223shootersc
Veteran Member
Thanks Pac!
Story Grace, Mercy and Blessings
- Thread starter PacNorWest
- Start date
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#590
In the matter of fifteen minutes, it was all over. The royal jet copter took off toward the West, the limousine entourage went East, and the three adults were left looking at each other.
The triplets played 'helicopter' turning in circles until they fell to the grass, dizzy as all get out. Tess had a real sour look on her face, Gary wore his usual bland,....nobody can tell what I'm thinking look...; and Woody made a small joke.
"I had heard rumors," Woody said carefully, hoping to keep his words light. "I got a call last night that the prince was in town and hot on the trail of someone. He's really been throwing his weight around, causing a lot of problems. No one seemed to have the key to satisfy his anger, so do you think your Dad will know what to do? Should we call him and let him know a whole lot of trouble is coming his way?"
"I'm sure he already knows," Tess said obliquely, "Dad has dealt with many of the princes over the years; they try to buy his loyalty every time they come around. Our Dad is the staunchest patriot you will ever know. He's been offered millions to align with the Saudi's and they won't give up."
"Is it true that one of the prince's 'helped' eliminate corruption in the Marshall's Service?" Woody knew immediately that his question was over the line, by the way Tess tightened her expression.
"I don't remember, I was too young and not privy to that sort of information," Tess said quickly, and Gary was nodding his agreement, that he too, was out of the loop of information. "That's something you'll have to ask Dad, sometime." Tess stressed the sometime, and Woody caught the meaning that it wasn't a casual topic of conversation.
Woody was thinking on his feet. Obviously, Tess and Gary didn't want to contact Mark while he was there, so he accepted graciously the unspoken urge they were giving him to leave.
Woody made his niceties known and left, Tess upset that he was so nosy, and yet wanting the man to be there. His job prevented his free time from really being his time to call his own; so Tess was grateful he devoted as much time to them, as he had.
"Poor man," Gary teased; "it doesn't make any difference how high up the ladder a guy gets, he's still like a bumbling teen ager when the 'bug' bites."
"I'm sure you are very familiar with that attitude," Tess shot right back. "You seem to walk around in a stupor when your close to the 'source."
"Yeah, ain't it great." Gary's response was so out of character for him, that Tess had to stop and stare at him.
"This woman is of my choosing, and I'm enjoying every second of it. You should relax and enjoy the beginning of what's happening yourself. It was pretty obvious to the rest of us that you didn't give two toots to that Wyatt fella, so I don't think you need to worry about disrespecting his memory. What you have is upset faith in your own ability to make correct decisions." Gary was so calm and reasonable; Tess almost dropped her jaw in amazement.
"OK, so you are the great love philosopher?" Tess sniped as she turned toward the patio door.
"I'm in a better place than you are," Gary shot right back.
In the matter of fifteen minutes, it was all over. The royal jet copter took off toward the West, the limousine entourage went East, and the three adults were left looking at each other.
The triplets played 'helicopter' turning in circles until they fell to the grass, dizzy as all get out. Tess had a real sour look on her face, Gary wore his usual bland,....nobody can tell what I'm thinking look...; and Woody made a small joke.
"I had heard rumors," Woody said carefully, hoping to keep his words light. "I got a call last night that the prince was in town and hot on the trail of someone. He's really been throwing his weight around, causing a lot of problems. No one seemed to have the key to satisfy his anger, so do you think your Dad will know what to do? Should we call him and let him know a whole lot of trouble is coming his way?"
"I'm sure he already knows," Tess said obliquely, "Dad has dealt with many of the princes over the years; they try to buy his loyalty every time they come around. Our Dad is the staunchest patriot you will ever know. He's been offered millions to align with the Saudi's and they won't give up."
"Is it true that one of the prince's 'helped' eliminate corruption in the Marshall's Service?" Woody knew immediately that his question was over the line, by the way Tess tightened her expression.
"I don't remember, I was too young and not privy to that sort of information," Tess said quickly, and Gary was nodding his agreement, that he too, was out of the loop of information. "That's something you'll have to ask Dad, sometime." Tess stressed the sometime, and Woody caught the meaning that it wasn't a casual topic of conversation.
Woody was thinking on his feet. Obviously, Tess and Gary didn't want to contact Mark while he was there, so he accepted graciously the unspoken urge they were giving him to leave.
Woody made his niceties known and left, Tess upset that he was so nosy, and yet wanting the man to be there. His job prevented his free time from really being his time to call his own; so Tess was grateful he devoted as much time to them, as he had.
"Poor man," Gary teased; "it doesn't make any difference how high up the ladder a guy gets, he's still like a bumbling teen ager when the 'bug' bites."
"I'm sure you are very familiar with that attitude," Tess shot right back. "You seem to walk around in a stupor when your close to the 'source."
"Yeah, ain't it great." Gary's response was so out of character for him, that Tess had to stop and stare at him.
"This woman is of my choosing, and I'm enjoying every second of it. You should relax and enjoy the beginning of what's happening yourself. It was pretty obvious to the rest of us that you didn't give two toots to that Wyatt fella, so I don't think you need to worry about disrespecting his memory. What you have is upset faith in your own ability to make correct decisions." Gary was so calm and reasonable; Tess almost dropped her jaw in amazement.
"OK, so you are the great love philosopher?" Tess sniped as she turned toward the patio door.
"I'm in a better place than you are," Gary shot right back.
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Thanks Pac!
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Great, thank you Pac.PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#590b
Clora had already informed Mark what was happening. The copter was just breaking over the Cascades as they followed where the road ribbon of I90 had once been.. They had to refuel in Seattle for the trip North, and it was already4pm.
The fuel stop was just a couple of tanks hauled in, with a containment boom around the eventually of a spill. The pilot didn't think much of the fuel, off loaded from ships in rusty looking 55 gallon drums and tapped with a arm powered siphon pump.
Mark helped with the back and forth of the pump handle, until he was worn out. He then took his turn at holding the triple screen funnel as the gas trickled into the gas tank.
"It looks and smells like high octane, I just pray it's clean enough to burn," the pilot said several times. I can tell you for sure that I'm not flying high, in case we stall and have to ditch. You must be some high mucky muck to rate this kind of treatment from the MS. I know the director and he's a tight wad."
Mark chuckled, "I agree, I'm mucky muck alright. We have about enough light to reach where we're going. We'll camp there tonight." He answered with assurance. "How much fuel is left? Enough to refuel on the way back out?"
"Yeah, barely, it's gonna be tight."
Then I suggest we mismark that last drum of fly fuel to something low grade and mix the drum in with the rest of them. If we don't, it won't be here tomorrow."
"What, wait, why?" the pilot stuttered in consternation, "what is going on?"
"There is a jet copter trailing us. They mean no harm, but wouldn't be above using all the fuel, leaving us stranded. I have a letter explaining the situation, but I suggest we get where we're going while it's still light. It would just be better." Mark finished, looking directly at the pilot, waiting for that man to answer.
The pilot was a cautious, reasonable man. "Then load up, let's get going."
It took an hour to reach the valley. The pilot was true to his word, he went skimming over the still thick mud encrusted ground, concentrating fiercely on monitoring the fuel gauge, as he flew.
Clora felt her heart catch in her throat. The landscape they had just come over, should have prepared her for the desolation of the valley; but she had hoped.
Mark on the other hand, seemed excited. "Oh, it looks much better than it did when I was here before." The setting sun illuminated the valley walls with golden sunshine as the clouds rolled away. Here and there, green vines and grass were growing over the crusted mud.
Strong rain squalls had washed some of the mud away; in the seven years since Mark had been there. He hummed and worked energetically as he put the tents up and started scrounging for wood to burn.
The wood was scarce, but Mark found pieces to start a cheerful fire, as the pilot tied the rotors down so they weren't damaged by a possible storm during the night.
As they sat near the fire in the cooling night, Clora remarked how silent it was. There was a wind, but no trees for it to slide through, sounding like rushing water.
No lowing of cattle, or calling by the night birds. Only the crackling of the fire could be heard above each person's breathing.
"Is it meeting your expectations?" the pilot inquired, "what did you think you would find, especially if you had been here after the tsunami. You had to know it was scoured clean."
"I don't know if I can explain it, so it makes sense. I just had to be here to walk on my own ground one more time."
"That sounds like spooky death talk, you ain't gonna die on me, out here, are ya?"
"I don't plan on it, but the good Lord is in charge. How long I live is up to Him." Mark spoke with the deep assurance of a man who has accepted his Lord as Savior and has no fear of death.
"When do you want to leave tomorrow?" the pilot hastily changed the subject, besides he was curious what the dude figured he was gonna do in such a desolate, forsaken landscape. The pilot figured the man must be looking for something, but hanged if he could figure it out.
Clora had already informed Mark what was happening. The copter was just breaking over the Cascades as they followed where the road ribbon of I90 had once been.. They had to refuel in Seattle for the trip North, and it was already4pm.
The fuel stop was just a couple of tanks hauled in, with a containment boom around the eventually of a spill. The pilot didn't think much of the fuel, off loaded from ships in rusty looking 55 gallon drums and tapped with a arm powered siphon pump.
Mark helped with the back and forth of the pump handle, until he was worn out. He then took his turn at holding the triple screen funnel as the gas trickled into the gas tank.
"It looks and smells like high octane, I just pray it's clean enough to burn," the pilot said several times. I can tell you for sure that I'm not flying high, in case we stall and have to ditch. You must be some high mucky muck to rate this kind of treatment from the MS. I know the director and he's a tight wad."
Mark chuckled, "I agree, I'm mucky muck alright. We have about enough light to reach where we're going. We'll camp there tonight." He answered with assurance. "How much fuel is left? Enough to refuel on the way back out?"
"Yeah, barely, it's gonna be tight."
Then I suggest we mismark that last drum of fly fuel to something low grade and mix the drum in with the rest of them. If we don't, it won't be here tomorrow."
"What, wait, why?" the pilot stuttered in consternation, "what is going on?"
"There is a jet copter trailing us. They mean no harm, but wouldn't be above using all the fuel, leaving us stranded. I have a letter explaining the situation, but I suggest we get where we're going while it's still light. It would just be better." Mark finished, looking directly at the pilot, waiting for that man to answer.
The pilot was a cautious, reasonable man. "Then load up, let's get going."
It took an hour to reach the valley. The pilot was true to his word, he went skimming over the still thick mud encrusted ground, concentrating fiercely on monitoring the fuel gauge, as he flew.
Clora felt her heart catch in her throat. The landscape they had just come over, should have prepared her for the desolation of the valley; but she had hoped.
Mark on the other hand, seemed excited. "Oh, it looks much better than it did when I was here before." The setting sun illuminated the valley walls with golden sunshine as the clouds rolled away. Here and there, green vines and grass were growing over the crusted mud.
Strong rain squalls had washed some of the mud away; in the seven years since Mark had been there. He hummed and worked energetically as he put the tents up and started scrounging for wood to burn.
The wood was scarce, but Mark found pieces to start a cheerful fire, as the pilot tied the rotors down so they weren't damaged by a possible storm during the night.
As they sat near the fire in the cooling night, Clora remarked how silent it was. There was a wind, but no trees for it to slide through, sounding like rushing water.
No lowing of cattle, or calling by the night birds. Only the crackling of the fire could be heard above each person's breathing.
"Is it meeting your expectations?" the pilot inquired, "what did you think you would find, especially if you had been here after the tsunami. You had to know it was scoured clean."
"I don't know if I can explain it, so it makes sense. I just had to be here to walk on my own ground one more time."
"That sounds like spooky death talk, you ain't gonna die on me, out here, are ya?"
"I don't plan on it, but the good Lord is in charge. How long I live is up to Him." Mark spoke with the deep assurance of a man who has accepted his Lord as Savior and has no fear of death.
"When do you want to leave tomorrow?" the pilot hastily changed the subject, besides he was curious what the dude figured he was gonna do in such a desolate, forsaken landscape. The pilot figured the man must be looking for something, but hanged if he could figure it out.
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
I think you're right.
larry_minn
Contributing Member
Are there any urns still there? How would they be?
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
Hee Hee
maybe not urns, maybe something else?
maybe not urns, maybe something else?
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
Oh great!
Now I have to back track 4 or 5 books to figure out what that might be! I’m more than a little OCD so, I best get started.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
High five Pac. Thank you.
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#591
Snuggled in their sleeping bags, Mark and Clora sleepily went over the day's happenings. The tent was protection from the pesky breeze that insisted on cooling the night, but on the whole, it wasn't particularly warm.
"How far are they behind us?" Mark wanted to know.
"In Boise," Clora chuckled. "The town is suffering the wrath of a man used to the finest accommodations, and the available motels/hotels are nice, but don't match his highnesses expectations. How long will you need tomorrow?"
"A good half a day, unless what I'm expecting to find is not where I'm expecting to find it. I'm not trying to be deliberately cagey, but if you don't know, you aren't held accountable." Mark sighed hard; "it's just a crazy notion of mine that I haven't been able to get rid of."
Mark didn't intend to say anything more, about what he was searching for. The pilot was most likely trustworthy, but if he didn't know, then he didn't know. Besides, the man was only on the other side of the pitiful little fire, and Mark suppose he could hear them talking very plainly.
It wasn't the worst night they had ever spent, but it was close. Mark had neglected to take in account 70 some year old bodies, did not function well in the cold and on the hard ground.
All three campers went scrounging for wood the next morning, and only found enough to heat the coffee to half warm. Never less, the brew was not turned down.
The cup warmed hands as well as the warmish water did the insides.
"I'll take down the tents", Clora offered. "Go do your thing and hurry, I need hot strong coffee. So keep that in mind if you go off on a tangent." Clora smiled a smile she didn't feel happy about. She sure hoped mark had a plan.
Well, of course he did, Mark always had a plan. It must be highly important, to go to all this trouble.
After an hour of waiting, Clora and the pilot went to sit in the copter to get out of the wind. There was a line of dark clouds approaching from the ocean, and the air was heavy with humidity and the smell of rain.
"If he don't get back before that squall hits, we'll be here until it's over." the pilot warned morosely. He was cold, bored and unhappy. So was Clora.
Gary chaffed under house arrest, or that was the way he thought about his restriction to the retreat. When Big and Tilly showed up, Gary could have kissed them. Well, Tilly anyway.
Tilly noticed the three adult settings and the three kid bowls in the dish drainer, but made no mention of the fact. Gary had been here, so Miss Tess and kidlets had been protected. But Tilly felt she was home, where she belonged. Big returned the smile she gave him, as she set dough for cinnamon rolls; knowing that they were Big's absolute favorite.
Gary had disappeared the minute she and Big walked into the kitchen, and then reappeared all spiffed up and smelling good. "I need to go to town," he said. "I won't be here for lunch, and probably not supper, so don't wait on me. Did Donny say anything about staying out here tonight, there's several official looking envelopes that came in the mail for him."
"No," Tilly stopped kneading dough to look at Gary, "he didn't say. When we left, he was sawing trees,"
"He needs to be careful, Toby will work him to death, given half a chance. The man's a real slave driver. He makes his money sitting on his butt in a fancy chair, and expects top performance from any one helping him. And Rennie's worse." Gary tacked on his complaint.
Big and Tilly nodded, everything Gary was saying was true, plus the fact that Miss Rennie was just plain stingy with food. Tilly had never had to deal with Rennie and her grocery notions; but the short time she had been there, was uncomfortable.
Tilly figured Donny would be out there for the night meal, his stomach would dedicate where he ate supper. If Tom only had to feed the family, he might settle in easier as the cook. It would all settle out, one way or the other.
Milo and Honey spent their first day on the mini farm, taking notes and writing down projects. Honey was so happy with their new found independence that she ran around hugging Milo and then giving herself a hug for good measure. It felt like they were finally free.
Tess had a notebook, writing down all the thoughts and notions she needed to accomplish. First was a car; second was to get the boys in school. She needed to ask Ma the name of the school that came to the farm and picked up kids. Her list was growing longer and longer.
The boys were out in the corral brushing and loving on old Whitey, and Tess was close by, in case they needed help.
The rain squall got to the copter, and there was no sign of Mark.
Snuggled in their sleeping bags, Mark and Clora sleepily went over the day's happenings. The tent was protection from the pesky breeze that insisted on cooling the night, but on the whole, it wasn't particularly warm.
"How far are they behind us?" Mark wanted to know.
"In Boise," Clora chuckled. "The town is suffering the wrath of a man used to the finest accommodations, and the available motels/hotels are nice, but don't match his highnesses expectations. How long will you need tomorrow?"
"A good half a day, unless what I'm expecting to find is not where I'm expecting to find it. I'm not trying to be deliberately cagey, but if you don't know, you aren't held accountable." Mark sighed hard; "it's just a crazy notion of mine that I haven't been able to get rid of."
Mark didn't intend to say anything more, about what he was searching for. The pilot was most likely trustworthy, but if he didn't know, then he didn't know. Besides, the man was only on the other side of the pitiful little fire, and Mark suppose he could hear them talking very plainly.
It wasn't the worst night they had ever spent, but it was close. Mark had neglected to take in account 70 some year old bodies, did not function well in the cold and on the hard ground.
All three campers went scrounging for wood the next morning, and only found enough to heat the coffee to half warm. Never less, the brew was not turned down.
The cup warmed hands as well as the warmish water did the insides.
"I'll take down the tents", Clora offered. "Go do your thing and hurry, I need hot strong coffee. So keep that in mind if you go off on a tangent." Clora smiled a smile she didn't feel happy about. She sure hoped mark had a plan.
Well, of course he did, Mark always had a plan. It must be highly important, to go to all this trouble.
After an hour of waiting, Clora and the pilot went to sit in the copter to get out of the wind. There was a line of dark clouds approaching from the ocean, and the air was heavy with humidity and the smell of rain.
"If he don't get back before that squall hits, we'll be here until it's over." the pilot warned morosely. He was cold, bored and unhappy. So was Clora.
Gary chaffed under house arrest, or that was the way he thought about his restriction to the retreat. When Big and Tilly showed up, Gary could have kissed them. Well, Tilly anyway.
Tilly noticed the three adult settings and the three kid bowls in the dish drainer, but made no mention of the fact. Gary had been here, so Miss Tess and kidlets had been protected. But Tilly felt she was home, where she belonged. Big returned the smile she gave him, as she set dough for cinnamon rolls; knowing that they were Big's absolute favorite.
Gary had disappeared the minute she and Big walked into the kitchen, and then reappeared all spiffed up and smelling good. "I need to go to town," he said. "I won't be here for lunch, and probably not supper, so don't wait on me. Did Donny say anything about staying out here tonight, there's several official looking envelopes that came in the mail for him."
"No," Tilly stopped kneading dough to look at Gary, "he didn't say. When we left, he was sawing trees,"
"He needs to be careful, Toby will work him to death, given half a chance. The man's a real slave driver. He makes his money sitting on his butt in a fancy chair, and expects top performance from any one helping him. And Rennie's worse." Gary tacked on his complaint.
Big and Tilly nodded, everything Gary was saying was true, plus the fact that Miss Rennie was just plain stingy with food. Tilly had never had to deal with Rennie and her grocery notions; but the short time she had been there, was uncomfortable.
Tilly figured Donny would be out there for the night meal, his stomach would dedicate where he ate supper. If Tom only had to feed the family, he might settle in easier as the cook. It would all settle out, one way or the other.
Milo and Honey spent their first day on the mini farm, taking notes and writing down projects. Honey was so happy with their new found independence that she ran around hugging Milo and then giving herself a hug for good measure. It felt like they were finally free.
Tess had a notebook, writing down all the thoughts and notions she needed to accomplish. First was a car; second was to get the boys in school. She needed to ask Ma the name of the school that came to the farm and picked up kids. Her list was growing longer and longer.
The boys were out in the corral brushing and loving on old Whitey, and Tess was close by, in case they needed help.
The rain squall got to the copter, and there was no sign of Mark.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
I wonder what Mark is up to, more bars of metal? Letters for Donny, oh my. Thank you Pac.
223shootersc
Veteran Member
Thanks PAc!
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#592
Deep in the cave of the old rotten corpse, it was easy to lose track of time. Mark had supposed the easy way Ted had brought the original batch of Rhodium to the retreat and didn't protest that he needed a few bars more for his trouble, was a very telling giveaway. Mark had offered to reimburse the lanky Ted for his trouble, and Ted had declined, saying that the cost of the pickup was payment enough. Mark figured then, that the half hearted protest was well thought out and practiced.
There could only be one conclusion. Ted had left some Rhodium in the cave, Mark's theory was played out when he counted the number of bars and came up at least two dozen short. Pete had assessed a 'fee' of Rhodium for every transaction, and there must have been many of the exchanges that old Abe Stillman didn't know about.
Mark was down on his hands and knees crawling through the goo left behind by the Tsunami. In the damp cave, the mud hadn't dried any, and that's how his knee came in contact with the first bar.
The force of the rushing water had found it's way into the cave, but the narrow and low aperture muted the destruction of the flood. Even so, it had washed several of the bars away from the rock covered stash. Mark filled his backpack with all the bars it would hold. Then his pockets and vest.
It was very slow going, as he had to back out of the tight tunnel; there wasn't room to turn around and go forward. Always prepared, Mark had two flashlights with him, and the one light was getting dimmer by the second. Reaching in his back pocket for the second light, his fingers grabbed at nothing. The light was gone, lost somewhere further back in the cave.
Deep in the cave of the old rotten corpse, it was easy to lose track of time. Mark had supposed the easy way Ted had brought the original batch of Rhodium to the retreat and didn't protest that he needed a few bars more for his trouble, was a very telling giveaway. Mark had offered to reimburse the lanky Ted for his trouble, and Ted had declined, saying that the cost of the pickup was payment enough. Mark figured then, that the half hearted protest was well thought out and practiced.
There could only be one conclusion. Ted had left some Rhodium in the cave, Mark's theory was played out when he counted the number of bars and came up at least two dozen short. Pete had assessed a 'fee' of Rhodium for every transaction, and there must have been many of the exchanges that old Abe Stillman didn't know about.
Mark was down on his hands and knees crawling through the goo left behind by the Tsunami. In the damp cave, the mud hadn't dried any, and that's how his knee came in contact with the first bar.
The force of the rushing water had found it's way into the cave, but the narrow and low aperture muted the destruction of the flood. Even so, it had washed several of the bars away from the rock covered stash. Mark filled his backpack with all the bars it would hold. Then his pockets and vest.
It was very slow going, as he had to back out of the tight tunnel; there wasn't room to turn around and go forward. Always prepared, Mark had two flashlights with him, and the one light was getting dimmer by the second. Reaching in his back pocket for the second light, his fingers grabbed at nothing. The light was gone, lost somewhere further back in the cave.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
OH, Oh, Thank you Pac.
larry_minn
Contributing Member
Two is one, and one is none. I used to carry 3 lights on me. One around neck 24/7. If not in pool, shower, in bed *with another actively* it was on me. 2nd was cheap keychain led on house keys. 3rd 3 AAA led in pocket.
With cell phone light. Often that and one light.
With cell phone light. Often that and one light.
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#593
Mark turned off the light and continued backing up. Ir was slow going and entirely spooky sounding and feeling. Some where beyond the pile of Rhodium, headed deep into the cave, there was another opening. There was a wind sound, as air found it's way into the cave, an almost screech and moan, depending on the direction and intensity of the breeze.
Mark backed up until his feet came in contact with the rock wall. He didn't remember making a sharp turn, and yet his foot, as he probed with his boot, told him the only way to proceed was to make a sharp turn to his right.
It didn't feel like the correct way, as he tried to remember the route he had tried to imprint in his mind on the way in. Once again, he backed up until his foot hit rock.
Breathing heavily, he rested until a spasm of fright passed. Now he was really stumped. He had to have missed another tunnel along the line.
While he was resting, Mark had time to regret his hurry and half hearted preparations. Yes, he definitely should have told Clora which cave he was going into; he should have pulled a rope, and he should have had either batteries or several more flashlights, securely attached to his pack. Mark realized he failed the most basic of cautions to go cave exploring.
Figuring what he might be able to do to extricate himself from his predicament, he rested and had a couple swallows of water from his canteen. He felt in his outside vest pocket for the lighter he always carried.
The brief flare from the Bic; brought to light the vastness of the room he was in. Easily 20 feet high, the room went back into the darkness, but Mark was looking for tracks in the muddy goo, proof he had come this way. There were none.
Mark turned off the light and continued backing up. Ir was slow going and entirely spooky sounding and feeling. Some where beyond the pile of Rhodium, headed deep into the cave, there was another opening. There was a wind sound, as air found it's way into the cave, an almost screech and moan, depending on the direction and intensity of the breeze.
Mark backed up until his feet came in contact with the rock wall. He didn't remember making a sharp turn, and yet his foot, as he probed with his boot, told him the only way to proceed was to make a sharp turn to his right.
It didn't feel like the correct way, as he tried to remember the route he had tried to imprint in his mind on the way in. Once again, he backed up until his foot hit rock.
Breathing heavily, he rested until a spasm of fright passed. Now he was really stumped. He had to have missed another tunnel along the line.
While he was resting, Mark had time to regret his hurry and half hearted preparations. Yes, he definitely should have told Clora which cave he was going into; he should have pulled a rope, and he should have had either batteries or several more flashlights, securely attached to his pack. Mark realized he failed the most basic of cautions to go cave exploring.
Figuring what he might be able to do to extricate himself from his predicament, he rested and had a couple swallows of water from his canteen. He felt in his outside vest pocket for the lighter he always carried.
The brief flare from the Bic; brought to light the vastness of the room he was in. Easily 20 feet high, the room went back into the darkness, but Mark was looking for tracks in the muddy goo, proof he had come this way. There were none.
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
Folks,
I'm having company through Sat. or Sun. The two dear old Aunties are reduced to one, so she had to enlist the help of a distant cousin. Old Auntie produced a set of keys to her car, and the two oldies went to her son's and stole her car that she had been forbidden to drive. She has no license, (taken away for safety's sake.) no tags and no insurance.
She was very adamant that she had to come to Smoky's place before the mad rush descended. My oh my. It was funny to look at the cousin's face when they got here. I don't believe there will be any more problems with the cousin helping the old gal to drive anywhere. She looked so relieved to get out of the car.
Old Aunties son is coming for Thurs. so the old gal would have been here, just not as long as she wanted. She would very much like us to invite her to stay as a permanent guest, Mr. KC and I have talked about this, and he does not want to.
We've only been married a short time, and at our ages, each day is a gift and a blessing from God. If God determines that is what He wants, we shall do that
BUT SHE LIKES IT HERE. I just have to shake my head and laugh. What else can I do.
Auntie is our own living, breathing Maxine from the comics. And just as opinionated.
Oh what fun we have in this life.
Anyhow, I have work to do, see ya later. Happy Thanksgiving. Pac and Mr. KC.
I'm having company through Sat. or Sun. The two dear old Aunties are reduced to one, so she had to enlist the help of a distant cousin. Old Auntie produced a set of keys to her car, and the two oldies went to her son's and stole her car that she had been forbidden to drive. She has no license, (taken away for safety's sake.) no tags and no insurance.
She was very adamant that she had to come to Smoky's place before the mad rush descended. My oh my. It was funny to look at the cousin's face when they got here. I don't believe there will be any more problems with the cousin helping the old gal to drive anywhere. She looked so relieved to get out of the car.
Old Aunties son is coming for Thurs. so the old gal would have been here, just not as long as she wanted. She would very much like us to invite her to stay as a permanent guest, Mr. KC and I have talked about this, and he does not want to.
We've only been married a short time, and at our ages, each day is a gift and a blessing from God. If God determines that is what He wants, we shall do that
BUT SHE LIKES IT HERE. I just have to shake my head and laugh. What else can I do.
Auntie is our own living, breathing Maxine from the comics. And just as opinionated.
Oh what fun we have in this life.
Anyhow, I have work to do, see ya later. Happy Thanksgiving. Pac and Mr. KC.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Happy Thanksgiving Pac.
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
We had to explain lovingly to Auntie, that she can come visit, but cannot stay full time. She was not pleased, and went to the bedroom to sulk and ignore us for a while.
She was even less pleased to find out that she couldn't drive. That was worth some dark muttering and even blacker looks. This was the second time she has paid no attention to the rules, or maybe the third, but it has to stop.
Thank goodness Auntie is Mr. KC's problem; she really likes us; but she came without her meds, because she gets tired of taking them. When her son came, he had to talk like a dutch uncle to get her back on her regimen.
She is such a feisty old gal, (probably mid 90's), and I just adore her. She reminds me of someone I know, such a character.
Anyhow, half of the people here left this morning, perhaps the rest tomorrow. I need a nap. Pac and Mr. KC.
She was even less pleased to find out that she couldn't drive. That was worth some dark muttering and even blacker looks. This was the second time she has paid no attention to the rules, or maybe the third, but it has to stop.
Thank goodness Auntie is Mr. KC's problem; she really likes us; but she came without her meds, because she gets tired of taking them. When her son came, he had to talk like a dutch uncle to get her back on her regimen.
She is such a feisty old gal, (probably mid 90's), and I just adore her. She reminds me of someone I know, such a character.
Anyhow, half of the people here left this morning, perhaps the rest tomorrow. I need a nap. Pac and Mr. KC.
feralferret
Veteran Member
As the saying goes: You can pick your friends, but you cannot pick your family.
Makes for some interesting and challenging experiences at times. Hope you and Mr. KC have a wonderful holiday season.
Thank you for your outstanding stories about Clora and her family.
Makes for some interesting and challenging experiences at times. Hope you and Mr. KC have a wonderful holiday season.
Thank you for your outstanding stories about Clora and her family.
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
Mrs PAC, there is no way I can thank you sufficiently for the 12-13 year Odyssey you've led us on. Always instructional and entertaining.
I would however point out to the readership how deftly you "Cliffed" us in Post #3,344 (#593)
Truly masterful, as usual Ma'am.
Rest up from the visitations; good to know you have a life to be thankful for again.
I would however point out to the readership how deftly you "Cliffed" us in Post #3,344 (#593)
Truly masterful, as usual Ma'am.
Rest up from the visitations; good to know you have a life to be thankful for again.
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#594
Outside the cave, Clora and the pilot sat in the helicopter and watched as the wind and rain lashed at the Plexiglas bubble.
"Where'd he go?" Was the next crabby question from the pilot.
"I'm not sure," Clora replied honestly. "He didn't say, it has to be somewhere in the valley, otherwise he would have had you fly us there."
"Yeah well, I don't intend to hang around here all day. As soon as it stops raining and blowing, this bird is flying out of here. With or without your husband."
So Clora prayed for rain.
She prayed for Mark, she couldn't tell what had happened, only that he had frustration and some danger. Where he was, and she supposed it was in a cave the way the energy was blocked from her knowing. Now, which cave, was the problem.
Clora was busy thinking on the problem. She knew Mark wouldn't appreciate her dragging the pilot to all the hidden caves, and chances were good he'd tag along. But, how in the world was she going to find him to offer help. Clora prayed that God would send a solution, one that didn't endanger them all.
So the two of them sat, as the fierce storm beat against the canopy. The clouds lowered and the fog rolled in to obscure visibility down to 20 feet or less.
Clora sat quietly, praying, thanking God for His help in stalling the pilot's desire to leave.
Outside the cave, Clora and the pilot sat in the helicopter and watched as the wind and rain lashed at the Plexiglas bubble.
"Where'd he go?" Was the next crabby question from the pilot.
"I'm not sure," Clora replied honestly. "He didn't say, it has to be somewhere in the valley, otherwise he would have had you fly us there."
"Yeah well, I don't intend to hang around here all day. As soon as it stops raining and blowing, this bird is flying out of here. With or without your husband."
So Clora prayed for rain.
She prayed for Mark, she couldn't tell what had happened, only that he had frustration and some danger. Where he was, and she supposed it was in a cave the way the energy was blocked from her knowing. Now, which cave, was the problem.
Clora was busy thinking on the problem. She knew Mark wouldn't appreciate her dragging the pilot to all the hidden caves, and chances were good he'd tag along. But, how in the world was she going to find him to offer help. Clora prayed that God would send a solution, one that didn't endanger them all.
So the two of them sat, as the fierce storm beat against the canopy. The clouds lowered and the fog rolled in to obscure visibility down to 20 feet or less.
Clora sat quietly, praying, thanking God for His help in stalling the pilot's desire to leave.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Still stick, 
Thank you pac.
Thank you pac.PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#594b
Mark rested, as he thought out a plan. First of all, he wanted to stay at the mouth of the side tunnel he was in. Fresh air was his primary concern, as there was fetid air in the cavern, he was in. Not a place to be under the influence of possible poisonous gasses; he told himself. He could feel the brush of air at the beginning of the room, so that was a plus. It had to be coming from the vent further in the cave, and Mark guessed that might be a possible escape route, ... if it wasn't too narrow to wiggle through.
Anchoring his right foot at the larger room beginning, Mark reached out in the complete darkness to pat his hand along the rock wall, searching for the exit tunnel he knew had to be there.
He stretched his frame as tall as he could, and had the feeling he was close to the missing exit. The breeze on his hand was cool and increasing in strength. It was a test of will and faith. To perhaps go ahead and find the exit, he had to let go with his anchored foot. Mark had to stop, think, and pray for guidance.
It was so easy in the total darkness to become completely disoriented, and then panic. He didn't want that, so he came up with the idea to use the toe of his boot to dig a trench in the goo, to guide him back to his starting position. A few gouges with his hand in the mud supported the idea, the ridges stayed, and didn't dissolve back down into the goo. So that was a beginning.
Crawling ahead toward his left hand on the wall, Mark eased his had further to the right, as he drug his boot toe in the mud. That promptly gave him a charley horse in his thigh, that he had to lay down in the goo and press his foot against the rock to stop the cramp.
It took three moves ahead, before the next pat on the wall touched nothingness. Now it was time for thinking. Mark rested as he debated, was this the exit he was seeking or was it the continuation of the tunnel up to the rock cache where he had picked up the metal.
In the darkness, Mark let his senses category what he could hear, feel, smell and sense. The breeze had increased to a rush; so he felt that was a good sign the opening was indeed the exit he sought. The air was fresh and cold, so most likely went from the vent through the tunnel maze to the outside. The fact that the air was moving with a good deal of pressure, was another clue that he would find his way out.
When he got his body caught up to his hand, Mark stopped long enough to turn on the feeble flashlight, There in the mud were his tracks, Like turtle movements in the sand, his hand thankfully touched the ridges and Mark felt jubilant that God was helping him out of his predicament.
Dragging his toe, just not so deeply as before, Mark turned off the light and used his hands to follow his previous tracks. There was always the chance that he might be heading further into the cave, instead of working toward the exit as he wanted.
Every once in a while, he stopped and used a rock to bang on the cave wall, listening to the sound as it either was absorbed or echoed. Slowly he went forward on his hands and knees, wishing he could stand up, but afraid to lose the touch security of his inward tracks.
Slow going, with the weight of the Rhodium on his back and stones and the rough cave floor impacting his knees with every move, Mark inched toward the outside.
He could smell when he was getting close to the entrance, and he flicked on the flashlight so he could stand up. No way did he want to crawl through the homemade poison again, once was enough. There was no guarantee the flood had washed the super nasty stuff out of the cave, and there were whiffs of the poison in the air.
Standing outside the cave in the blustery rain and wind, Mark let the harsh downpour wash the stink and goo off his clothes.
Mark was outside the cave, but it was as dark out in the open as it had been inside. Feeling his way back inside the cave, he cut the wind that was chilling him to the bone. Wet and miserable, he made himself do isometric exercises to keep his muscles and core temperature as warm as possible.
In the copter, it was passably warm and dry. Clora could feel that Mark was out of the cave, and she whispered many thanks.
Mark rested, as he thought out a plan. First of all, he wanted to stay at the mouth of the side tunnel he was in. Fresh air was his primary concern, as there was fetid air in the cavern, he was in. Not a place to be under the influence of possible poisonous gasses; he told himself. He could feel the brush of air at the beginning of the room, so that was a plus. It had to be coming from the vent further in the cave, and Mark guessed that might be a possible escape route, ... if it wasn't too narrow to wiggle through.
Anchoring his right foot at the larger room beginning, Mark reached out in the complete darkness to pat his hand along the rock wall, searching for the exit tunnel he knew had to be there.
He stretched his frame as tall as he could, and had the feeling he was close to the missing exit. The breeze on his hand was cool and increasing in strength. It was a test of will and faith. To perhaps go ahead and find the exit, he had to let go with his anchored foot. Mark had to stop, think, and pray for guidance.
It was so easy in the total darkness to become completely disoriented, and then panic. He didn't want that, so he came up with the idea to use the toe of his boot to dig a trench in the goo, to guide him back to his starting position. A few gouges with his hand in the mud supported the idea, the ridges stayed, and didn't dissolve back down into the goo. So that was a beginning.
Crawling ahead toward his left hand on the wall, Mark eased his had further to the right, as he drug his boot toe in the mud. That promptly gave him a charley horse in his thigh, that he had to lay down in the goo and press his foot against the rock to stop the cramp.
It took three moves ahead, before the next pat on the wall touched nothingness. Now it was time for thinking. Mark rested as he debated, was this the exit he was seeking or was it the continuation of the tunnel up to the rock cache where he had picked up the metal.
In the darkness, Mark let his senses category what he could hear, feel, smell and sense. The breeze had increased to a rush; so he felt that was a good sign the opening was indeed the exit he sought. The air was fresh and cold, so most likely went from the vent through the tunnel maze to the outside. The fact that the air was moving with a good deal of pressure, was another clue that he would find his way out.
When he got his body caught up to his hand, Mark stopped long enough to turn on the feeble flashlight, There in the mud were his tracks, Like turtle movements in the sand, his hand thankfully touched the ridges and Mark felt jubilant that God was helping him out of his predicament.
Dragging his toe, just not so deeply as before, Mark turned off the light and used his hands to follow his previous tracks. There was always the chance that he might be heading further into the cave, instead of working toward the exit as he wanted.
Every once in a while, he stopped and used a rock to bang on the cave wall, listening to the sound as it either was absorbed or echoed. Slowly he went forward on his hands and knees, wishing he could stand up, but afraid to lose the touch security of his inward tracks.
Slow going, with the weight of the Rhodium on his back and stones and the rough cave floor impacting his knees with every move, Mark inched toward the outside.
He could smell when he was getting close to the entrance, and he flicked on the flashlight so he could stand up. No way did he want to crawl through the homemade poison again, once was enough. There was no guarantee the flood had washed the super nasty stuff out of the cave, and there were whiffs of the poison in the air.
Standing outside the cave in the blustery rain and wind, Mark let the harsh downpour wash the stink and goo off his clothes.
Mark was outside the cave, but it was as dark out in the open as it had been inside. Feeling his way back inside the cave, he cut the wind that was chilling him to the bone. Wet and miserable, he made himself do isometric exercises to keep his muscles and core temperature as warm as possible.
In the copter, it was passably warm and dry. Clora could feel that Mark was out of the cave, and she whispered many thanks.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Wonderful, many thanks pac.
feralferret
Veteran Member
Thank you PacNorWest for the new chapters.