Conflagration

LVIII

The man and the boy watched as the Jeep passed them on the gravel road and headed back out towards the highway. The man smiled to himself and thought about the one he had owned years before. Blue instead of black. The boy sat shotgun finishing the peanut butter sandwich he had made for him before they left the house. Evidence of it sat in crumbs along his lap. Eye black was scrawled across his face in diagonal strips.

They drove another half mile before pulling off the road. The man looked up through the windshield for the helicopter which he could hear but not see. It was somewhere north and flying low. He suspected that its presence may frighten the wild turkeys but he had promised the boy that he would take him out. There were clearings in these woods where turkeys congregated that his own father had brought him to. He parked and the two rounded the back of the truck. The man dropped the tailgate and unzipped a long bag. Inside was a Remington 870 and he pulled it out along with a square munitions box.

The boy watched him as he worked.

He cut open the port and loaded three shells into the chamber. When he was finished he flicked the safety back on with his thumb and swung the barrel over his shoulder. The boy feigned an attack to get at the shotgun but the man sidestepped and smiled.

"Not today."

"How long am I gunna have to wait?"

"Haven't figured it. I keep addin days on for each time you ask. You keep this pace and you'll have babies of your own fore you get your hands on one of these."

"Come on."

"Here," the man said. He reached behind the shell box and pulled out a pair of binoculars, then he dropped them into the boy's hands.

"You'll be our eyes."

"Fine."

The man cupped the back of the boy's head as they walked into the woods. They wandered around for a half hour or so and felt the days heat begin to grow. There had been a light rain the night before and the wet ground left the air humid. They passed through two small fields and found both empty. The man spent most of this time with the caller pressed against his tongue but nothing came.

The only other clearing he knew of was to their northeast and he led the boy along a dry creek bed between hills. After a few minutes the boy told him to stop and stuck his nose up in the air.

"You smell that?"

The man did the same and nodded. It was the scent of woodsmoke. He thought of the fires to the west but after another moment of sniffing he knew that what he smelled was much closer. Above the hill he could see the faintest trail of grey rise through the foliage. He looked back at the boy who shrugged.

"Alright then. Let's go take a look."

They walked to the top of the ridge and could see the structure fifty or so yards ahead. It was drenched in fire. Every inch glowing with live flame. The boy went to get closer but the man put his hand on his chest and he stayed.

"Best to leave it be."

The damp wood popped as it burned. Bits of board and chunks of shingles had fallen onto the wet ground and sizzled. The surrounding trees were far enough away to avoid the embers. Moisture glistened off their limbs and trunks. The fire had been raging for some time and it was difficult to tell how much of it had burned.

"Is that somebody's home?" The boy asked.

"No," his father said. "Just some old shed."

They stood and watched it smolder until the image of the fire was burned into their vision. After another moment the man ruffled the boy's hair and went back towards the hill. He walked ten paces and turned. The boy was still staring at the crumbling shed.

"You okay?" The father asked him. The boy looked up at him.

"Yeah. I'm okay."

And the two walked together toward the clearing ahead.

THE END