The Last of Us

2| The Zachary Evans Effect

|Monday April 13th|

On County Road is a Cedar Elm, with a pair of black soccer boots entangled in its branches. The boots belonged to Zachery Evans, the victim of a hit-and-run six months before; he'd been crushed under the weight of a thirty-six-ton tanker bound for Oregon.

The boots sanctified a shrine on consecrated ground, where the soccer team had held vigil. Paradise lay secluded from the state highway. If you drew a straight line from Fort Worth to Wichita Falls, Paradise sat smack bang in the middle. As a result, trucks ripped down this route in the dead of night in a bid to avoid the highway's turnpikes.

When Zachary Evans met his fate, the natural order of things felt disrupted; the sun rises in the east, spring ushers in summer, and children are supposed to outlive their parents. The townsfolk were devout Christians, but in the days preceding his departure, even the converted began questioning whether God's plan had gone awry.

The summer he died lasted forever, but two seasons on, it was as if he never existed. The shade under the Elm no longer had a ceaseless stream of late-night visitors. Former teammates and 'Netflix and chill' buddies moved on with their lives. Zachary's memory was now a mass of weathered beer cans and discarded cigarette butts.

That was the first sign something was wrong. The wind whistled through the cornfields, and one of Zachary's crumpled Budweiser cans hurtled past and somersaulted against the asphalt.

A second gust tore through the thin fabric of my T-shirt, stealing the breath from my lungs and erupting in a shiver of goosebumps down my arms. I rubbed them to ward off the chill and picked up my pace, descending the narrow road.

Headlights glinted in the distance; gravel kicked up the tires of a fire engine red Toyota as it approached.

The full beam of the headlights obliterated my vision. I squinted and shielded my eyes as the Toyota swerved around me and slammed on its brakes. Coming to an abrupt halt, smoke rose from the exhaust and dissipated into the air.

Daniel Garry stepped out of the car in his soccer gear. "Is there something wrong with you? You are standing in the middle of the road?"

My body shrunk in on itself. "I missed the last school bus, lost track of time at the library." Taking a step back, I jammed my hands into my pockets.

"What's your first name again? Nathaniel, Nathan?"

"Nick," I replied.

Daniel bent down and glided his fingers over the wheel arch. The car was a parting gift, one Daniel adored. It was ironic the token given to him by his late father had an equal chance of buying Daniel the same early grave the way he drove it.

"Why are you in such a rush?" I shivered as the temperature plunged again. I cupped my hands around my mouth and blew into them.

"You're kidding, right? Are you the last person on earth to be told?" Daniel rose to his feet with a look that implied I was an idiot. "They've issued a tornado watch. It's for real this time. They say we should prepare; the weather is favorable. The news is being broadcast all over local radio."

We saw our share of watches, but the threat was only substantial if they upgraded the status to a warning. Paradise was accustomed to extreme weather.

"I'd give you a ride home, but we're not friends, are we?" It was more of a statement than a question, but I expected no less from him.

Daniel yanked the driver's side door wider. Laurie whatever-her-name-was sat in the front seat, Cindy Ackerman in the back. Laurie focused ahead while a flicker of recognition crossed Cindy's face.