Into the Flames

By Rick Evans

Timothy and Jason, age sixteen, are shocked into climate action when ecoterrorists disrupt their first-period high school class. Resistant at first, the boys soon become engaged in the climate movement. But what exactly should they do? At first, they work together. Then their paths diverge. Timothy is pulled to increasingly dangerous on-the-street action. Jason launches himself into a compelling spiritual journey. What path is best for them—and for us?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669825494

Rick Evans

About the Author Rick Evans is a writer and speaker whose topics focus on the expansion of human consciousness. He is adept at presenting complex, paradigm-shifting ideas in a clear, crisp, accessible waywith humor. His writing draws from his personal spiritual path of over thirty years, stimulated most recently by the works of A. H. Almaas, Eckhart Tolle, and David Deida. Mr. Evans is a trained public speaker as well as a writer. He can be reached at (insert website address).

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Timothy and Jason strolled into their first-period class, wondering if this would be another boring day. At age sixteen, every day was boring. Resignedly, they walked to their desks, sat, and opened their books. Everything was as it should be. Then smash! Green, yellow, and black paint bombs splattered against the outside windows, giving the classroom an eerie glow. Timothy glanced at Jason, his best friend since childhood. What the hell was going on, and what might be coming next? With all the recent issues with school violence, it could be anything.

Within minutes, the PA system blared, Lockdown! All teachers and students, stay in your classrooms.

Instinctively, Mr. Phifer told the class to hit the floor. For most students, it took a moment to respond. Timothy, however, was like a cat. He sprang from his chair and curled into a fetal position under his desk. For Jason, it wasn’t that easy. His long legs wouldn’t fit into such a tight space. Motherfucker, Timothy heard him mutter under his breath.

Tension filled the room. Then as the moments passed, Mr. Phifer went on hands and knees and crawled along the rows, giving each student what comfort he could.

Timothy took a few short deep breaths to hold his fear in check. Across the aisle, Jason looked flushed. Beads of perspiration slid down his face and neck, soaking the top of his T-shirt. Relax, Timothy mouthed as he moved his hands slowly up and down to reinforce his point. When things got tough, Timothy had always been there for Jason.

Soon, the PA system delivered a hopeful message, The building is secure. All students and teachers report to the auditorium. Repeat, all is clear.

Slowly, the class crawled out from under their desks.

What a bitch, Jason said in a low voice. This sure as hell isn’t a drill.

No shit, Timothy mouthed back.

The auditorium was overflowing as school administrators did their best to calm students and faculty alike. Nothing life-threatening had happened, but everyone was still on edge. In those days, anything out of the ordinary at school could be unsettling. The best guess was that the attack had been staged by local college students trying to stir things up about climate change. Flyers were scattered outside the school: Teens, time to act! Adults have had their chance. On the back were bullet points about the growing environmental degradation and the implications for the future. The flyers were signed Eco-warriors for the Planet.

As the police searched for clues as to who was responsible, school administrators contacted parents to let them know what had happened and that no one had been hurt. They were given the option of picking up their students immediately or waiting for the early dismissal scheduled for the lunch hour.

Timothy texted his parents and arranged to meet one or both at home for lunch. As was often the case, Jason couldn’t get through to his parents, so he headed home with Timothy.

I’m still shaking, Timothy said as he and Jason walked away from the school. Look at my hands. I can’t hold them still.

Same with me, Jason replied. Those fucking paint-bomb things hit right outside the window beside my desk. I could almost feel them as they crashed into the glass.

The boys walked silently. Then grinning, Jason said, You went like a rocket under your desk.

At least I fit, Timothy responded, smiling back. You were swearing like a bandit, trying to jam yourself into that tight space.

They kicked a stone down the street as they walked. It was a rare warm, sunny day in Seattle.

So what was the point? Jason asked, looking at Timothy. All we know is what their flyers said, something about getting teens to wake up and get involved with climate stuff.

I get that, Timothy said, but what are we supposed to do? The whole world needs to wake up about the mess we’re in.

Maybe they figured teenagers would be more likely to do something since it’s our planet that’s getting fucked up. At this rate, you and I are going to be toast by the time we’re twenty-five.

Timothy looked at him, nodding in agreement. Then he added, I don’t know if I agree with their methods, but you have to admit what they did took balls.

Jason stopped and pulled at Timothy’s arm. You know, he said, if things had been not too different, you and I and all our classmates could have died today.

Timothy hesitated. Then looking away, he said, You know, I guess you’re right.

Jason moved closer. Come here, bro, he said. Give me a hug. It’s nice to be alive.

Hugs had never been their thing. But the situation seemed to call for it, so Timothy relented and moved for a quick embrace.

…

Timothy lived with his parents and younger sister, Samantha, in a small house in Renton, a suburb of Seattle. His father, Fred, owned a small graphic arts business downtown. His mother, Becky, worked at the University of Seattle library and taught meditation on the side. They both had taken off work early to meet the boys at home.

As Timothy and Jason walked through the front door, they were bombarded with attention.

Thank god you’re okay, Becky said, moving quickly to give each boy a hug. From what the principal said, it didn’t sound like a really big deal, but still, it gave your father and me quite a scare.

Yeah, thank god nothing worse happened, Fred echoed. Sit down and tell us about it.

Hungry? Becky asked as they moved to the kitchen table while she and Fred finished putting out a lunch of hummus, pita bread, fruit, and cheese.

Starving, Timothy replied. Then with Jason’s help, he went through the morning’s events. It didn’t take long. Not much actually happened, just the splattering paint followed by a lot of anxious moments.

You’re probably still in shock, Fred said. This kind of thing is unnerving.

I’m okay, Timothy replied, taking a deep breath. Then he added, You should have seen Jason, trying to fit under his desk when the paint bombs hit.

Yeah, I’m definitely too tall for that, Jason said.

He didn’t stay upset for long, though, Timothy added. Five steps out the door at school, afterward, he ran back to see if basketball practice had been canceled.

You’re kidding, Becky said. Surely, it was if there was an early dismissal.

Yeah, maybe it was stupid, Jason said, but I’m hoping to make the junior varsity team, so I wanted to make sure.

Fred rolled his eyes. Then smiling at Jason, he asked, So you guys okay now?

We’re fine, Timothy answered, looking for Jason’s agreement. In the back of his mind, though, he wondered how long it was going to take to get the whole thing out of his head.

It certainly could have been worse, Becky said with a sigh of gratitude. Then she added, Unless there’s more to tell, when you’re finished eating, you guys should go take a nap. Jason, you’re welcome to crash here for a couple of hours if your parents aren’t home. Then looking at Timothy, she added, You’ll surely have to go through all this again when Samantha gets home.

I suppose, Timothy said, looking annoyed. Samantha will need to hear it all.

Timothy and Samantha, his fourteen-year-old sister, were as opposite as they could be. Where Timothy was quiet, focused, and respectful, Samantha was spontaneous, loud, and sassy. She acknowledged Timothy as her older, but not wiser, brother. Typically, whatever he suggested, she went for something else. If he spoke up for a family vacation in the mountains, she would argue for going to a beach somewhere. The house was barely big enough for the two of them.

The boys took Becky’s suggestion and headed for Timothy’s room, where they each stretched out on one of his twin beds. Jason fell asleep almost immediately. Timothy’s mind, however, wouldn’t settle. He couldn’t get the smashing sound and vivid colors of the paint bombs out of his head. And he had conflicting thoughts and emotions: gratitude that nothing worse had happened but apprehension about what might be coming next. He had lived a comfortable life so far, but he wondered if that was going to continue. The community had only recently moved through the latest pandemic, and now the worsening climate crisis was upon them.

He watched as Jason indulged in a relaxed sleep. Without disturbing him, he got up and went to Pedro’s cage, picked up his pet gerbil, and put him on his lap. Then after a few caring strokes, he put Pedro back in his cage. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the journal he had kept since middle school, something his parents had encouraged to help him manage life’s ups and downs. Since he was such a high achiever at school and wrestling team co-captain, writing in his journal had always helped him relax. For the last few years, it had worked as a kind of elixir for him.

He jotted down a few notes about the morning’s adventure, then put his journal away, and went to check on his other pets: a garter snake and three small toads, in separate cages, and a bullfrog in a large glass aquarium. He thought he might be too old for pets like those, but he wasn’t quite ready to give them up—now less than ever.

When Jason woke up, he and Timothy headed downstairs just as Samantha burst through the front door, flushed from running. So what happened? she asked excitedly. All the kids at school were talking about it … something about a bomb in the lunchroom, right?

Not quite, Becky said. Let Timothy and Jason tell you.

It was just some college kids throwing paint at the windows, Timothy said calmly, trying to tone down Samantha’s excitement.

Sweet, Samantha said.

"No, not sweet, Fred said impatiently. It was just another disruption at school. These days, it seems like it could be anything."

So tell me about it, Samantha begged, looking a Timothy. I want details.

For the next twenty minutes, Timothy repeated the story, answering the flood of questions that flew out of her mouth.

So they called themselves ecoterrorists? she asked. That’s so cool!

"They called themselves eco-warriors," Jason corrected.

Whoever they were, Fred said seriously, it sounds like they were trying to send a message. He paused and looked at Jason. I don’t know what you and your family think about this kind of thing, but the message, from what I’ve heard, is something our family would probably agree with. Attacking the school, on the other hand, is another matter.

No, I’m with you, Jason replied. I’m totally into environmental stuff.

"At least somebody’s doing something, Samantha said. The politicians in Washington aren’t doing shit."

And another thing, Fred said, ignoring Samantha’s outburst, the school called later to say the attack wasn’t just at Renton High. Several other high schools in the area had the same thing happen. So this protest, or whatever you want to call it, was bigger than the police initially thought.

Jason interrupted. Sorry, I need to get home, he said. Thanks for lunch.

…

That evening after dinner, Fred and Becky insisted that Timothy and Samantha join them in the living room to talk more about what had happened at the school. For years, they had used family meetings as a way to keep communication open. When Timothy and Samantha were younger, that had worked well. They had looked forward to the sessions. In their teenage years, however, when they probably needed the meetings more than ever, anything family was barely tolerated.

As they filed into the living room that evening, there was a noticeable lack of energy on the part of the teens. Samantha plopped herself on the large white couch. Timothy took the padded chair across from her, leaving Fred and Becky with the two hard-backed chairs, one on each side of the room. There wasn’t much other space, barely enough for the big-screen TV that straddled one corner.

What else is there to talk about? Timothy asked impatiently. I’ve been going over this, one way or another, since this morning.

No one spoke. Then Samantha jumped in. Like I said, I’m sure it was scary and all that, but at least someone was doing something. Those assholes in Washington aren’t doing shit. And I like the idea that it happened at more than one school. That’s awesome.

Language please, Becky said with a stern look.

Timothy went next. As much as I hate to agree with anything Samantha says, I think she’s right. We’re all stuck under this huge climate change cloud, and what are we doing? Basically, nothing … at least compared to what’s needed.

He paused. Then with emotion, he continued, Why didn’t you guys—your generation—do something twenty-five years ago? Now we’re all totally fucked.

Fred and Becky looked at each other. That kind of outburst wasn’t normal for him.

After a pause, Becky said, That’s not really fair. Your father and I worked hard on the issue when you two were younger.

No, Timothy’s right, Fred interrupted. Then looking at Timothy and Samantha, he said, "Our generation fumbled the ball and left you both with a very