Vanish by Tom Pawlik Page B

if their sunlight theory was accurate.
    Conner switched his radio to channel two. “Mitch, you there?”
    A moment later the radio crackled and Mitch’s voice sputtered through. “I’m here.”
    “I’m going to scan the channels for a minute to see if I can pick up any other signals. See if anyone else is out there.”
    “Good idea.”
    Conner switched through successive channels repeating a hail. “Is anyone receiving this signal?”
    Only static returned. Conner went through a second time with the same results. Finally, he switched back to channel two, reported the results to Mitch, and set the radio down beside him.
    The boy pulled out a box of granola bars from a plastic shopping bag at his feet. He handed one to Conner along with a bottle of water.
    Conner smiled. “Thanks, kid.”
    The granola tasted a little stale, but the water was okay.
    Conner closed his eyes for a moment and tried to clear his head. He felt oddly detached from the bizarre nature of what was happening. Here he was, maybe one of the last three people on Earth, sitting in a stolen Hummer in the middle of the highway, waiting for something to happen. But what exactly? The whole scenario seemed more like something from a 1950s end-of-the-world B movie.
    He glanced at the boy. “Sorry, kid, I was going to find you some better clothes. Guess I forgot.”
    The boy leaned his head back against the seat.
    “Guess you had a long day too, huh?”
    The boy just rubbed his nose.
    “What are you, about nine or ten?” He was a lanky kid, Conner thought, a little undernourished. “You like sports? You look like you play soccer.”
    The boy didn’t reply.
    Conner’s gaze drifted off. “My son loved soccer. He was always kicking that thing around.” He sighed. “He would’ve been about your age by now. Sometimes I wonder what he would’ve looked like.”
    Conner remembered one of the items he had thrown into his bag. The family picture from his desk—the one he had been looking at last night.
    “You want to see a picture of him?” He grabbed his duffel bag from behind the seat and rummaged through it. “Here it is.”
    He handed the picture to the boy, pointing to Matthew’s face.
    “That was my son. Matthew.”
    The boy peered at the picture for a moment and smiled. He pointed to Matthew’s face and looked back at Conner.
    Conner nodded. “Yeah. Matthew. That was my son.”
    The boy looked back at the picture and said, “Matthew.”
    Conner’s eyes widened. “What did you—?”
    He lurched back in his seat as another convulsion hit him. This one was stronger than the others and took his breath away with its intensity. His muscles tightened as the pressure built in his chest. His neck arched uncontrollably as the white light pressed in again from the corners of his vision. A frigid blast of air ripped through him. It roared in his ears. Thunderous, like a waterfall.
    But through the din, the pain, and the blinding light, Conner thought there was something else. Some other sound. Indistinct, beneath the rumble of the wind.
    Then it passed and Conner slumped forward, gasping for air as the white light faded. He felt a small hand on his arm. He leaned back and groaned.
    The boy was leaning over, peering at him. His brown eyes seemed filled with concern.
    Mitch’s voice crackled over the radio.
    “…you there? Come in.… Repeat, I see a car approaching from the south.…”
     
     
     

Chapter 21
     
     
    “…YOU THERE?” Mitch’s voice persisted. “Dude. Conner. Come in.…”
    Conner fumbled for the radio. “I… I’m here.”
    “I had a red SUV approach from the south. They just passed by.”
    “They didn’t stop?”
    “They didn’t see me. I’m parked on the overpass. I was trying to keep out of sight. I’m going to follow them.”
    “Where are you?”
    After a pause, Mitch’s voice came back over the rattle of his motorcycle engine. “Take 137 over. You should be able to cut them off.”
    Conner rubbed his