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Post by icefire on Jun 12, 2013 18:09:46 GMT -6
I have a feeling that Shirley has SERIOUSLY underestimated the chances of triggering the very avalanche he's wanting to avoid.
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Post by pacnorwest on Jun 14, 2013 18:15:10 GMT -6
Our prayers to you and yours FOTH. Stay safe in the fire maelstrom.
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Post by FOTH on Jun 14, 2013 22:33:44 GMT -6
Our prayers to you and yours FOTH. Stay safe in the fire maelstrom. Thank you. Please do pray for all affected by these fires. It's shaping up to be a very bad season. The big fire that has destroyed so many homes is over 250 miles from my location here in the mountains of the Western half of the state, but yesterday a smaller one was sparked by lightning only about 60 miles from here. Everything is very dry, and it's been an incredibly windy past few weeks. Rain would be good. |
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Post by FOTH on Jun 15, 2013 15:30:15 GMT -6
They made it nearly halfway back to base camp, the young agent from Montana leading, before the slope finally let go. Each lost in his own little world of weariness, cold and lack of sleep, a haze only deepened by the white sameness of the terrain before them and the still-falling snow, most of the men had no inkling of the coming trouble until Bud began shouting. By then, it was nearly too late to do anything, a few attempting to throw themselves to the side and one man, panicked by the fast-approaching roar, inexplicably taking off running and sliding down the steep slope below.
Bud, having been required by Shirley to travel near the center of the close-knit group of agents, barely had time to do more than shout a brief warning before the slide hit him and then he was swimming, flailing with arms and legs in a desperate struggle to remain somewhere near the surface. His efforts more or less paid off, head out in the open air when finally the roaring stopped, and freeing himself with a grunt and a shove from the load of snow that had pinned him almost up to the waist in a very uncomfortable position he rose, took a tentative step to make sure everything would hold weight—which, though sore and quickly stiffening, it would—and went looking for the others.
The slide had been wide, snowpack fracturing some twenty yards above the spot where the group had been crossing it and sweeping down across their position, and as Kilgore squinted out across the broken whiteness , he saw no sign of life. Not, that was, until he’d walked nearly to the far edge of the slide path. There, crouched beneath a tree and struggling to catch his breath, was the young agent from Montana who had helped collect firewood and keep snow melting for water through the night, slightly dazed but, upon quick inspection, largely uninjured. Seeing that the man was capable of physical effort but having a difficult time motivating himself to anything more than the effort required to go on clinging to the tree that had apparently sheltered him from being swept away by the edge of the slide, Bud took him firmly by the arm, raised him to his feet.
“Ok Montana, looks like it’s you and me, here. We got to start digging.”
“Right. Digging… Where?”
“Where the people are, that’s where. You see anything? See where anybody ended up?”
“No.”
“Me either. So we got to probe around, find some sticks and start…hey! You listening to me? What’s the matter with you, Montana? You bleeding somewhere? Bleeding out, and I missed it? What’s going on?”
“Nothing sir, I just…” The young agent was shaking, starting to look pretty pale, and once again Kilgore checked him over to make sure there was no obvious physical cause. Which there was not.
“Get it together, kid. Slide’s over. Most guys tend to go a bit green around the gills when they see their first action, but you got to pull it together now and help me dig.”
Already Bud was wandering the slide debris, long spruce stick in hand, stabbing it into the snow at regular intervals and stopping to investigate further when he hit something that seemed potentially promising. The young agent soon joined him, and it was not long before they had their first success, though a dismal one. The man was already dead by the time they pulled him out, done in, it seemed, more by the force of all that tumbling, solidifying snow than by any subsequent lack of oxygen. It was shortly after the recovery of that first body that Bud began hearing something, an odd sort of rasping, scraping sound coming from behind a mound of snow-covered boulders against the upper edge of which the slide had impacted, but been largely diverted.
There in the semi-sheltered spot immediately downhill of the rocks he found Shirley, conscious, wild-eyed, right arm hanging uselessly as he scraped at the rock with a fragment of granite gripped tightly in his left hand in an apparent attempt to attract the attention of anyone else who might have survived the avalanche. He did not stop when he saw Bud, not quite believing, perhaps, that the tracker was real—until the man approached him and took the rock fragment, sitting down beside him and beginning to check for additional injuries.
Shirley had a badly dislocated right shoulder which Bud quickly and successfully reduced before Shirley could have time to think about the procedure, but in handling the arm Bud discovered that the shoulder was the least of his problems. Bent at an odd angle and already turning purple with bruise beneath his coat sleeve, the agent’s lower arm appeared to be badly broken, bone fragment pressing hard against the skin from the inside and appearing about to break it. Shirley screamed when Bud tried to straighten the arm, swung at him with his good hand but Montana (whose actual name was Paul, but Bud never thought to ask) caught it before it could do any damage, helped as Bud did his best to set the arm, splint it with Shirley’s scarf and several lengths broken from his avalanche probe and get it into a makeshift sling. Shirley clearly wasn’t going to be of much help, so the two of them went on alone, probing, digging, finding nothing…
Hours of fruitless digging, Bud doing most of the work after a time while Montana tried to raise someone on the radio and Shirley sat groaning against a spruce, no more bodies, no more living victims; the others, it seemed, had been so thoroughly buried that their discovery, let alone recovery, was beyond the skill and ability of the trio on the surface.
Montana couldn’t get anyone on the radio. One of the others had been carrying a satellite phone, but now he, along with the phone, were buried somewhere beneath the snow. Not that it really mattered. No helicopter would be flying in that storm, anyway. No evacuation coming. They were going to have to walk out. Bud was the one to finally state the obvious. That no one else was alive. The others, especially Shirley, did not want to believe it, did not want to leave, but everyone knew Shirley was in no shape to help with the recovery effort, would be hard pressed simply to get himself down off the mountain, and finally, at the urging of Montana, who had worked hard at the digging and was looking absolutely exhausted, he agreed to head down. But not before angrily accusing Kilgore of deliberately orchestrating the entire thing...
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Post by thefishinmagician on Jun 15, 2013 17:44:51 GMT -6
With any luck, Shirley will die from his injuries before they make it out of there, and "Montana"/Paul will live to tell how Bud tried to help the whole time. Bud sure needs some "distance" between him and the evidence Shirley could report!
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grizz
New Member
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Post by grizz on Jun 15, 2013 21:31:11 GMT -6
Hope you get some help with the fires preferably rain
It often makes me wonder why law inforcement gets such tunnel vision in their hunt for a"fugitive" who, may have done something, that they will sacrifice many of their own peoples lives to see "justice" done their way.
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Post by FOTH on Jun 18, 2013 15:25:51 GMT -6
With any luck, Shirley will die from his injuries before they make it out of there, and "Montana"/Paul will live to tell how Bud tried to help the whole time. Bud sure needs some "distance" between him and the evidence Shirley could report! That would certainly have been the more favorable outcome for Bud, Einar and company.... Hope you get some help with the fires preferably rain
It often makes me wonder why law inforcement gets such tunnel vision in their hunt for a"fugitive" who, may have done something, that they will sacrifice many of their own peoples lives to see "justice" done their way. The Task Force has definitely lost sight of justice, if it was ever their goal... We have had some rain now, thankfully! But could still use a good bit more. Thank you all for reading.  |
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Post by FOTH on Jun 18, 2013 15:26:18 GMT -6
Bud was released from Headquarters early the following morning, free to go after a long night of debriefings, but admonished not to leave the area, told that his further statements might be needed. He was under no illusions as to what that meant. Shirley needed a scapegoat for the results of his unwise insistence on returning to base camp under such hazardous conditions, and Bud, to whom the agent had taken a disliking from the start, was to be the man. And that even without the evidence that had been collected, some of which potentially implicating Kilgore, should it be recovered from that snowbound basecamp and thoroughly analyzed. Which, in the absence of a second and most fortuitous slide that might come in the meantime and obliterate the abandoned camp, would almost certainly be happening sometime over the next few days. It was thus a sullen and silent Bud who returned to the house just before breakfast time the following morning. * * * Perhaps it was the fairly sudden introduction of reasonable quantities of food and the difficulty a person’s body—any person’s body, but particularly one so long used to extremes of deprivation—can have in adapting to such a change, or perhaps, as Einar believed, it was the lack of challenge presented by an easy life in Susan’s warm kitchen, but he was not doing particularly well as time went on, seeming to have increasing trouble getting his food down and not making it very far without stumbling when he rose to go somewhere in the house. Couldn’t keep warm, either. Even when—during one of the brief times early that morning when he was forced by sheer exhaustion to curl up for a while on the makeshift bed in the kitchen instead of pacing the floor as he had taken to doing—Liz piled him with quilts he still shivered, and when she let Susan keep an eye on the still-sleeping Will for a time and held him, his body felt strange and cold and stiff. Perhaps he was just a little short on water, still. At least, that’s what she told herself. What she wanted to believe, and covering him back up behind her she left to prepare him some tea. It was then that Kilgore arrived home, blustering into the kitchen, tossing his pack against a wall and slouching into one of the dining chairs, looking tired and somewhat dejected. With Einar disturbed by the tracker’s entry and looking a good bit more lively than he had for a while, Liz gave the tea to Kilgore, instead, returning to Einar so as to give Susan some space to greet him. Because Susan had been nearly ready to put breakfast on the table when Bud arrived home and because Bud was nearly always hungry, even when he hadn’t just walked out of an avalanche, they all sat down together to eat, Bud still having said nothing other than a few weary words of greeting. Finally, finished with a stack of three pancakes and starting on a second pile, he spoke. “Lot of new snow up there. Good thing, too, ‘cause they were starting to find a lot of tracks, piece of cloth with some blood on it…” he looked directly at Einar, and his meaning was clear, “and found my tracks, too, though all Shirley could do was guess about why the gait looked so similar to mine. He lacks the skill to be real certain, but it’s not a good situation.” Susan served him another pancake, took a seat beside him. “We’d heard there was a slide…” “Yeah, there was a slide. Doggone snowpack’s so unstable, and Shirley insisted on going places we had no business going, and it went…lost some guys.” Einar listened intently as Kilgore gave his account, tried to eat what Liz gave him but after a bite or two he just sat there staring, too weary to continue. Things not sounding good. Sounded like they were suspecting Kilgore’s role in the whole thing, or starting to, and he knew where that could lead. Breakfast done, Liz went to take care of the dishes so Susan could have some time alone with Bud, and Einar went with her. Kilgore watched them go, lowering his voice. “Things not going much better with Asmundson, are they?” “Oh, he’s mostly holding his own. But it’s a struggle. Maybe slipping a little, the last day or so.” Kilgore snorted in disgust, shook his head. “How about we shove a tube down his nose and pour stuff in? Just like a newborn calf that can’t nurse. Done that dozens of times, growing up on the ranch.” “Well, it wouldn’t be exactly like a calf…” “You know how then, on a human critter? You can do it?” “I could, but I won’t. Not this, not without his consent.” “Look, Sue, here’s what I didn’t say at breakfast. Shirley’s set on pinning the blame for this debacle squarely on me, and between that and the way he was looking at some of them tracks up there…well, I’d be surprised if we’ve got more than a week or so before they pull off a surprise raid on this place, just looking for evidence. And for our guests. We got to have them out of here by then, and while we could just dump Asmundson in the woods in his current condition, well, you know what that would mean. I see him today. Not making a lot of progress, is he? He might make it a day or two out there, just because he’s extra special stubborn, before he collapses for good, and then Liz would be in an awful position. Have to decide between staying with him or real quick leaving and covering ground to keep ahead of any pursuit, and you know what she’d probably choose… Yep, we got to get him in better shape, and in a hurry.” “Things like that don’t happen quickly. He needs months before he’ll…” “We don’t have months. Got to do the best we can do, in a real hurry.” “Can we take them down to Arizona? Give them some time?” “We’ll talk about all that, but for now let’s focus on getting that stubborn old buzzard fixed up so he don’t go passing out on us every ten minutes, whatever it is we end up doing. Figure he’ll be a lot more capable of helping us reason through this, too, once he’s just a little further from starving to death. Now, the logistics of it. Looks to me like he’s barely conscious right now, so it wouldn’t take much for me to sit on him while you strap him down. Either that, or I can knock him out for you, either a blow to the head or one of them tranquilizer darts I still got left… Dart would probably be easier on him, in the long run, if I only use a little bit of one so we don’t stop his breathing.” “Oh, no, those things give him terrible dreams and leave him not knowing where he is, who’s a friend and who’s not…” “It won’t much matter, not the way we’ll have him restrained.” “It matters. Please don’t use the dart.” “Well I was figuring we’d have to use one somewhere along the line, or he’s just gonna struggle the whole time and probably do himself in fighting the restraints.” “I’m not going to help with this if you plan to use a dart.” “Well now how do you figure we’re gonna get him back into the restraints each time once he knows what’s going on, especially as he starts getting a little stronger? He’s gonna fight us, you know. I was figuring on keeping him all sleepy and content with the darts, to help with that.” “Those darts make him anything but content. You might save his body that way, but you’ll destroy him. Don’t do it. I won’t participate, Bud.” Ok, ok, no dart. We’ll just have to hope Liz can keep him calm. Or I can, with a pistol to his head or some such. Doggone it, you’re as intractable and stubborn as a wolverine sometimes, woman.” “Thank you.” “Ha! Now. What about Liz? She gonna cave our heads in with that war club of hers, or can you convince her to go along with this?” “Oh, that’s not going to be an easy one. Let me go see what I can do.” |
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Post by FOTH on Jun 21, 2013 15:10:57 GMT -6
Heading out to wander in the high country for the weekend, won't be back with another chapter until Monday. Thank you all for reading. _____________________________ The break in the snowstorm which had allowed Bud and the others to walk out was ending, flakes again starting to swirl heavily outside the windows late that morning as Susan made her case. The situation. Einar’s condition and the fact, despite his recent willingness and effort in that direction, that he didn’t seem to be improving. Seemed, in fact, to be going the other direction, and pretty rapidly. Liz, predictably, would hear nothing of it, arguing that after several days of eating both his mind and body were, she knew, struggling to adapt to regularly receiving larger amounts of nutrients again, but he was sticking with it, making progress and would be just fine if they had to take off sometime over the next few days. Susan laid a hand on her arm, waited until Liz met her eyes. “You really believe that? That he’d be just fine out in this storm covering ground at the pace you know you guys would have to keep up…” Liz looked away. “No. He’d say he was, carry all our gear and lead the way, but it would probably kill him, wouldn’t it? At some point he’d know he was slowing us down and he’d stop, send us ahead and make his stand there, do something that couldn’t be undone…” “Yes, almost certainly. Let us do this for him, Liz. So it doesn’t have to go that way.” “But what about the practical considerations? I mean, unless you’re going to keep him restrained somehow around the clock so you can keep feeding him on some regular basis for the next few days…well, he’ll fight you every time. He’ll kill himself fighting. Or kill you, or Bud. You’ll have to… Oh, what am I saying? Can’t believe I’m even considering this! No. No way. He won’t consider it justified. In his mind, nothing would justify someone doing a thing like that to another person without their consent. Forcing it on them. Nothing. And I don’t know that I disagree with him.” “I’m not sure I do, either, in principle, in most cases. But maybe when a person wants to live, really wants to, but just can’t quite get there, get to doing the things required to go on living because their condition is getting in the way of keeping up with those things…just maybe that is an exception.” “Maybe there can be things that have more value to a person than going on living at any cost.” “Of course there can. But he wants to live. I’ve overheard some of your conversations. Wants to be there to help raise his son. I’ve heard him say it in so many words, but his mind keeps getting in the way, just because he’s too malnourished right now to make the connections and keep himself moving in the right direction, and each time he tries, it seems something comes up and he stops eating again. You know that. You’ve watched the pattern, over and over again. Either way, this isn’t the time to debate philosophy.¬ ¬ Or even ethics. It’s time to think of Will and what will give him the best chance in all of this.” “Yes. But even if it were justified for that reason, if it would help Einar be more physically ready to face conditions out there and make a successful escape with us, I know it will remind him of…things probably better not remembered. Make him think he’s right back in some of those really bad situations he was in before, and that really won’t be helpful at all when it comes to evading the enemy. He needs to be present. Here.” “He already remembers those things though, doesn’t he? Thinks about them almost every day, gets lost in them a lot of times…” She nodded. “Lack of nutrition is making it worse, lessening his ability to tell the difference and making it more likely that he’ll get stuck in that world of unreality, all the more often. If we can just give him what he needs for a few days, hopefully he’ll be a lot more able to stay in reality and not slip back into that state quite so easily. Bud says there may not be much time before things get serious and we have to figure something else out to keep the three of you hidden. Once that time comes, it’ll be too late for any of this. Let us do it.” “It’s not my decision to make.” “No, maybe not. But he’s in no shape to make the decision, right now…” “He’d certainly say he is. Just ask him. He’d say he’s sharper than ever.” “He’s barely conscious.” “If I allow this, he’ll never trust me again.” “That will be his choice, of course, but I think with his brain working a little better and allowing him to think more clearly—he may even be appreciative.” “Oh, no. You don’t know him like I do. He would never.” “It’s a risk you’ve got to take, I think.” Liz turned away, scooped Will up as he zoomed by in animated pursuit of Susan’s cat and went to stand at the window. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t participate. Susan had an argument, but her first loyalty was to Einar—and to his son, but how can protect the son by assaulting the integrity and autonomy of his father?—and she knew what he would say to all of this. Bud, however, being a good deal less troubled by philosophical concerns, had not waited for an answer from anyone else and was already working over an apparently unconscious Einar when Liz and Susan returned to the kitchen—Liz hoping he’d be awake so she could have a minute alone with him to discuss the matter, see what he would have to say about the suggestion on the chance that he might voluntarily agree and if not to warn him of Bud’s intentions—leaving both of them to wonder exactly how he might have come to be in that state. Liz was worried about a dart, but Susan assured her that Bud had promised not to resort to that. Einar never even stirred as Bud strapped him down to a board which he had cushioned with a foam camping pad, lengths of two inch wide webbing padded with folded towels in the hopes that this might prevent him injuring himself too badly when he did wake and almost inevitably begin struggling… Everything ready, Bud nodding to Susan—Liz realized then that she must have already agreed to help—who left the room to retrieve the necessary supplies. Bud stayed with Einar, allowed Liz to sit beside him, where she held his hand and hoped desperately that he might wake before things could be carried any further, Will watching her in confusion and Muninn the raven presiding rather skeptically over everything from his perch on a nearby chair rail. Concealed beneath her on the floor Liz could feel the solid contours of Einar’s knife, retrieved from the kitchen counter and hidden there when Bud had momentarily glanced away. She was of half a mind to use it without further delay, free him from those straps, and she probably would have done it, had he been awake… |
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Post by FOTH on Jun 24, 2013 15:28:36 GMT -6
Knowing it would do little good to cut Einar free so long as he was unconscious and unable to move for himself, Liz waited, watching Kilgore and he watching her, her ears sharp for the sound of a vehicle in the driveway, a low plane overhead, something which might demand the attention of all and halt the current flow of things, but no interruption came, and Liz kept her silent vigil, Will watching with grave grey eyes and the raven unmoving at his post. Then the time had come, Susan returning and Bud sliding a pillow under the end of Einar’s board, elevating his head. Liz glanced up at Susan, shaking her head, hoping, perhaps, that she might there find an ally, a way to stop events which seemed to be moving far too quickly, but Susan looked away, began preparing the bag that was to hold the thick liquid with which they would feed him, shrugging as if to say, it’s the only way, right now. It’s for the best. Let it be.
Which meant that it was looking a bit late for Liz to take any definitive action, even if in this late hour she might have decided to do so, for now she would need to take on the two of them, the united front which was Bud and Susan. She wished Einar would wake up. Wished her own mind was a bit clearer on the matter, not wavering as it was with doubt, with the possibility that, despite her deepest instincts and Einar’s voice in her head, the things she knew he would say, perhaps Bud and Susan were right, and the time had come for a step such as this, to give Einar the chance he couldn’t quite bring himself to admit—or perhaps even to recognize—that he needed. To get him to a place where he could really be himself again, strong and sure and able to make rational, considered decisions…
Which doesn’t justify it, doesn’t even come close. Listen to yourself, actually considering this. Trying to make it right in your mind. This is no better than the things his captors did to him, even if the intent is very, very different. Now you take that knife and you cut him loose.
In that moment after the last of Liz’s hesitation dissipated but before she could act on her new resolve, several things happened. Will, momentarily allowed to leave her sight as she struggled over her immediate course of action, brought something heavy to the ground with a great heavy clatter and the shattering of glass, sending her bolting to her feet and dashing after him to make sure he was alright, Susan close on her heels. At very nearly the same moment and the driveway alarm went off, bringing Bud with equal swiftness out of the kitchen and to his duties.
Meantime Einar—who was not this time a victim of a stealthy dart as Liz had feared, but only of some quick pressure point work on Bud’s part—woke with a strangled howl, stock still for a moment as he assessed his situation, eyes darting from the bonds which held him firmly in place at shoulders, ankles and a number of critical spots in between, to the tubing and can of nutritional drink on the counter nearby. Lent a wild strength by the rage rising in him at the story he quickly pieced together from the sum of his hasty observations, Einar managed to get himself flipped over onto his stomach, bruised by the weight of the board atop him and near immobile because of the thoroughness of Bud’s work with the webbing but gaining a surge of almost superhuman strength at the feeling of being thus restrained, the potent conglomeration of memory, dread and anticipation it awakened in him.
Without hesitating he made a grab for his knife, which Liz had left on the floor not far from him when she’d gone running. Couldn’t move his hand very far but did manage to scoot himself over within reach of the weapon after some effort, work the knife up under the strap which held his right wrist, give it some tension by straining with all the strength he could summon, and slice cleanly through the strap. Right hand free, he was allowed enough movement that the rest was fairly quick work.
By the time Liz—carrying a chagrinned but largely uninjured Will, who had used a lamp cord to boost himself to his feet and pulled the lamp down on himself—got back into the room Einar had managed to get himself free, squirming out of his sweater in the struggle and leaving it behind, tangled in the mess of straps which had been intended to hold him. Dizzy from all the sudden movement and slipping fairly rapidly towards the pressing humidity of the jungle, stench of the water beneath his bamboo enclosure already strong in his nostrils, things became crystal clear for Einar when Liz mentioned the driveway, and the three vehicles which were then making their way up its long, winding distance at a speed which did not bespeak a friendly visit. Without a word he headed for the door to the garage, knowing any attempted escape out one of the main doors would surely result in their tracks being seen before the snow had any chance to cover them—and before they could put much distance between themselves and the house.
In the garage, working by the faint, storm-filtered light coming in through its one small window, Einar jammed his feet into a pair of Bud’s slightly too-small rubber muck boots and dove out through the firewood door, Liz close behind him with Will wrapped in a small afghan from the couch, the only thing she’d been able to grab. Out into the snow they went, Einar running hard and never easing his grip on Liz’s hand as three unmarked but very official-looking black SUVs sped up the snowy driveway, the trio never even slowing their pace until, rasping for breath and coughing up blood, Einar was brought to his knees somewhere on the heavily timbered ridge far to the west of the house.
Crouching there for no more than the brief seconds it took to drive back a bit of the darkness that was trying to rise up before his eyes he was on his feet again, subconsciously placing himself between his little family and the danger below them, shielding them with his arms as he squinted through the myriad layers of wind-swayed evergreen boughs that lay behind them, shielding them from whatever might be going on back at the house by then. He had nothing but his knife, the clothes that had been on his back—minus the sweater he’d lost in his struggle to escape the straps—and Bud’s confining and un-insulated muck boots, but Liz had done slightly better in obtaining not only the blanket to shield Will against the fury of the storm, but a large, unused trash sack over which she had stumbled in the dark garage. That double sheet of plastic was, though they could at that time only guess at the fact, to prove perhaps their most important physical possession over the following hours. Liz had done another good thing in grabbing Einar’s pistol on the way out the door, and she now showed it to him…not much, but it was a start, gave them some chance, and when he motioned for the pistol, she handed it to him.
Eianr wished very badly that they might have some knowledge of what was going on back at the cabin, how serious the visit might prove and how thoroughly Bud and Susan had been able to conceal evidence of their hastily departed guests…but they had no way to know.
Out into the blinding whiteness of a storm which had descended with renewed fury Einar led them, heading blindly for the only nearby refuge he knew, the only one with any chance of shielding them should the storm ease and the enemy manage to get choppers in the air, heading for the mines.
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Post by FOTH on Jun 25, 2013 15:39:43 GMT -6
No chapter today, but I will have another ready for tomorrow. It has been pointed out to me that I have been somewhat lax of late in posting regular chapters, so will do my best to post one every two days, if not daily. Thank you all for reading, and for your occasional comments/discussion. That is always appreciated. |
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Post by meadsjn on Jun 25, 2013 22:31:41 GMT -6
It has been pointed out to me that I have been somewhat lax of late in posting regular chapters, so will do my best to post one every two days, if not daily.Considering how much we're paying you, you should be ashamed.  Seriously, you've done great keeping this story going. Thanks.
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