Brain Storm - Cat Gilbert (top 10 inspirational books .txt) 📗

WE WERE HEADING to Colorado, which had completely taken me by surprise. For whatever reason, I had thought the Agency, being part of the government would be in D.C. We were looking at over 12 hours on the road, hugging I-35 north into Kansas and then cutting onto I-70 to head west into Denver, and that wasn’t counting stops for food, gas and leg stretching. Mac and I might have been able to switch off and make it in a long day, but Jonas was the only driver right now for the RV, and he just couldn’t do 817 miles in a day. As anxious as I was to get to the Agency, I preferred we arrive there in one piece, so we stopped for the night in Salina, Kansas.

I can honestly say, I’ve never seen so many wheat fields. Or windmills. Kansas is nothing if not flat and windy. It was a relief when, in the late afternoon of the second day of driving, the Rocky Mountains came into sight. At first, I thought they were low-lying clouds on the horizon, but as we closed the distance to Denver, the clouds rose higher and gained definition. The green of the front range separated from the snow capped peaks behind, as the sun began to set in the west. It was an amazing sight for me, not having seen them before. At least not like this, having crossed hundreds of miles of prairie land to have this mammoth range rising abruptly before me. My mind couldn’t help but think back to the covered wagons and the people who had come before me. They saw it, I was sure, just as I had. As clouds in the distance. How did they feel, when they realized the size and grandeur of what was before them, knowing what they were seeking was on the other side?

Probably a lot like what I was feeling now. What I was seeking lay in the mountains that now loomed just beyond the city of Denver. The foothills appeared dark and ominous, hidden in the shadow of the high peaks, which sparkled silver, as the sun sank behind them. The sky above was a rainbow of colors, the few clouds there, reflecting the dying rays of light as the blue sky above melted into deep hues of purple to the east.

As the last bit of light faded from the sky, darkness fell and with it came an overwhelming sense of fear and pain. Mac, sensing the change, jerked his attention from the road to me in concern. Nearly suffocating in panic, I waved to him to get off the road.

The car was still rolling when I threw open the door and flung myself out, raking in deep breaths of air, trying to stand on what were decidedly shaking legs. I watched in silence as Jonas roared by, tapping the brakes but unable to stop.

“He’ll get off at the next exit and wait for us,” Mac called out as he rounded the back end of the car. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

I gave up the fight to stand and leaned against the car, giving my knees extra support as my stomach began to roll. Doubling over, I felt sweat break out on my scalp and begin to trickle its way down.

“Taylor! What’s happening?” Mac demanded, as he grabbed my arms, trying to steady me and I needed it. Lights began exploding on the edge of my vision, the center filling with black clouds and I knew I was going down.

It stopped almost as fast as it started. One minute I was on the verge of passing out and the next, it was over. Not just the pain, but the fear and the panic. I was still shaky and had the feeling I would be for some time, but the rest was mercifully gone. Exhausted, I slid down the side of the car to sit on the hard pavement of the shoulder. Mac slid down next to me, and I noticed he was pretty shaky himself.

“Did you feel that?” I finally managed to ask.

“Yes. No. I mean, I felt something, but not what you were feeling.” He was as out of breath as I was, his words coming out in gasps. I sat for a minute longer, waiting for my stomach to settle and my heart beat to stop pounding in my ears. When I started feeling the pebbles under my rear end, I figured I’d recovered enough to stand up. It was slow going, as getting upright seemed to impart a bit of vertigo, making my stomach do flip flops again, but eventually, things calmed down and came back to center.

Taking one more deep breath, I stood up straight and looked over at the mountains, which now in the twilight, stood out as dark shadows against the darkening sky. We had swung north by the Denver airport, cutting off the trip through downtown and were on the outskirts of the main city on our way to Loveland.

“How do you know?” I asked, watching as the cars sped by us on I-85. “How do you know it wasn’t what I was feeling?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, and I turned to find him standing with his eyes closed, lips pressed together in a grim line.

“You were terrified. I could see it in your eyes,” he finally said, opening his eyes to meet mine, “but all I felt from you was waves of confusion, and panic. And then anger.”

“Well, you got the terrified part right, but of what?” I took a deep breath, unable to understand what had happened. “I don’t know about the anger. I don’t remember getting angry, but I could be wrong. It all hit so fast.”

My legs were feeling steadier by the minute, and my heart rate had slowed back to a normal rate, or what felt like one compared to what it had been.

“Trust me, Taylor. It was anger. I’ve been around you enough to know, and you were about as angry as I’ve ever seen you. Then you just popped like a balloon, and it was gone.” He was walking around in the narrow space on the shoulder, shaking his legs out as he went.

“Yeah, it’s gone. For now, at least,” I agreed, opening my door, wondering what on earth was going on and worse yet if it had something to do with what was waiting for us. I hated this. Hated not knowing, hated losing control. Hated the whole situation. Roll with it. Accept it. This is reality now. I repeated the words in my head like a mantra, knowing if I didn’t come to terms with it, I’d lose my mind. Or possibly get somebody killed. What had I told them? I was going to embrace the weirdness. Well, it didn’t get much weirder than what had just happened. Embracing it was proving to be the hard part.