Post by FOTH on Dec 21, 2017 17:54:36 GMT -6
Getting back to writing, here. Thank you all for your patience. Hope you are having a good winter. Merry Christmas!
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Einar glanced out the window, didn’t know the big white SUV, looked over at Bud and could see that the tracker did not know it, either, and figured there could not be much time if he wanted to keep from having its occupants know him, pretty soon. Feet barely seeming to touch the stairs he retrieved his pack and was back down with Bud and the others in less than thirty seconds, rifle slung over his shoulder. A glance at Bud, question in his eyes, and when the tracker nodded, Einar headed for the door. Liz was beside him.
“Wait. We’re coming, too.”
“Can’t do it. I’ve got to move fast. If it’s the real thing, they can’t see me here with you.”
Bud thought he was right, said so, and, truck beyond the halfway point, Liz gave his arm a quick squeeze, let him go. Einar had rehearsed all in his mind, the possible escape routes, all of them, as he did each time he called a new place home. So it was not blindly that he ran from the house, out into the carport and ducked into the heavily-timbered fully that ran beside the house. Unused to following instructions of any kind, Muninn the raven did follow Einar, soaring ahead once he ascertained the man’s probably path. By the time the truck pulled up in front of the cabin, he had made his way down into the gully and up the ridge on its far side, and lay hidden in a stand of low-growing juniper scrub, watching the scene below through the scope on his FAL.
Somewhere around 230 yards, he guessed, and he ought to slow his breathing and steady the irregular racing and stuttering of his heart. Flighty thing. Had better not betray him now. The vehicle had rolled to a halt just outside the carport, Einar’s view only slightly obscured by the structure’s roof. Two occupants. He could see them moving, passenger opening the door first and driver remaining inside as he exited. Einar followed the passenger—a dark-haired man of average height who appeared to be dressed casually in jeans and a khaki shirt—as he moved toward the house, click of the driver’s door alerting him to the fact that the second man, too, had left the vehicle. Reticle centered on the passenger’s head, Einar shifted his finger down onto the trigger, lightly, beginning to take out the slack. He could do it. Take both of them, and the angle would work, would not endanger anyone in the house…he relaxed his finger, let out the breath.
Not enough information. Could bring down a whole world of trouble on Bud, Susan, his family if he took those shots, and for all he knew, these people might not represent any immediate threat, at all. In any case, the moment had passed, as the pair now stood at the door, Bud opening it. Einar could not hear any of the words that passed between the parties at the door, but before long it opened wider, Bud making an expansive gesture with one arm which seemed to invite the pair to come in. About the driver Einar had not been able to ascertain too much detail, the person’s face never turned toward him and a wide-brimmed fisherman’s hat obscuring the hair. Based on height and something in the way the driver moved, Einar was pretty sure she was a woman. Dressed similarly to the passenger, distance obscured most other detail. Except that he was sure, nearly beyond doubt, that the driver was armed, and that she waited behind in the vehicle to cover the passenger’s approach to the door. Not typical behavior for casual visitors—but then, few of Kilgore’s friends tended to be “typical” in any way, so these oddities of behavior did not necessarily rule out a social call by old friends. Except that any true friend of Bud’s ought, Einar told himself, to know better than to show up unannounced.
Well. They were inside now, out of his view, and he turned his attention back to the vehicle. Arizona plates, no obvious stickers or markings that would lend clues as to the occupation or intentions of its occupants, dust the color of Bud’s driveway clinging to its sides, as it ought to be…and not much more. Except for the antennas. Three of them, in addition to the low dome of a GPS transponder mounted to the roof near the rear of the vehicle. Add-on, not standard issue with the vehicle, he was certain. So those were clues, and he did not like the implications. Wanted to know what was going on in the house, how much danger Liz might be in, and most of all, how to get his family out of there. Only two of them, easily outnumbered and overpowered by the four of them—he, Liz, Bud and Susan—but his problem remained an almost complete lack of information. Had to wait, watch, hope something might present itself, some bit of data which would clarify the situation and suggest a course of action.
Evening. Muninn, who had followed Einar, was settling down for the night in a big, gnarled juniper, making contented sounds to himself and seeming confused and Einar’s consternation and lack of friendly response. Sun had long since left Einar’s perch, cold shadows creeping around him where he lay pressed into the earth. Eye glued to his scope, Einar hardly noticed. All afternoon he had tried to get a good look inside the house, but while the sun had remained up—he was very careful not to allow it to flash off of the glass of his scope, give him away—its reflection had prevented him from seeing inside, and now, the curtains were drawn. Most of them. The upstairs bedroom, the one he and Liz shared, did not have curtains, and though he could see nothing of the downstairs through that window, he kept swinging over in its direction, hoping to find…something.
Patience at last rewarded, Einar’s eye caught movement in the upstairs window, no light on in the room, but some filtering up into the loft from below. Breathing slowly, deliberately, in an attempt to still the cold-tremor in his hands and body he focused on the window, waiting, waiting. Some eight or ten minutes later a second flash of movement as a swath of some sort of dark-colored cloth was draped over the lower half of the window. Very odd, Einar thought. And then nothing.
Darkness. Lights on in the house, all curtains drawn, and, most ominously, no one had left the house or even opened a door since the arrival of the guests. Ordinarily Susan went on a walk sometime around dusk, and he had never known Bud to let an evening end without going out to patrol the area, smell the night air and generally make certain all was well. Not much to go on, but enough to convince Einar beyond reasonable doubt that all was not well, that further action was required of him. Before action, he still needed information. A lot of it. Full dark, a light breeze, time to go.
Rising very stiffly to his feet and feeling for a moment tremendously physically inadequate to the task ahead of him—too bad, you old buzzard, you’re all you’ve got just at the moment, and you’re going to have to find a way to make this work—Einar stashed his pack, slung the rifle and began the long, slow crawl down off the back side of his hill. Would not do to approach the house in full view of any of the windows, on the chance that the guests were far more well prepared than they appeared, and happened to be watching the place through a scope of their own. Worse-case scenario, there, the possibility that he might be observed, shot, taken…before he could remedy the situation in the house. Must not let that happen, even if it meant taking the long way around, and making a night of it.
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Einar glanced out the window, didn’t know the big white SUV, looked over at Bud and could see that the tracker did not know it, either, and figured there could not be much time if he wanted to keep from having its occupants know him, pretty soon. Feet barely seeming to touch the stairs he retrieved his pack and was back down with Bud and the others in less than thirty seconds, rifle slung over his shoulder. A glance at Bud, question in his eyes, and when the tracker nodded, Einar headed for the door. Liz was beside him.
“Wait. We’re coming, too.”
“Can’t do it. I’ve got to move fast. If it’s the real thing, they can’t see me here with you.”
Bud thought he was right, said so, and, truck beyond the halfway point, Liz gave his arm a quick squeeze, let him go. Einar had rehearsed all in his mind, the possible escape routes, all of them, as he did each time he called a new place home. So it was not blindly that he ran from the house, out into the carport and ducked into the heavily-timbered fully that ran beside the house. Unused to following instructions of any kind, Muninn the raven did follow Einar, soaring ahead once he ascertained the man’s probably path. By the time the truck pulled up in front of the cabin, he had made his way down into the gully and up the ridge on its far side, and lay hidden in a stand of low-growing juniper scrub, watching the scene below through the scope on his FAL.
Somewhere around 230 yards, he guessed, and he ought to slow his breathing and steady the irregular racing and stuttering of his heart. Flighty thing. Had better not betray him now. The vehicle had rolled to a halt just outside the carport, Einar’s view only slightly obscured by the structure’s roof. Two occupants. He could see them moving, passenger opening the door first and driver remaining inside as he exited. Einar followed the passenger—a dark-haired man of average height who appeared to be dressed casually in jeans and a khaki shirt—as he moved toward the house, click of the driver’s door alerting him to the fact that the second man, too, had left the vehicle. Reticle centered on the passenger’s head, Einar shifted his finger down onto the trigger, lightly, beginning to take out the slack. He could do it. Take both of them, and the angle would work, would not endanger anyone in the house…he relaxed his finger, let out the breath.
Not enough information. Could bring down a whole world of trouble on Bud, Susan, his family if he took those shots, and for all he knew, these people might not represent any immediate threat, at all. In any case, the moment had passed, as the pair now stood at the door, Bud opening it. Einar could not hear any of the words that passed between the parties at the door, but before long it opened wider, Bud making an expansive gesture with one arm which seemed to invite the pair to come in. About the driver Einar had not been able to ascertain too much detail, the person’s face never turned toward him and a wide-brimmed fisherman’s hat obscuring the hair. Based on height and something in the way the driver moved, Einar was pretty sure she was a woman. Dressed similarly to the passenger, distance obscured most other detail. Except that he was sure, nearly beyond doubt, that the driver was armed, and that she waited behind in the vehicle to cover the passenger’s approach to the door. Not typical behavior for casual visitors—but then, few of Kilgore’s friends tended to be “typical” in any way, so these oddities of behavior did not necessarily rule out a social call by old friends. Except that any true friend of Bud’s ought, Einar told himself, to know better than to show up unannounced.
Well. They were inside now, out of his view, and he turned his attention back to the vehicle. Arizona plates, no obvious stickers or markings that would lend clues as to the occupation or intentions of its occupants, dust the color of Bud’s driveway clinging to its sides, as it ought to be…and not much more. Except for the antennas. Three of them, in addition to the low dome of a GPS transponder mounted to the roof near the rear of the vehicle. Add-on, not standard issue with the vehicle, he was certain. So those were clues, and he did not like the implications. Wanted to know what was going on in the house, how much danger Liz might be in, and most of all, how to get his family out of there. Only two of them, easily outnumbered and overpowered by the four of them—he, Liz, Bud and Susan—but his problem remained an almost complete lack of information. Had to wait, watch, hope something might present itself, some bit of data which would clarify the situation and suggest a course of action.
Evening. Muninn, who had followed Einar, was settling down for the night in a big, gnarled juniper, making contented sounds to himself and seeming confused and Einar’s consternation and lack of friendly response. Sun had long since left Einar’s perch, cold shadows creeping around him where he lay pressed into the earth. Eye glued to his scope, Einar hardly noticed. All afternoon he had tried to get a good look inside the house, but while the sun had remained up—he was very careful not to allow it to flash off of the glass of his scope, give him away—its reflection had prevented him from seeing inside, and now, the curtains were drawn. Most of them. The upstairs bedroom, the one he and Liz shared, did not have curtains, and though he could see nothing of the downstairs through that window, he kept swinging over in its direction, hoping to find…something.
Patience at last rewarded, Einar’s eye caught movement in the upstairs window, no light on in the room, but some filtering up into the loft from below. Breathing slowly, deliberately, in an attempt to still the cold-tremor in his hands and body he focused on the window, waiting, waiting. Some eight or ten minutes later a second flash of movement as a swath of some sort of dark-colored cloth was draped over the lower half of the window. Very odd, Einar thought. And then nothing.
Darkness. Lights on in the house, all curtains drawn, and, most ominously, no one had left the house or even opened a door since the arrival of the guests. Ordinarily Susan went on a walk sometime around dusk, and he had never known Bud to let an evening end without going out to patrol the area, smell the night air and generally make certain all was well. Not much to go on, but enough to convince Einar beyond reasonable doubt that all was not well, that further action was required of him. Before action, he still needed information. A lot of it. Full dark, a light breeze, time to go.
Rising very stiffly to his feet and feeling for a moment tremendously physically inadequate to the task ahead of him—too bad, you old buzzard, you’re all you’ve got just at the moment, and you’re going to have to find a way to make this work—Einar stashed his pack, slung the rifle and began the long, slow crawl down off the back side of his hill. Would not do to approach the house in full view of any of the windows, on the chance that the guests were far more well prepared than they appeared, and happened to be watching the place through a scope of their own. Worse-case scenario, there, the possibility that he might be observed, shot, taken…before he could remedy the situation in the house. Must not let that happen, even if it meant taking the long way around, and making a night of it.
