A Father's Footsteps

"This one," Sam said, "this is me." He pointed to the sign for Delta passengers at the curbside. He reached for the door handle, hoping to get out and skip the lengthy midwestern goodbye process. The bland grays and whites of the airport décor called to him like a siren's song.

Sam was fast, but his mother was faster. As soon as the car stopped, the little 60-year-old woman threw the car into park and dashed around to his side of the car. Sam laughed and got up to get his bag from the trunk.

He stumbled from the force of her slamming into him and burying her face into his chest. "I'm just gonna be gone two weeks, Mom. It's okay." He patted her on the back as one does when a hug goes on for too long. This feels like when I went off to college all over again.

Mrs. Hayes was sad back then, too, but this seemed different. "Yeah, you're right," she sniffled and wiped her tears on her sleeve. "I'll see you soon." Her voice broke as she tried to get the words out. She rummaged in her purse for the open package of travel-size tissues that every mother keeps.

Sam looked at the growing line of travelers at the ticket counter and then back to his inconsolable mother. "I gave a list to the Rosewalds with everything they need to come help you with while I'm gone. They said it's no trouble. Promise me you'll let them help you."

From behind a veil of tissues, Mrs. Hayes nodded. "I will." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He stepped past her and got his duffel bag from the trunk. I'm gonna miss the flight at this rate. "I'll send you a post card. I mean, I'll probably beat the mail back here, but..." he shrugged as he trailed off, unsure of what else to say or do. He hugged her again and walked inside the airport.

While Sam waited in line, he periodically looked over to see if she was still outside. She waved. Mrs. Hayes stood outside through the ticket line, the security check, and all the way until he turned the corner into Concourse B and lost sight of her.

--

Hours later, Sam awoke from his self-induced Dramamine stupor. "Welcome to Missoula, Montana," the pilot announced over the speaker. "The local time is 4:07 P.M., and the weather is 60 degrees Fahrenheit. If you have baggage, it will be unloaded at carousel 5 momentarily. Again, that's carousel 5. Information regarding connecting flights is available at the desk outside the jetway. From all of us here at Delta, we thank you for flying with us."

Sam checked out a rental car, then followed Google's directions to his father's farm in Polaris, the actual middle of nowhere. Just after dusk, Sam turned onto the gravel road of the old farmstead.

Watched over by an old grain silo, the silhouette of a large barn loomed in the distance. It was bigger than he hoped. He wasn't sure how he would get everything tidied up for auction by himself, but Mrs. Hayes was adamant that he alone see to his late father's estate.

'Father' was a generous title for a man who was little more than a sperm donor. Mrs. Hayes always said Sam looked just like his father back when he was thirty. He had seen a few photos, but Sam didn't see the resemblance. All his life he was told what a great man his father was, though Sam never actually met him. Or, rather, remembered meeting him. Supposedly he was there when Sam was born, but had to leave soon after.

Sam walked past an overturned aluminum canoe and a small heap of fishing tackle on his way to the farmhouse. Beside the house, he saw chicken coop as well as a goat pen with eight curious goats watching him. A rusty bicycle leaned against an old oak tree in the front yard. Of course you have all this shit too.

Bare walls and emptiness greeted him as he opened the farmhouse door, a bewildering contrast to the clutter in the yard. Even taking into account its modest size, there was hardly anything inside. One chair. One bed. One shelf. One cup. One plate. It was more like the movie set version of a farmhouse than a place somebody actually lived. Tired, frustrated, and a little confused, Sam decided the rest could wait till tomorrow. He pulled back the scratchy wool blankets on the bed, kicked his shoes off, and went to sleep.

--

At 5:30 a.m. the rooster crowed. Are you kidding me? Sam had not seen a sunrise since he was eight years old. He pulled the blankets over his head. Shortly after, the goats started bleating. The world outside was coming to life with or without his permission.

He looked in the cupboards for anything to eat or drink and found only a half-full can of Folger's instant coffee and a loaf of Wonder bread that looked ready to sprout mold at any second. The instant coffee was terrible, but it was that or nothing. Goats can eat anything, right? He grabbed the bread and headed outside.

The barn was the first thing on his list. He tossed the old bread in the goat pen as he passed. With the house as empty as it was, maybe the old barn would be empty too. Maybe all the junk was already in the yard. Then he could just worry about getting rid of the animals and he would be free to go back home to his life. 'Life' - another word that was less than accurate. Thirty years old, divorced, still unemployed from the pandemic, and living with his mother; he wasn't sure he was doing it right.

The barn door groaned in protest as Sam pulled it open. Thankfully, there was no rusted-out car or workshop full of tools. There were just a few bags of animal feed, a shovel, and some piece of farm equipment with a tarp thrown over it. Delighted, Sam approached to see what singular mystery the barn held. He pulled the tarp off and wasn't sure what he was looking at.

The large, smooth, metallic cylinder had an envelope taped to it. "Sam."

He frowned and opened the envelope, expecting some kind of prank.

"Sam, I owe you an explanation and an apology. I'm sorry I didn't stay. I'm sorry I didn't write, or visit, or anything a dad should do. You deserved better. You still do.

I know you have no reason to trust me, but I'm asking you to trust me, Sam.

You are my heir. Go inside the pod and push the "transmit" button. The biometric reader is set to recognize you. My friend, Dinadan, will answer and explain the rest to you.

I'll see you soon,

-Dad"

Sam did not expect whatever this was. He saw a palm pad and placed his hand on it. There's no way this works.

The pad beeped and turned green.

A hiss came from the cylinder and it swung open from the center, inviting him to step closer.

The inside of the cylinder was lit with a warm orange glow. I'm your heir? The hell does that even mean? He looked over his shoulder, still unsure if this was just a prank. On the left half was a sort of seat with a safety harness, while the right half had a large screen and a keyboard-like terminal centered between two joysticks. There were many buttons on the terminal, but the layout was practical and made sense. He found the one marked transmit and pushed it.

A man appeared in the screen. "Damn, you do look just like him." From what Sam could see of the man, he had on a black high-collared jacket and seemed to be transmitting from within a cylinder device of his own. The man looked about Sam's age, but he had tired eyes and a large scar down his chin.

"My father? So I've been told. What is all this?" Sam asked.

"This is going to be a lot," the man began. "I am Sir Dinadan, I served with your father - Sir Brunor. Your father and I and about two hundred others are the Knights Eternal." Dinadan paused to give Sam a chance to speak.

Sam had so many questions on his mind he could only nod dumbly at the screen. His stomach tightened, "The letter, he wrote 'See you soon.'"

"Don't worry, it's a figure of speech. Even King Arthur himself can't raise the dead."

Sam looked over the buttons more closely: 'Scan,' 'Return,' 'Stealth,' 'Autopilot.' "King Arthur? Like with the Knights the Round Table?" he asked without looking up.

"Exactly, yes. We've failed to stop the apocalypse two hundred thirty-seven times. King Arthur restores Earth from the beginning, rebuilds the Knights, and we try again. Since your father has claimed his eternal rest, you are now Sir Brunor."

That was a lot. "Holy shit, you really come on strong." Sam didn't have much going on in his life, but he wasn't sure he wanted to get involved with something as serious as the apocalypse. "And if I say no to all that?"

"You suffer a massive stroke and die four days from today," Dinadan leaned closer to his screen and pointed toward the chicken coop, "right over there, actually. But yes, you can stay on Earth and live the remainder of your life. The universe has a way of working these things out." he added matter-of-factly.

Sam had to sit down to collect himself as a wave of vertigo hit him. He fumbled with the chair's safety harness to distract himself while he processed the news of his impending death. "How do you know all this?" he asked after several seconds.

"As I mentioned, this is the two hundred thirty-eighth restoration of Earth. You were not needed before, so you were allowed to live until your pre-determined endpoint. With Sir Brunor's seat left vacant, it must now be filled - by his heir, preferably."

Sam rose from the seat and turned towards the farmstead. He took in the sky, the solitary oak tree, and the patch of grass where he would die in four lousy days. He thought of his mother back in Chicago and her tearful goodbye. She knew.

"Well, 'Sam Hayes,' what will it be?" asked Dinadan, the man he hardly knew.

Sam nodded, "I'll come, I just have to send my mom a post card."