Farmer Fred's Arc

Chapter 5 of 8

Fred was wiping mud from his hands when the flash happened. No thunder this time, no wind tearing at the roof. Just light, bright and sudden, out by the old fence. He dropped the rag and walked toward it, boots sinking into soft ground with each step. A man stood there, pale as milk, clutching an electric blue guitar against his chest. He wore a black t-shirt with bright letters across the front that spelled out SOUNDGARDEN in colors that hurt to look at. The fence behind him had a scorch mark running along one plank, like someone had dragged a hot iron across the wood. The man's eyes were wide and unfocused. His mouth moved but no sound came out. Fred stepped closer. "You alright?" The man flinched, pulled the guitar tighter. Fred recognized that look—the same confusion the others had worn when they first arrived. But this one seemed younger, more fragile somehow. Fred tried again. "I'm Fred. You're at Loud Garden. You're safe here." The man's grip loosened just slightly. His lips formed a word: Christopher. Fred nodded. "Alright, Christopher. Let's get you inside." But Christopher didn't move. He stared at the guitar in his hands like he'd never seen it before, then looked back at the fence, at the scorch mark, at Fred. His mouth opened again and this time sound came—a low, broken note that might have been a question or might have been a sob. Fred understood then. This one needed more than shelter. He needed to know why. Fred didn't have an answer for that. He never had. But he reached out anyway and put a hand on Christopher's shoulder. "Come on," he said. "We'll figure it out together." Christopher's shoulders sagged. He let Fred guide him toward the barn, still holding that blue guitar like it was the only real thing left in the world. Fred had given him something—not an answer, but company in the not knowing. That would have to be enough for now.