It was after midnight. How long after, he didn't know. Once a police car had come speeding by, its red lights ogling insanely, its spotlight weaving into the bushes at the side of the road. He had lain very still in the ditch until it passed. It hadn't slowed down. Later it had come back and he had again pressed his body into the earth beside the road.
Off to the right now he saw the silhouette of the giant tree that had been the landmark of the picnic spot. A few minutes later he could see the gate that led to the meadow.
He squeezed through it and picked out the path worn by the cars the day before. Some winged creature dipped down, shied away from him, and swept off into the darkness.
A soft gurgling sound became audible. The brook. The spot where his mother and Curt had vanished, was ahead.
He reached it. He wasn't quite sure until he studied the ground and went back in memory to check on little details. Then he was certain.
He had reached his goal.
He knew why he had come, of course. Here he was closer to his mother than anyplace else. Here, in some unguessed way, he might get to her.
What would he do when morning came? He sat down and pulled his knees up under his chin, wrapping his arms around them. Morning was far away. It might never come—for him. If and when it did he would cope with it. "Mom," he whispered. "Mom...."
Crrroak! The sound of the frog broke the silence. The croak of a frog that was part of the universe—the universe that was basically illogical. More....
Fred sobbed.