The Assumption (The Hypothesis of Giants Series, Book One)

Chapter 17: Mapping Out the Stars

The community of Plymouth Incarnate was fast asleep when Aurora poked her head out of the tent flap. It was pitch dark, with the fire pits extinguished following the funeral services, the scent of burnt embers lingered in the air. She had her backpack on and a sweatshirt snugly fit over her chest. It was cooler up in the mountains, and she was glad she had packed jeans as well. She tied her hair up in a ponytail and tucked Eileen's cross under her shirt. This piece of jewelry felt comforting, as if there was a piece of Eileen still there with her, looking out for her, though that was impossible. Eileen was dead, her body beneath the Atlantic Ocean.

Boreas yawned as he stumbled out of his tent. He was wearing a dark gray jacket and his orange peddler hat that covered his messy hair. The jacket collar covered the bandage around his neck, and Aurora nearly forgot that it was there for a minute. It was almost as if they were still just meeting up on Wishbone Avenue at the corner stop sign.

"What are you thinking?" he asked in mid-yawn, looking at her puzzled face.

"I was thinking about Wishbone Avenue."

He snickered with a crooked smile. "I wonder what Jonathan and Dad are doing now. Probably getting ready for the baseball championship."

"You would think that, wouldn't you?" She adjusted her backpack over her shoulders. "Do you think we'll ever see it again?"

A cool wind encircled them at that moment and caused them to shudder, realizing that they were floating on the hands of the wind leading them on a journey where the destination was clear but the path unknown. They met each other's gaze, and he smiled.

"If we do see it again, at least we'll see it together."

Aurora smiled back, that thought reassuring, and then they raced each other down toward the sandy shore where Otus was knee deep in the water, busy scooping out fish and throwing them onto the shore. The fish were flapping on the shore in a pile, wiggling on the sand.

"Breakfast," he called out, holding up the fifth fish in his palm. He threw it with ease, and it landed right on top of the pile. Mrs. Xiomy was lighting the fire, standing out like a sore thumb in a deep purple sweater that clashed with her orange jeans.

"Does your whole wardrobe have to be the colors of the Common Good?" Aurora sighed, plopping herself down beside her teacher.

"You know the school's mandated wardrobe. Besides, I make it look good."

Boreas agreed wholeheartedly, sticking a fish on a stick and holding it up over the fire, searing both sides. Babs sprinted toward them, looking fresh-eyed in the morning with her tresses tied up in a long ponytail. Her cheeks were extra rosy from the early morning chill and highlighted the freckles speckled over her face.

"Morning. Fawn wants us to say good-bye before we leave."

Boreas tossed Babs a slimy fish, and she caught it in a one-hand catch. She crouched down next to Boreas, and they seared their fish together. Aurora immediately felt sick to her stomach. She attempted to leave the campfire, but Otus reminded her that this might be the only meal they would eat for a while. Reluctantly, she squatted down beside Babs and cooked her fish, watching it brown on all sides. She cooked Otus's too, and he stuck the whole fish down his throat and sucked the meat off the bones. He lifted the intact fish bones out of his mouth like a sword swallower and then tossed the bones into the ocean. Mrs. Xiomy shook her head at him and scolded him that it would hurt his digestive system and there would be no puking on her as he was running.

They cleaned up and dumped water over the fire, and the smoke encircled them as they stole one last glance at the safe haven. They didn't know if they would ever see it again. Aurora felt her stomach churn and hoped it wasn't the fish getting even with her. She took a deep breath. The scent of the salt water was invigorating and calmed her nerves. They walked as a single unit toward Fawn's tent, and Aurora grabbed Boreas's schoolbag so that he boomeranged back toward her, his ear pressed against her lips.