bursting. Although he noticed, with some pride, that even at this peak of excitement, the scientists and students were doing their jobs with precision. They simply couldn’t fail now.

The first samples were already on their way up from the sub-glacial lake. Each liter-sized sample was in its own sealed container. The sample would stay sealed, both to keep the water uncontaminated, but also until tests could be run on the samples once they’d returned to Moscow. They needed to insure that there wasn’t anything dangerous in the ancient waters.

Chapter 2

May 3rd

Looking around the banquet hall, Nikolai blinked his eyes in exhaustion. He wasn’t even sure where he was anymore, as handlers had been assigned to him, to make sure he made his appointments and appearances.

After breaking through to Lake Clark, he had hoped for another seven days to collect samples and the weather had been obliging, even giving them an extra two days longer that he could have hoped for. In the end, the base was evacuated on April 26th. The personnel and the water samples were transported to Moscow. The majority of the staff and the equipment would arrive within several weeks, but Nikolai had received special considerations and had been flown back ahead of the rest. He’d arrived on April 21st, bringing with him the first samples from Lake Clark.

He’d arrived nearly two weeks ago and it had taken several days to get his body readjusted to Moscow. Since then, there had been a never-ending succession of parties. He was being billed as a hero, a role that the Institute was only too happy to play up. The success of this experiment was bringing much needed attention to the Institute and, more importantly, funding.

Interview followed interview, most of them arranged by that old bastard Kalganov, but Nikolai wasn’t complaining. The last few years had been hellish, but he fully intended to enjoy his fifteen minutes of fame. Geology professors rarely got recognized on the street, but he now found that he couldn’t even go to the store without someone asking him for an autograph. The first time it’d happened, he’d thought someone from the Institute was playing a joke on him, but it was happening more and more, at least in the vicinity of the Moscow Institute. He doubted whether the ordinary Russian would know of him or care, but those associated with academia knew him on sight.

Congratulations, a man said. He was American and had a thick accent, but at least he tried to speak to Nikolai in his native tongue.

Nikolai nodded and shook the man’s hand, acting as if they were the oldest of friends. In truth, he didn’t have the first clue who the man was, but it didn’t matter; there wouldn’t be any tests for him to put a name to the foreign professors and faculty members. Thank you very much, he replied formally. He’d said the words so often that he was getting tired of using them, but appearances must be kept up.

The man was replaced by an older, Asian woman, who bowed and then said, in very poor Russian, Congratulations on behalf of China’s academic establishment.

He thanked her and shook her hand. Truly the number of universities and scientific organizations that had donated money to the mission was staggering. The donors were on every continent and just about every country.

Do you have any idea when my country will receive the promised samples? she asked.

Nikolai smiled at her. That very question was the single, most-often asked question of him, but unfortunately he did not have any timeline for the release of the samples. There were many tests to be performed by the Institute’s scientists, which was in accordance with the agreement the donors had signed. He expected several more months at the earliest.

I’m sorry, he said, but I really have no idea.

The Chinese woman started to say something else, but they were interrupted by a man standing at the lectern speaking into a microphone. Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. This announcement was repeated in six different languages and, with a low murmur, the guests began working their way toward their respective tables.

A young man, who was one of Nikolai’s new handlers, stepped up beside him and said, Sir, I believe that you’re expected on the stage.

Nikolai nodded and headed toward the far end of the room where a makeshift stage had been set up. A long row of chairs were spread across the stage and he knew that the one to the left of the lectern was reserved for him. Climbing the stairs, he resisted the urge to sigh. He was enjoying the fame, but listening to speeches night after night was getting bothersome. Then again, he was quite sure that this would all be over way too soon.

Nikolai had no sooner sat down than he bounded back to his feet. He’d been introduced to the speaker who was supposed to be running the presentation tonight and introducing each of the speakers, but the man who approached the lectern was not whom he’d been expecting.

Professor Kalganov worked his way slowly across the stage, pausing only long enough to shake Nikolai’s hand and give him a wink. Then the old man continued on to the lectern.

Silence quickly settled across the audience, as none of them had expected the famed Kalganov to speak tonight.

Standing there, Kalganov remained silent for a moment, letting the expectation build. He placed his hands on either side of the lectern, most likely to support his old body, and then he began to speak.

My dear friends and colleagues. Welcome to a celebration of our reaching the pristine waters of Lake Clark. He paused briefly, but this time it was to allow those who did not speak Russian to get the translation of his words through their earpieces.

Clapping began in the back and worked its way toward the front. In only a matter of moments the entire group gave them a standing ovation.

Kalganov let it go on for a moment and then raised his hands for silence. I did not come here to bask in the glory.

Nikolai just did manage to keep from reacting to the words. Without a doubt, Kalganov had come here to bask in the glory. What other reason could there be?

Instead, Kalganov continued, I’ve come here with great news. As you are aware, this expedition was funded with grants from numerous universities and other such organizations. In return, we promised those organizations that they would receive a share of the scientific treasure. Many of you have been hounding me, ever since word reached you that we had successfully penetrated to the waters of Lake Clark, for your samples, as promised. He paused again as a hush had fallen across the crowd. Well, I am pleased to announce that the hold on those samples has been lifted.

The silence was broken and a low murmur began running through the crowd, but Kalganov raised his hands again. As you can probably guess, I am very pleased to announce that we will immediately begin shipping the samples out.

Nikolai was stunned. The samples had only been in the Institute for several weeks, surely that wasn’t enough time to verify that they were safe. How could this be? Deep down a suspicion began to grow within him. Was Kalganov giving in to political pressure? Was he releasing the samples to placate their donors? It seemed the only reasonable solution.

As the crowd cheered and clapped, a knot of worry began to form within Nikolai.

Chapter 3

May 28th

Sitting on the front-porch swing, Alan Thompson stared blurry-eyed at the old pickup truck as it pulled to a stop. He’d been expecting the driver but was still disappointed to see him arrive.

His best friend, Eric Hill sat on the porch railing; he too stared out at the truck.

Eric and Alan had been best friends just about since the day Alan had moved to Tate county, Kentucky. That’d been just about a year-and-a-half ago. He and his mom and moved to Kentucky from San Diego when his parents had gotten divorced. Needless to say, Alan had been devastated, both at his parents divorce and at having to leave the only home he had ever really known.

It’d been a rough couple of years for him, but Alan was making the best of it. He and Eric had just graduated high school two days ago, although he wouldn’t turn eighteen until August 7th.

The last couple of months had improved dramatically when he started dating a young woman by the name of Anne Bailey, but her parents had spirited her off to Mexico right after the graduation ceremony. They would be vacationing there for a month and Alan found himself desperately jealous. She was going to be enjoying herself while he was forced to spend two months in Jacksonville, Florida – not exactly his idea of a great time.

The truck door opened and a middle-aged man stepped out. Both Eric and Alan stood and descended the steps toward the truck.

Hey boys. Did you guys have fun? The man asked.

The driver was Calvin Hill, Eric’s father. He was on the short side and rather plump through the middle. He was going bald but was making up for it by growing his beard long; it looked scraggly and dirty. He worked in construction, so his arms, head, and neck were tanned a reddish-brown.

"Yeah, we got to level seventeen of Dwarves of Blood and Bone," Eric said. As soon as he was done speaking, he let loose with a jaw-cracking yawn.

Uh-huh. I suppose you stayed up all night playing that fool videogame?

Eric shrugged and grinned. Not quite all night. It was still dark when we went to sleep.

Mr. Hill shook his head, his face darkening.

Eric’s father was a natural-born complainer. It didn’t even matter much what he was fussing about. He didn’t discriminate but was only too happy to complain about a wide variety of groups. One minute it would be the Democrats, but a few minutes later he was taking the Republicans to task. He was white, but he would fuss and cuss about white people in one breath and then complain about any one of a number of minorities in the next. Whites, Baptists, Muslims; he didn’t care – he was an equal-opportunity complainer.

Judging by the look on the old man’s face, he was about to start grumbling about teenagers who played videogames all night long. Alan jumped into the breach, trying hard to keep Eric, and himself, out of Mr. Hill’s line of fire.

Mr. Hill, where have you been working? Eric said you took a job out of town.

Calvin looked from Alan to Eric, and he seemed to be trying to decide if he wanted to launch into a tirade about videogames or allow the conversation to move along. After he moment he decided to answer the question.

I’ve been working for one of those environmental wackos over on Richards Island.

Alan resisted the urge to smile; at least he’d got Mr. Hill to move on from complaining about teenagers to complaining about environmentalists. Where’s that? he asked, having never heard of any Richards Island. Tate county was located in the south-central part of the state, in the Mississippi Plateau region. The county was southeast of Lake Cumberland, closer to the Daniel Boone National Forest.

It’s over in the eastern part of Mitchell county, Calvin answered. You know where Lake Hickory is?

Yes, Alan answered. At least I know where it is on the map, but I’ve never been there.

Calvin nodded. Lake Hickory used to be much smaller, but then they went and built a power plant back in the 30’s. The plant caused the water level to rise quite a bit. Anyway, Richards Island used to just be a peninsula in one of the rivers that fed the lake, but the rising water levels cut if off and made it a river island.

Huh, Alan said. He’d been trying just to change the subject, but he found the new topic surprisingly interesting.

Calvin shrugged. Anyway, the guy I’m working for made like a billion dollars on some fucking solar power startup company. He paused and looked at Alan; for the first time he looked uncomfortable. Hey, don’t tell you mom I used that word.

Alan grinned. Mr. Hill’s colorful language was one of the reasons his mother didn’t exactly like the man. Don’t worry. I won’t mention it.

Thanks, Calvin replied. Mr. Barlow sold his business and moved to Richards Island.

Wait, wait, Alan said, interrupting. He’s rich and he moved to Kentucky? It sounded too strange to be believable.

Chuckling a bit, which was unusual for him, Calvin nodded again. Yeah, he’s originally from Lexington, which is why I guess he came back to Kentucky. He bought up nearly half of the island, and that’s saying something, because it’s pretty big. Anyway, his interest in solar power didn’t end when he sold his company. He’s remodeling his house on the island and he’s trying to make it completely self-sufficient. He wants its energy to be completely supplied by the sun.

Alan was confused. He knew Mr. Hill and he wasn’t a solar expert. What are you doing for him?

Well, he’s using state-of-the-art insulation techniques to minimize the amount of energy it will take to heat and cool the place. It’s fucking crazy, but then again he can afford it. He seemed to realize that he’d said something that he probably shouldn’t have because he glanced at Alan again.

Forget it, Alan said. I won’t say a thing.

It was with a heavy heart that Alan watched Eric and Mr. Hill drive away. His girlfriend was away on vacation and now he just seen his best friend for the last time for the next several months; it was all rather depressing.

He watched until the truck had disappeared from sight and then turned and began climbing the stairs back up to the porch. It was then that he realized that his mom was watching him from the open doorway.

Lunch’s ready, she called. She was watching him with one of those half-smiles that said she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Alan nodded and moved across the porch and through the doorway. Sure enough the table was already set and his grandparents were already seated.

His grandparents looked up as he and his mom took their places. His grandfather, David, and his grandmother, Eloise, were in their early eighties – they’d had his mother late in life.

David and Eloise Helton had lived on this very farm since they were married. Actually, David Helton had lived here his whole life, having been born in the very room where he now slept. They owned nearly 300 acres, but they did little enough farming anymore. It was hard work and they were both too old. It wasn’t all bad, though. David let his neighbors use his pasture and plant his fields and they supplied the family with both fresh vegetables as well as meat for the freezer.

Alan dearly missed San Diego. Everything there seemed to be more exciting, and there was always something going on. However, one area where Kentucky excelled was in the food. In California the vegetables had not tasted as fresh, nor the meat as wonderful. In fact the food was the only thing he’d enjoyed about Kentucky until Eric and Anne came along. Somehow having a girlfriend made living in Kentucky much more bearable.

David and Eloise had seven children, two boys and five girls. They had all married and moved away – it seemed that none of them wanted to carry on the family farm. Alan’s mother, Angie which was short for Angela, was the only one that had returned home, and it was probably only until she figured out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

You’re not looking forward to seeing your dad, are you? his mom asked.

Surprised, Alan looked up, just then realizing that he’d been lost in thought. The rest of the family was already eating, but they watched him as they did so.

It was hard to answer his mom’s question. In truth, he was looking forward to seeing his father. It would be the first time since Christmas, but Jacksonville wasn’t that appealing to him. It’s just that Florida’s so hot and there’s not much to do, he said, after a moment.

Well, his grandfather began slowly. You’re seventeen now and you have your license. Perhaps your father will let you borrow the car some.

Alan stared in mute surprise; it wasn’t an option he’d considered.

Angie cast an angry look at her father but he seemed to suddenly become very interested in his plate. She quickly turned her attention to her son. I don’t think that’s a very good idea, she said. You haven’t driven much and I don’t like the idea of you having a wreck while you’re there.

Yeah, it’d be much better if I had my first wreck here, Alan thought, but he wisely remained silent. Even though his mother seemed against his driving, all he would have to do was convince his father. Besides his father was dealing with some guilt over the divorce, it might be an easy thing to get the keys to his car.

Looking to his mother, it seemed to Alan that she once again could read his mind, only this time she wasn’t smiling. He quickly dropped his eyes to his plate and began eating.

His grandmother had cooked fried chicken, rice and tomatoes, and freshly made biscuits. They ate a lot of chicken. Although David Helton didn’t farm his property in a commercial manner anymore, he still kept several acres cultivated as their garden. In addition, he kept a hundred or so chickens for eggs and meat. Fried chicken was something they ate a lot of.

Sensing that his mother might be about to say more on the car-borrowing subject, Alan spoke up quickly, What time is my flight tomorrow?

A slight narrowing of her eyes told Alan that she knew exactly what he was doing, but his grandmother spoke before his mother could – thank God for grandmothers.

I think it’s a little after ten, Eloise said.

Are you already packed? David asked.

Glad to avoid his mother’s gaze, Alan smiled at his grandparents. He hadn’t really known them until he and his mom had moved back, but they had grown much closer over the last eighteen months. His grandfather had even taught him to hunt and fish, not that Alan was really good at either one.

I finished packing last night. Everything’s ready to go, he said.

It’s about a three hour drive to Louisville, David said. I suggest you two leave around five in the morning.

Alan sighed deeply. He was not an early-morning person.

Alan’s alarm went off all-too-early the next morning. He turned it off and sat on the edge of the bed, dearly wanting to lay back down and sleep some more. He knew that he couldn’t though – he had a plane to catch.

After a couple of minutes his door creaked open and his mom’s head pushed through. You up?

No, Alan said.

Chuckling, his mother started to pull her head back through the crack. Hurry up and get your shower. Mom’s almost got breakfast ready. It would be poor gratitude on your part to let it get cold.

Reluctantly, Alan stood up from the edge of the bed and began collecting his things. The only positive thing he could see, was that he could sleep in the car and then again on the plane.

He normally loved hot showers, but today he turned the cold water up, hoping that it would wake him up a bit. The cold water gave him goose-flesh, but it did impart a certain liveliness to him.

Less than ten minutes later he was downstairs eating some more of his grandmother’s wonderful biscuits. She’d made something called tomato gravy and it wasn’t half-bad. He ate his fill, not sure when his next meal would come along.

The ride to the airport passed quickly for Alan; after-all he slept most of the way. He woke up as they neared the Louisville airport. He made a valiant attempt to get his hair to lay down, but sleeping in the car had messed it up – it seemed to stick out every way imaginable.

Don’t worry, Angie said. Your girlfriend can’t see it from Mexico.

Alan grinned back at her. No, but there might be another girl or two on the plane.

Angie laughed and shook her head. My son, the womanizer.

I’ll give it my best, Alan replied, his grin growing even bigger.

Angie laughed again as she pulled the car up to the curb at the departing part of the airport. It was Sunday and there were crowds and crowds of people catching flights. She put the car in park and then quickly helped Alan get his things from the trunk. He carried the one oversized suitcase and a small backpack that he would carry-on to the plane. It wasn’t much to carry, but then again he was a boy.

Alan could see his mother getting a little upset and her eyes got a little bright. He leaned in and gave her a hug. It’s okay. I’ll only be gone for two months and then I’ll be back.

She nodded, not looking the least bit happier. True, she said, but then you’ll be going away to college.

"Yeah, but Lexington’s not that far