The Wyoming Incident
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First Day - September 7, 2026
Mid-span between his house and barn, Colton Wrest stopped to look back. Katie dallied. But that was another time. Memories. Boot dust unhurriedly settled below. His head shook. Sadness ebbed as he turned. Steps later the waning summer sun splashed warmth on his face. He raised his head as light playfully danced around pine needles and branches to echo life’s rutted path. With renewed sameness, each step exhumed an episode from the past – some happy, others life’s toll – his sensations on a familiar train ride through what was.
Pine tar’s scent spiced the air. Still distracted, new barn doors were jiggled to test alignment. A pile of trash from construction stood to the side. He kicked stray pieces back into the pile with Painter staring in anticipation.
Muscles rippled when he threw on the blanket. Colton chuckled, then groaned, heaving on the saddle. His still fit torso in the saddle, he rubbed a sore right shoulder. Painter’s spirited trot led them onto the tree-lined trail that snaked down to the creek.
Welcoming sounds of the forest surrounded them. He stopped to watch water ripple down the slope from Thursday’s rain. Murmurs in the falling water mirrored her soft breathing when she slept. Katie loved sunset rides.
That last summer she wanted to ride every evening when able. At the creek Katie turned with a smile. Her head motioned them toward the meadow. A transported Colton abandoned the reins. Painter picked up her gait toward Katie’s favorite spot.
Minutes passed as Painter wandered through the glorious field of red, purple and white. Colton saw a patch of blue and thought to dismount when a breath left his lungs empty. A roaring, frigid blast took his hat. In sudden darkness, Painter bolted. Hands went to reins. Years of partnership kept him in the saddle gasping empty breaths.
The terrified mare turned back toward the barn, not once, not twice, but three times. Every ounce of strength was needed to calm her. Blurry vision back, heavy breaths left his mustache icy, in summer… a message from the legends. Blinking color rushed through the northern sky to sanction pap’s stories.
Another sparse lungful triggered fury and resolve. His partner in control, he knew exactly where to go. Pap said they would come again. The two charged off to see what this was firsthand.
Reins in his left hand, Colton pushed Painter north. He pulled the sweatshirt’s hoodie over his bald head. Old lungs on fire, he loosened the bridle. A more willing Painter raced through cold, thin air.
A fast mile behind them, she jumped off the trail. The unseen branch’s blow to the side of his head left him wobbling. A touch returned blood. He grabbed the saddle horn until he shook unsteadiness away. The once distant lightshow blazed through cruel cold. Painter slowed again. She knew making it was risky. Important people in his life now gone, Colton’s heels dug in.
Minutes later, his head clear, Painter climbed Katie’s Hill. Up and up, he pushed her until he spotted a glistening sphere below. Colors reflected from every direction – trees on his left painted orange, yellow and blue by the thick light. Tints straight out of Pap’s description saturated the hilltop. He jumped off and threw the lead over a limb.
Phone in shaky hands snapped shots between hard breaths. He switched to video and propped the phone with rocks.
Staring at the sight below, gasps still didn’t satisfy. He shivered from penetrating cold. ‘This might be the end,’ by-passed his doggedness. He relaxed before a sudden flash blinded him once more. The powerful pulse pushed him away with brief warmth.
Did the glowing ball explode? Every inch shook. Sight was back through a fog of intense light. The ball had split. Something moved below. He tried to watch. Then it was gone.
Colton jumped up and down and turned to see Painter shaking, tail between hind legs. ‘Did the phone get anything? They might not make it back.’ He grabbed the phone and ran.
Dizzy, legs didn’t follow commands. ‘Too late?’ He stumbled and dropped the phone. Two hands were needed – one to hold him while the second scooped up the mobile. He made it to painter straining to suck in thin air. A leg finally over the saddle, he wrapped his arms around Painter’s neck to take him home. Brilliant colors faded.
Summer air was breaking through a deepening dusk, like a warm bath. Painter’s pace had slowed. Colton’s head came up. Easy breaths filled his lungs. He sat back in the saddle.
The struggle engulfed his head. Fingers touched a painful gash. He wiped blood from the side of his head. His handkerchief’s red mess brought up the ball’s radiance. The battle through bitter cold. ‘I’m alive.’ A chuckle turned to a laugh. ‘Katie would say thick-skinned men need to take on brutal trials.’ She was always right. And Pap’s time-honored story now lived on in him.
Aimlessly looking in the distance, he sucked in big lungful’s of fresh air.
The flash and open ball. What moved?
“My phone!” he yelled. Reins tight, he patted pockets then pulled it out of the right rear. Phone on, he shouted, “I got it!”
Video watched, he hesitated, “What the hell do I do with this?”