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************************************************** Subject: The Windfall.. From: patti k (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Sat 11/29/08 3:01 AM New transfer ARFF Hallie Green picked up her feet more as she ran her morning run alongside runway 19A, her favorite track at work. The brisk air was making her feel invigorated and a very rare sweat hadn't yet made an appearance. The same wasn't true of her male companion who was starting to fall behind her as he gamely tried to keep up. "Hallie, I might have sprained an ankle here. Have some sympathy." groaned her fellow firefighter Al Martelli. "Can't you slow down a little?" "Nope. Not in the game plan. If I slow down, I cramp up later. Besides, we've only gone about five miles. You can't be tired already.." said the petite blond haired pixie like girl cheekily, still running easily in her fire station jogging suit. "Not.. not tired.. Wounded more like.. This runway's skirt is pure torture! How can you run by this one?" he gasped, still favoring his right instep as he moved up alongside of her. "I think I like the fact that there are hills and hidden things I have to avoid, like that gopher hole you missed seeing a few hundred yards back." she replied, not even breathless. A few strides later, she glanced over at the pain in his face. "Martelli, I could call in the equipment for you if you need it." "No,.. I'm quite... I'm.. doing ..*puff* fine.." he gasped. "See?" he said, picking up his feet a little. "Lead on, Green. 'Cause I'm not. A lost bet is a.... lost bet.. I do your exercise routine.... for a whole week.." Al told her. "As we agreed." "You and your bets. They'll be your downfall everytime mister." Hallie told him, running easily, her face finally falling into a tease. "Not every time... I won against Chris didn't I?" Al coughed, narrowly avoiding an unexpected electrical post that appeared out of the dawn gloom ahead of him. Hallie's reply was drowned out by the sound of a jet plane roaring down the runway to which they were coursing parallel. Green held her breath and turned her back downwind, jogging in place as the stinking plume of fuel fumes washed over them violently as the passenger laden plane took off. Martelli wasn't so smart, he was caught unprepared and was bowled over into a ditch by the temporarily bad air and violent jetwind. Green burst out laughing once the cold fresh air reasserted itself. She leaned over and peered into the ditch. "Ah, Martelli.. you're such a ham. Or did you forget your live plane proximity protocols already?" she kidded, squinting into the darkness of the grassy dip. |
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Silence grew as the rapidly receding flight gained altitude. "Martelli? Are you okay?" Haley hollered down, reaching for her flashlight on her belt. "Boo!!" Al screamed as he leaped out from behind a windsock's concrete pylon that was next to her shoulder. He gave her rear a solid smack with a hand at the same time. Hallie gave a yell and fell onto her butt in fright. "Al! You crazy.." she sputtered. "..curly haired goon!" she finally got out. "I could of had a heart attack!" "You're too young for that. I snuck in the office late one night and read your file." "You men are all alike. You just have to know every female firefighter's age who trapes on through for specialized training from the get go." she glared, still on her rear in the grass. "Yep." Martelli laughed out loud, with his hands on his sweaty, steaming cold weather geared hips. "Because I'm still a hot blooded, all American guy." said the thirty something Italian. But then he offered her a hand up. "Had to get you to slow down some how so I could shake the kinks out of my foot from that gopher hole back there." "Well you could have asked." "I thought I did." "No, you were ordering me to. And we're still the same rank last time I talked with the chief." Green countered. Al's smile wiped away. "You talked with Joe?" "Yeah, what's it to ya?" Hallie baited. "Getting worried I'll... say something about ya, like sexual harrassment for example?" "No, no.. I.. well I.." "You've been nothing but charming the two weeks I've been here so far. You're weird, and really annoying. But yeah. I told Joe Rorchek that you were being... mostly charming." Hallie admitted. Al smiled rakishly. "Just call me 'Prince', please." Martelli leaned over his dirty panted knees, trying to catch his breath. "Thanks. I thought you'd be like all the rest who came through." "No way, I like to think I've got some class, buddy boy. I'm from Boston, not New Jersey." she scoffed ingenuinely, still grinning. "I can take a little stereotypical razzing." Al waved a dismissing hand wearily at her, not looking up from his resting stance, still breathing hard. "Hey.." Hallie said to him. "Now that I know that neither one of us is going to need CPR, can we continue our run? My muscles are beginning to spaz up." He threw out a grubby, fall filthy hand holding up one finger. He took a deep breath, and spat out some mud and spit. Then he lifted his head with a wolfish grin. "After you, my fair lady.." Hallie was good enough to curtsy. Then she issued a challenge. "Last one to the station has to do the dishes! OneTwoThree GO!" and she took off in a cloud of frozen dust. Al just about messed his pants on the inside. "Wait a minute! I wasn't ready yet! I still got a fairly recent bum ankle here." He said, painfully trying to follow at a jog. "Tough!" she hollered back, still running away from him at a firm, fast applied run. "Grit your teeth and pretend it's not there. Works for me.." "Women.." grumbled Al Martelli with a half smile. "I hate em." he said, digging his running steps in firmly in order to catch up with Hallie before she won the race. |
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************************************************** Subject: Payback's a - - - - -... From: patti k (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Sun 11/30/08 2:03 AM Chris heard a piercing whistle through his dark room closet door. Quickly, he finished washing the finished version of the photo he had taken earlier with Ted in the fixer pan. With french fry tongs, he lifted it out and then clicked off the red light bulb in the tiny space he had worked in. Ducking around an I.V. tubing clothesline of other clipped on photographs still drying, Chris crawled out into the vehicle bay, with the still wet photograph dangling to keep it from getting smudged accidently. "I'm coming! There in a sec!" he called out to the fire station at large. He grabbed his stomach as it growled at the smell of breakfast now waiting. Then he picked off the radio that was on his duty belt and keyed the mic with his free hand. "Chris to Harris, grab the eight ladder and meet me on the east side exterior. Phase two's set." he smirked. ##On my way, man. This is gonna be so sweet..## he heard the other firefighter reply with glee on the local station band. Soon, Rags Harris, a deep voiced, large boned handsome African American firefighter slid down the stairwell railing leading from the kitchen down to the vehicle bay. "Did it turn out?" "Yep. And more than fair. Take a look." said Chris Rorchek. Rags reached out eager fingers. "OOoo ooo *chortle* Looks just like the original one except for the obvious ch--" "Shhhh! Don't touch it. It's still fresh." Chris warned, jerking back his tongs and his new picture protectively. "Just go get the step up and meet me outside. I need you to boost me so I can tape it over the camera lens under the eaves." Rags was giggling like a kid despite his huge size. "How long do you think it'll take for Mike Porter to catch on to us?" |
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"Longer than an hour for sure. He's not that sophisticated, Rags. His phone calls to the guard shack, when he sees that we're out there at the gate trying to get in, are about as subtle as a trainwreck." "Well, what about Security? Won't they notice this and us mucking with Camera One?" asked Rags Harris. Chris smirked matter of factly after the briefest of hesitations. "Nah, since when has Security been good for anything around here except calling us in for medical emergencies?" said Chris. "And we won't have to worry about plane-security breach issues either. As soon as the tide rolls out in a couple of hours, the sea's daybreeze will tear it free for us and blow it out over the ocean..." he said, high five-ing the air. "Evidence erased.." Harris agreed happily. "Wooh!" he said, meeting Chris's enthusiastic high five. "Let's go get it done." Two minutes later, the firemen planted their prank deftly without being seen in the security camera's field of view of the storage runway, and were soon off eating happily with the rest of the station crew. |
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---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the control tower, the morning was very routine. Security cameras were flicking through their series of rotation images, the main weather radar was clear, and planes were actually listening to ISLIP Tower's instructions for landings and takeoffs fairly accurately. So, grinning, Air Traffic Controller Mike Porter relaxed a bit with a cup of coffee and put his feet up. For about two seconds. Tops. Then he whipped them down again off the radar counter. For his boss Gene Skidwell had entered the flightview floor with his own cup of coffee in a like hand. The burly man paused at the sight of their twin caffeine choices and chuckled. "And it's not even snowing yet." Mike tried to look nonchalant. "Hmm?" "Expresso." Skidwell clarified, holding up his own. Porter misunderstood. "Oh, no thanks. I got Folders." And he fake tapped a radar screen into a higher contrast with a fingernail. Skidwell sighed and admired the view around them that was slowly unfolding in the bright morning sunlight. As yet, the low line of snow clouds were staying out to sea. And the metallic glints of taxiing, landing and flight leaving planes were comforting. Then his eye fell on one screen of the security cam network panel. He immediately spit out the mouthful he had just taken of his coffee. "What the--?" he sputtered, then he glared at Mike and growled. "Is this your idea of a practical joke?" he spat. Glancing up from a flightplan checklist, Porter cringed at the tone. "Uh, wh- uh, what boss?" "That right there!" Skidwell said, aiming an angry, twitching finger at Camera One directly behind him without taking his eyes off Porter's. Mike blanched when he noticed what was broadcasting. |
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Flight One Decoy, Air Force One's target dummy, was sporting an engine for a nose and two nose cones for engines. He began stammering as he rubbed his face in disbelief. "Well?!" demanded Gene Skidwell. When Mike opened his eyes, the image display became normal, just as a gust of wind vibrated the Control Tower. His face betrayed a wide range of emotions when he figured it out as a tiny telltale shred of duct tape fluttered in the live shot. ::Those two *ssh*l*s! I'm gonna kill them!:: he thought. Craftily, on the outside, he answered his boss truthfully. "Camera One's fully operational, sir. And clean." Frowning, Skidwell whipped his head back around to that particular monitor. And saw nothing amiss at all. Gravely, Mike Porter reached over and took the expresso out of his boss's hand. "Here, I'd better finish that. I think you've had a little too much this morning, sir." "Yeah, you do that.." said Gene numbly as he stared at Camera One. Then he shuffled out of the room in a daze after one or two weak return glances back at the network cam station along the way. As soon as Gene was gone, Mike Porter broke a pencil from sheer stress relief. He was no longer smiling. |
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************************************************** Subject: Long Distance Approval From: patti k (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Mon 12/01/08 1:08 AM Rags and Chris were still laughing when they thundered up the stairs leading to the kitchen. A shout got their attention. "Just a minute, boys.." said Chief Joe Rorchek from his office at the top of the landing adjacent to the dining area. "Yeah, dad?" said Chris, peeking into the doorway with Rags after they had backtracked a few stairs. The silver haired, black eyebrowed man behind the desk in a duty uniform lifted his eyebrows. "Did you get the requisition order placed all right?" "Sure did. I would have gotten here sooner except Ted and I ran into unforeseen difficulties getting back here." he said, remembering the guard shack delay prank with some heat. "Delayed? Has the weather turned already?" Joe asked, surprised, glancing over at the weather radar he had up on the monitor across the room. "Nah, it wasn't that kind of obstacle. But Rags and I just took care of the problem." Chris chuckled, pleased, elbowing Harris in the ribs as the two of them celebrated their security camera gag in secret. |
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"Good. Thanks, boys." said Joe. "Are you coming for breakfast? It's ready. Somebody gave the high sign a few minutes ago." rumbled Harris, still grinning. Joe looked up from a rolodex. "Yeah, I'll be right there. I have a phone call to make first." replied the Chief. "See you at the table.." said Chris. "I'll save you some bacon." The two big firemen turned to go when Joe stopped them for a moment. "Oh, and one more thing, fellas...." Chris and Rags gripped the doorframe as they peeked their heads in again. Both their faces mirrored curiosity. Joe's face fell into serious lines. "Phase Two, eh?" Chris and Rags shook their heads in incomprehension. Joe pointed a pen to his turned on local HT channel scanner that was always active on top of his desk. ::He heard our chatter on the radio?:: Chris thought in dismay. Chris washed completely pale and Rags would have too if he had had the skin tone to accomplish it. Both pranksters began stammering nervously. Chris immediately began to abase himself. "Oh, Dad. I'm SOooo sorry about that.. we were just-" The chief's rugged features suddenly let them off the hook. "Relax, boys. I'm with you. Our oneupmanship joke war with the Tower has been going on for decades now. Glad you finally stuck Mike Porter a notch or two. He's their top player this year." he smirked. "Let me know how that turns out. Inquiring minds want to know." Both men saluted in mock. "Will do, Chief." And then they left to get themselves some serious food. Laughing, the gravelly voiced Joe Rorchek lifted the phone receiver and dialed long distance. The phone rang and was picked up. |
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##Dr. Brackett, Rampart Emergency..## came the reply. "Kel Brackett? This is Fire Chief Joe Rorchek from the International Long Island MacArthur Airport in Ronkonkoma, New York." ##Ah, yes. I remember the name from the county's budget report. What can I do for you today, Mr. Rorchek? Has our L.A.Co. fire station crew arrived there yet for their cross training?## Kel asked. "Not yet. They're scheduled to report to me on Friday, three days from now. Doctor, the reason why I'm calling. Can we utilize.. uh.. " as he peered myopically at a file laid out in front of him. "..your John Gage and Roy DeSoto's paramedic statuses while they're here at the station?" ##By all means. A new Registry's extended our local California paramedic program up to the national level just last month. I've already talked with your ambulance service's medical director and he'll be assuming responsibility for all care rendered by my men to the public in my stead. We've transferred licensors temporarily for the extent of their visit with you.## Joe sighed appreciatively. "Thank you, doctor. I appreciate the courtesy. We've a few paramedics available to the airport but they are only associated with the ambulance companies who respond to our calls after we do." ##I suspected as much. You East Coasters are still learning our game with the medics-in-firehouses idea.## "I hope to pitch that training program you started out there to my legislators next session. Maybe we can get the ball rolling a little faster on that avenue." Joe suggested. ##That's why I jumped at the chance at your offer of cross training county fire with airport rescue fire services. The encounter will undoubtly prove to be mutually beneficial.## Dr. Brackett shared. "A pleasure, Doctor. Thanks for your endorsement." ##Anytime, Chief. Please call me with any further questions, thoughts, or ideas. I'm always available through my private messenger service.## "I appreciate it. Oh, and one more thing." Joe said. ##Sure. What's that?## "Hug a palm tree for all of us, will you? Somehow just looking at calendars from California around here aren't enough." Joe Rorchek joked, eyeballing the beach one hanging opposite his desk on the station's community board. "We're STILL trying to believe that it's a real place." he joked. ##Only if you save some snow for us. We're stuck in the middle of a late fall heat wave.## "Deal." ##Stay safe and warm out there, Chief. ## "Most assuredly. Goodbye, Dr. Brackett." ##Goodbye.## Joe hung up the phone, and sighed as the first snow flakes began to fall outside his office window. |
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************************************************** Subject: Camaraderie Charms From: patti k (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Mon 12/01/08 1:12 PM Breakfast was a loud, jaunty, happy experience for all six at the fire station at the airport. It seemed everybody talked at once and yet everyone was fully understood by all of the others in a way that only a well knit team could do. Hallie Green was fresh and showered. And her ex-running partner, Al Martelli, was showered, but far from refreshed. He was moping about the sink, applying himself to dishes whose pile seemed to be growing as one by one, firefighters added them to the wash water. "It's got to be karma working, guys, just bad karma. I keep losing all the bets I make." sulked Al, weakily wiping a towel over a plate. Hallie snorted. "Admit it, Martelli. You're over the hill." "At thirty?" replied Green with a little afront. "Yep. It's either that or the fact that you're getting fat." she said ungraciously, but sweetened with a pixie smile. Martelli threw a towel ball that caught Green on the back of the head. |
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"And he scores!" said Ted, not looking up from his newspaper. "Say, guys. Did you see here? There's an Alberta clipper headed our way by Saturday." Joe Rorchek grunted. "Umm hmm, I already know it's coming. Pass me the salt?" "He can feel it in his very bones....." said Harris, teasing as he slid the shaker down the table like a talented barkeep. The shaker miraculously passed all obstacles as firefighters lifted plates, moved mugs, or picked up their feet to get out of its way without looking. The chief intercepted the offering deftly. "Thanks. My bones aside, this means an ice alert and stepped up vigilance for us a day earlier than that." "Aww, chief." Hallie moaned. "Won't be that bad. It's only early December.." Rags countered. "The tarmack crew can handle those checks just as well as we can." suggested Chris Rorchek. "I hate the cold." sighed Martelli. "Well then, enjoy your hot water.." Ted told him pointedly. The chief answered them all. "They'll be busy with the holiday crowds and increased flight traffic. I've already volunteered us for regular patrols checking the fuel depots and chem stores. Take on the alpha schedule of shifts, handling that, immediately." "Yes, sir.." they all said as one, fun instantly quelled for business. A few minutes later, Al was nursing his dishwater wrinkled hands in a bowl of handcream as he lounged on the couch, digesting breakfast. A loud burp issued forth from somebody, but no one cared. And soon, conversation had died down to a blissful silence as everybody either dozed or read or inspected their turnouts and boots for holes from the hooks lined up along the wall. Rags opened up sleepy eyes when he heard the wind start to howl. "I know what we could do to liven up the place a little. Those beachside calendars aren't enough. I think we should all vote on getting another dog." Chris scoffed from his perch on the counter where he was doing situps. "A second dog with free rein around here. Hmph. That's brilliant." he said sarcastically. "Why ruin this utter peace and quiet?" Right then, a close flying jumbo jet taking off, rattled the dishes in the cupboards and made the leftover coffee mugs strewn across the long table, dance in excited jitters. When the plane quake had passed, Al Martelli grunted in annoyance. "Oh, you mean that peace and quiet?" Everybody laughed. Chief Rorchek looked up at the ceiling. "Looks like the new holiday season's begun. That's the third plane in at least as many minutes." |
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"May they all remain safe and snug for the rest of the year and beyond." Ted said, feeling the change too. "Here. Here." replied all soberly. Nobody wanted to acknowledge the very reason for their working jobs' existence. For death, when it visited, always came quickly to their playground. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Joey Collins ran excitedly through the visitor's center side door with his knapsack in his hands. He ran to the front park ranger's information desk and there he spotted Captain Paul Carnes, working on paperwork. "Hi Paul.." "Well, hi there, Joey. Did your grandmother give you permission to hang out with me today in a career shadow?" "She sure did. Here's MY paperwork." he said seriously, adjusting his U.S.S. Intrepid Navy baseball cap absently more firmly onto his head. Captain Carnes read over the permission slip and waiver and found everything in order. "Well, all right. We're good to go then. But first, I need about ten minutes more to finish up my business. Then we'll go get your tour started, okay?" "But you promised to look at my toy ships today." Joey pouted, his deep brown limpid eyes filling. "I will, son. I will." Paul looked around the counter in front of him. "But I have to get this part of my job done first. Oh, here. I have an idea. This is a map of Lake Augustus. It's big enough to be a whole ocean for those ships of yours to navigate.." he hinted handed out the tourist map in a dangle. "I heard one of the islands was marked as having buried treasure on it..." "Really?" Joey sniffed, his sadness already evaporated. "Let me see!" Paul leaned over the counter and pulled down his ranger's hat. "I won't tell if you won't." he whispered confidentially. |
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The air was brisk but still clear and sunny in the next mountain valley over from the Appalchian Center. Johnny Gage pulled his rover, full of the gang's camping gear, up to Tag number 70 that was located in a ravine thick with pine and beech trees. A lazy heat made them all sweat in their winter coats. "Man. Yep, Indian summer for sure." commented Chet as he got out of the jeep. "Feel this heat. It's making even my skin red." Gage just glared at him, already tired of Kelly's jokes about his nationality. Cap said, "Okay, fellas. The faster we get the tents up, the faster we can go exploring to find the best places to put our deer stands." Roy smiled, pulling off a ski cap that he didn't need. "Isn't it nice that the park extended the hunt this year because of over population? I can't see us missing our buck tag. Can you?" "Not when I'm around." said Johnny. "I always get my meat." "What chick scores are you talking about there, ah, Johnny?" Chet asked, rubbing his chin mischieviously, baiting Gage. "Don't be crude." Johnny retorted. Kelly chuckled. "I wasn't trying to be. But boy, those two park ranger chicks were mighty fine looking steaks to me. I think I'm gonna save me some Worchestershire." The others laughed. |
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************************************************** Subject: Off Target From: patti k (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Thu 12/18/08 6:43 PM It was almost nightfall and peace reigned over the creek valley location where the gang had outfitted their deer camp. The lazy heat of the day was fleeing, leaving behind the autumn crispness that had been readily apparent among the yellowing beech trees surrounding their two picketted, white canvas tents. Thwock! came an echoing sound, reverberating around the open-to-the-air, rustic creekbed. On an improvised hammock, Captain Stanley smiled. "That's what? Eight in a row?" he called out to Chet, who had just released a fletched arrow from his beefed up compound bow. "Nine." Kelly shouted back, still eyeing up the target thirty yards away. It was nearly invisible in the shadows but he wasn't even squinting to see it. "I'm simply perfect now, man. I told you that before we left home. Remember?" "I can't forget it." Cap celebrated. "That's why we planned this trip in the first place. Guaranteed deer meat. And here we come! I'm awfully glad it's gonna be venison on the menu, and not fish this time." he quipped. Irked by the reminder of the rejected Santa Rose county trout memory, Johnny Gage looked up from the stream where he was washing the last of their dinner dishes out with water and beach sand. "Are they ALL solid hits in the vitals?" Gage finally asked the two of them. Inwardly, he admitted a frightening thought. ::I can't even see the deer's cardboard outline anymore in this fading light and I'm much, much closer to it than Chet is.:: he realized mentally. Thwock! came another deciding impact sound of an arrow straight on target. "Yep. Every one.... And that makes ten. And counting..." Kelly gloated, still baiting Gage. He sighed deeply, invigorated. "Care to go six against six, Johnny boy?" he finally trickled. Johnny was instantly on his feet. He dropped the empty, bottom burned pork and beans pan onto the sandbar half full with creek water, to soak. "You're on. That arm's of yours has got to be getting tired out by now." Mike Stoker chuckled from where he was snoozing in his steaming shoes near the roaring campfire. He lifted his head from a convenient pillow log. "On an engine firefighter? Johnny, are you for real? One puny little bow's nothing compared to hours working with a live fire hose. You and Roy work far too many medical calls, so we know you don't have the same forearm muscles we do. Chet's gonna Robin Hood the h*ll out of you, Gage. Watch out." he grinned. "In ..his.... dreams.." said Johnny, scoffing good naturedly. "Or maybe his." said Roy, pointing over to his left at another shadow. Everybody looked in that direction. Next to DeSoto, Marco snored loudly, obliviously content, with a very full stomach. He was slumped limply, head backwards, in a camp lounge chair surrounded by four empty beer cans littering the ground around his feet. Roy just grinned at Lopez, lightbulbing an idea. "Tell you what. The winner doesn't have to carry Marco here to his sleeping bag.." he challenged. "You're on.." said both Kelly and Gage. The two camouflaged tan and orange bedecked firemen friends spat on their hands and they eagerly shook on it. Cap's support of Chet was unwavering. "Oh, this is gonna be good." he said, lifting up his hunter's cap so he could watch Johnny and Chet toe a line on the beach next to the burbling ice-water creek. They squared off shoulder to shoulder in front of the whitetail buck target that was already festooned with Chet's bright chartreuse feathered arrows. Quickly, Chet froze in place to knock off another arrow into the air. Gage's recollection gave him an unwilling instant replay. In slow mo. ::Raised the bow, aimed and shot. In three seconds? Tops?! Holy cow!..:: Johnny's mind beleaguered in nagging analysis. Thwock! And the card target deer's ribs behind the elbow sprouted a new limb, pock cratered at the impact point. The arrow vibrated there for a long time. |
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Gage tried not to let the noise of it distract him. Nor the enthusiastic cheers of Cap, which followed the perfect "kill" Chet had once again executed. <--(Sorry, pun. So sue me. :P :) Kneeling, Johnny got out his simple elegant pine recurve bow, a traditional one, steeped with eagle feathers and just a clean line of antelope leather for an arrow notch. Intricate colorful beadwork decorated its entire length as he drew out the rest of it from its protective, moth eaten, ratty old Seminole blanket. Mike Stoker whistled appreciatively at it. "You guys got the same poundage?" he asked, eyeing up its size. "Doesn't matter." Johnny shot back. "This is all about skill. Right, Chet?" "If you say so." Kelly smirked, coughing smugly as he fitted another arrow to his bow sights on his thoroughly modern fiberglass bow. "Just shut up and draw." Johnny said, gritting his teeth in fully aroused competitiveness. "You first." Kelly sniffed, unconcerned at Johnny's sharpness. "Okay.. Stand aside then." Johnny sighed dangerously. Chet just smiled. Gage's eye never wavered from the low shoulder area he felt in the darkness on the cutout. He cocked his arm back, hugging his now taut rawhide gut bowstring and then he silently cheek kissed his first chosen falcon feathered arrow. With his target clearly burned into his mind, Johnny released it smoothly with a gentle creak of leather after his eyes closed. Away it flew. Everybody froze, waiting for an impact. The answering quiet was overwhelming. Cap started laughing, aiming a flashlight into the trees. "I don't see it there. Did any of you guys see that one hit at all?" he teased into the new silence. Gage's eyes flew open and his mouth flopped open. "What?" Roy didn't giggle. "Why don't you try that again, junior. You haven't had a chance to warm up yet like Chet did before he started practicing." "Yeah.. uh, I think I will." Gage stammered, still utterly surprised that his sure "feel" didn't match the outcome that he knew he had normally experienced, all of his life. "I..uh, m- missed? Are you sure?" he whispered. Chet was gentlemanly enough not to jab a man when he was down. "No biggie, Gage. Don't worry. I'll help ya look for that one afterwards. Cap, can you turn off that flashlight so our eyes can get readjusted again?" "Oh, yeah, right. Sorry." Hank replied, shutting off the torch. The bright starry night returned in an eerily long blue twilight that they weren't familiar with at all. "Wow, the air's actually still glowing here. Weird." "It's the latitude. Slower sunsets." Stoker supplied, ever accurate. A minute later, while they all patiently waited, Johnny complained. "Sorry, my eyes are still buzzing, guys." he said, wiping away sweat as he tried to concentrate on the target he knew was still somewhere in the darkness. But his mind's eye seem to fail him once again. Cap chuckled. "You should lay off the beer then. You're not very big in size, pal. Maybe the one you had's getting to you." he suggested reasonably. "You did drive the rover all day long." "I'm fine." he hissed. "See?" he told him, holding up a very steady hand. "Maybe I'm just not concentrating enough yet." Chet smirked. "Gage, not concentrating? Quick! Somebody nick a finger on a knife or something. The paramedic in him'll kick in and refocus all those marvelous Indian instincts he claims he's got after he sees some blood." "Ha. Ha. Think you're clever?" Johnny said, getting mad. His eyes glimmered fiercely as he fought down a shallow retort. Carefully, he held his breath on the next arrow as he lined up and pulled it back into full tension. Seconds whispered by.. Then Gage let it go firmly, his bowstring singing. The gang held bated breath, but only the wind replied back. They fell mute. Completely. But then Chet tried to save the moment. |
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Chet finally saw the outline. "There you are. Say bye bye, Bambi." he whispered and released his shot. "NO!" Gage hollered, quickly trying to deflect the arrow with a shove of his elbow. But he was too late. The sick thud of a sluggish arrow hitting just shoulder bone echoed around the glade before the shocked, superficially impaled buck leaped up and began to flee away from them in a rush of dried leaves and breaking branches. "What did you do that for?" Chet asked as he watched Gage suddenly deploy a rope to rappel down to the ground after shouldering his bow and quiver. "I got him." he insisted. Gage landed on the ground solidly and let go of the rope. "You just wounded him, Chet! And now he's suffering. Horribly." he snapped. "Never, EVER take a shot on moving game. That's totally, totally cruel. Those are never sure kill!" Kelly stopped an equally heated comeback, suddenly uncertain. "What?" Johnny pointed towards the thicket into which the buck had fled with an irritated gesture as he swiftly began to track blood sign to follow him. "Just listen to what you did.." he raged. Painful gasps and bleats began to fill the woods, slowly growing quieter as the distance grew between the running, panicking whitetail deer and his two firemen hunters. But that didn't lessen their impact on Kelly. Chet blanched and he almost dropped his bow as he quickly shimmeyed down out of the deer stand to join Johnny. He felt sick to his stomach. "I didn't know, Johnny. I didn't think--" "That's right you didn't think! A cardboard cutout's a far cry from a living, breathing, feeling target." he said jogging after the disheveled trail of red droplets on the leaves ahead of him. "You need to be a lot closer to any large game to get a tip down to vitals cleanly. Now let's get after that poor buck and end it for him just as fast as we can." Gage said turning his anger into constructive criticism. Chet hurried after him, cowed. Four minutes later, Johnny spied the bleating buck just as he was failing to climb the creekbank on the opposite side of the small valley because of his crippling shoulder injury. Gage could see the bright neon yellow feathers and three quarters of Chet's arrow still sticking out of the deer's quivering hide and muscle. He swiftly knelt twenty yards away and loosed a solid arrow that caught the buck squarely in the white hair of its breast. A fast trickle of red began to course down as the buck shuddered on four shaky legs, slowly turning his head, ears, and frightened eyes to regard his pursuers in surprise. But seconds later, the deer dropped like a stone from Gage's definitive shot, ....dead. Gage hurried over to the fallen buck to make sure the kill was over, and it was. Chet followed more slowly, still stunned by what he had learned, saw and felt right then. "But that's just my arrow." Chet said, pointing to the yellow shaft embedded in the deer's shoulder. Its feathers were glowing brightly in the dawn's light on the edge of the field where they stood. "I don't understand." he whispered. "Where's yours? I don't see--" "That's because mine went clear through both lungs, the heart, and out the other side, Chet." he hissed, holding up the bloody whole arrow of his own that he had just retrieved from deep in the still soft dirt a few feet beyond the buck's carcass. "Like it was supposed to have done with yours in the first place!" |
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Kelly actually flinched, and suddenly Gage bit his own lip in mental apology when a memory flashed back of his own first failed kill when he was a boy. His tribal mentor hadn't reacted as violently to his own lack of a kill mistake to the same degree as what Johnny had just done to Chet a short minute ago. "I'm sorry, Johnny. Really, truly. I am. I never wanted the deer to suffer. You know that." Kelly told him quietly, his face still stricken. "I sure do, too, even more than you can possibly know right now." he said, getting vehement in his shock at his own, thoughtless error. His eyes were bright with tears. Gage sighed impatiently, with open sympathy, eager to get the past five minutes out of his mind forever. "Come on. Let's get him dressed out for our packs." Kelly knelt and placed a hand on the buck's still steaming, soft flank, being respectful. Gage saw that even though Kelly was reluctant to retrieve his arrow back, his mind was mentally working. Johnny nodded, answering Chet's unspoken question. "Yes, your shot would have been as good as mine if you had been as close as I was when I took him down. This is at the right angle for a solid hit. It was only lack of force that broke the tip off at bone level." Chet just nodded, fighting strong emotions. But then he said, "Let's not take the rack, Johnny. Not after that. It just doesn't seem right." Kelly told him, changing the subject. Johnny afforded him a slight smile. "Okay. Just our food." Then he remembered another far away memory of his first game hunt that had gone badly, so he added. "Let's build a cairn, too, so we can leave the antlers behind. I'll say a few prayers as a thank you." "So will I." Kelly added quickly, even though he wasn't a very religious man, on any facet. Gage bent then and freed up Chet's arrow for him from where it was buried. He stood and handed the shattered shaft back to Kelly with strong shades of sympathy. Johnny said. "We are part of a Circle. Never forget that we're givers, too." "And takers." Kelly agreed, understanding at last. |
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