"Wesley?"
Out of the settling haze I see two lone figures, one supported by the other, stumble out of the arid, blistering wake.
"Renee!" Robert stumbles forward to clutch his son as his own lungs burn in the heat and the ash.
"Oh God, Wes!" Jean Luc collapses a lanky, tired, staggered figure into his arms. The sheer relief of his being alive topples over me and I cling to the two of them, sobbing in reprieve.
My physician's training urges me to look at the both of them. Burns, smoke inhalation, carbon monoxide – all of them could be present, and all of them are deleterious. For now, however, I'm immobilized by the sheer solace I take from his being with us. I catch a glimpse back at the burning skeleton of the barn and shudder as I imagine the other outcome.
"Wesley," Jean Luc sobs as he stands back and regards his sooty, scorched body. "What happened?"
"I," he coughs and shakes his head. "I don't know." He again clears his throat as we make our way towards the house. "Renee found some kittens in the barn when he got home from school that he wanted to show me." He motions towards Renee, similarly scorched, but I laugh – holding two grimy kittens.
"So," he coughs again and we make no effort to interrupt. "We went to visit the barn and we were looking at the two kittens when the doors closed and we heard them bolt shut."
Robert rubs his eyes as he listens on, still clutching his son. "How did you get out then?"
For the moment, his question is disregarded. "We smelled what I can only liken to something called gasoline."
"Gasoline? The fuel that used to run cars?" Jean Luc is aghast as he and I examine Wesley and Renee in the light offered by the nearing house.
"I smelled it once on the holodeck – when we were on the Enterprise and I ran one of your Dixon Hill programs." He pushes away my searching hands as I look for any burns. "I'm fine," he coughs. "Mom, I'm fine."
"So?" Marie goads, still recovering from her own hysteria.
"So, I knew in the back of my mind that if we tried to make a getaway before whoever it was the lit the fire left, we'd be in bigger trouble than if we just waited it out and tried to get out after the fire started."
"How did you figure that?" Robert asks in the face of Wes' roundabout reasoning.
"Simple," Wesley states, a coy smile playing at his blackened features. "That's how it always happens in holo-movies. You have to wait it out, let the perpetrators think that they've succeeded, and then make your move." I have to laugh, and so does Jean Luc; we never would have thought Wesley would take strategy from a holo-movie!
Renee leans into Wesley as he sets the two yelping kittens down in the grass. "We waited until we could see flames, and the smoke was all around us, and then…" he looks at his father. "Papa remember the hole in the back wall – the one that you keep meaning to fix because you say it lets all the animals in and they nestle in the hay and keep making a mess of the place?"
Robert laughs, "Ouis,"
"Well, we just kicked through it," he finishes simply. "And waited a bit a way until we could make our way around the barn back to the house."
Jean Luc lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank heavens for your dilly dallying, Robert." He laughs, "I'll never tease you about it again."
"Wesley," I start. "Were you able to get a good look at who might have done this?"
He coughs again and shakes his head. "No." He looks back at the still-blazing holocaust. "Whoever did it just closed the doors and left."
"Well," Jean Luc looks at Robert. "We're not safe at the house, not for now."
"Well then where are we going to go?" I'm at a loss. We could go back to Yakima, but we've only been gone for four days. Would the press still be there? Would our presence stir up controversy again?
He rubs his tired eyes. "I don't know, Beverly." He regards Renee and Wes. "We've got to get both of them to a hosp-"
"Dad, we're fine," Wesley drawls. "I don't think we need to leave… unless," he stops as realization settles in.
Jean Luc nods at him. "Unless we're being watched…"
"In that case," I pick up. "We have to go." I hang my head, tired. "But if we're under surveillance we have to tell someone."
The look on Marie's face is a strange one that speaks of pure terror mixed with unimaginable relief. "Is anyone of us safe then? I thought no one knew you were here?"
Jean Luc shakes his head. "They don't," Wesley replies. "But someone could have found out."
"So what should we do?" I find myself again looking over my shoulder. For just a few days, a few hours it seems, the world was a safer place. Now, again, however – it retakes that familiar acrimoniously lugubrious character where every stranger is a suspect and even friends are dubious.