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Jay Carpenter - Jay Carpenter - 04-24-2014
Jay "Hollywood" Carpenter
Occupation:
Corporal, Fox company 3rd Marine Raiders Battalion
Legionnaire 1e Classe, Légion Première
Biography:
In high school, everyone called him Carp. Everyone meaning all the teachers, guys and nerdy girls. The hot girls were apparently too high and mighty for nicknames, but it served to keep things straight in his head.
"Carp!"
and Jay eventually glanced up, if he wasn't doing something more fun that is.
As opposed to:
"Jay!"
and he lept to his feet. "Yes, hot girl?!"
Fine, so out loud he was smoother than that, but the stream of consciousness was all the same.
High school was great. By graduation, he was sure life had piqued. An all-star athlete, captain of the baseball team, and prom king he was a god in their podunk Iowa farmtown. Best yet, he knew it too. But Jay liked to think he stayed humble. He danced with one of the nerdy chicks at Prom. Sure it was mostly about a dare, but a good dare was irresistible, as was nerdy chick's cleavage.
"Would you like to dance,
[insert nerdy chick's name he clearly can't remember]?"
[Insert nerdy chick melting into his arms]
The prom queen made him pay for it later. But no complaints from Jay. Technically it was her idea.
So high school was the peak. The summer following graduation was spent pouring over college acceptance letters. He even spent a weekend over at Iowa City with a few of the gang intending to enroll for the fall. But every time someone asked him about college, Jay felt like he was going to have diarrhea. College. Sounded. Like. Hell. Not even the lure of college girls, college bars, and college towns could reduce the sting.
So he spent the summer working on the farm like always. Six am. Five am. By harvest season, he was up at four am, although that was really nothing new. He'd been working the fields since he was old enough to drive a tractor - bailed hay before that - and shucked corn before that. Hell, people around there gave babies water-soaked cobs to chew on for teething. The farm was in his blood; and had been since his great-grandparents bought the land right after WWII.
Soon, the "What are you going to do with your life, Jay?"'s
stopped coming. Mom and dad assumed he'd be down at the barn every morning, good and reliable, like always. Come Thanksgiving, after harvest season, burning season, and turning the fields were done, Jay was at the dinner table, and talk of the following year's planting season started. Dad and grandpa were debating round-up brands. Mom and Aunt Sarah were talking Black Friday shopping over in Des Moines. Uncle Cooper and Coach Swanson (the neighbor [neighbor being the closest house a mile west down their dirt road]) were talking about the dwindling football season, and prospects for the spring baseball line up. Apparently they already forgot there was a state all-star shortstop sitting at the table.
It was over a plate of apple pie (extra whip cream) when he freaked out. He sat there, fork half way to his mouth, and realized he was living the exact life he always dreaded. From prom king and all star to tractors and pie. Although the pie wasn't that bad of a fate. (He made sure to finish that plate, and a piece of cherry while he was at it.)
"Mom, I want to go to Des Moines with you and Aunt Sarah tomorrow,"
he spoke up between bites. "And this is great pie,"
he mumbled with a smile to put her at ease. It probably only served to heighten her suspicion, but sure enough, he was in the truck heading to town the next morning.
"YOU DID WHAT!"
His father was still screaming. Dad could yell at him all he wanted, but what really stuck a burr in Jay's chest was the look on his mom's face. She'd been surprised when he met them at the mall with a bag slung over one shoulder with MARINES printed on the outside, but she'd been eerily quiet all the way back. Aunt Sarah, who sat in the middle of the truck and tried to mediate the whole uncomfortable ride back home, had asked him questions and tried to figure out what made Jay suddenly enlist.
Jay scrubbed his hair and stood up to his dad, "What's done is done. You don't want a son to serve his country?"
His dad's face melted of its anger. He grabbed him, and the two men slammed each other into a hug.
"Of course, son. But you should have talked to us about it first."
Jay pat his dad on the back, "I was afraid you'd talk me out of it."
His dad clapped him on the back of his head and turned him about to face his mother. "Its not me you would have had to worry about it."
Ahh shit. That's when he felt like a real dick.
Of course, they got over it and the day Jay shipped out for training was a good day. Flags were flying. The sky was bright blue. People were waving, and he felt like a million bucks.
Yeah that didn't last long.
MCRD, San Diego - or what was left of San Diego. First day of recruit training didn't go so well. He wasn't processed until around 8 PM, and took until 4:30 AM to finish. He was dropped off in barracks only to be woken 25 minutes later for first drill. He was scared to death that's how the marines were going to be from then on out! Turns out, they were allowed more than 25 minutes of sleep a night. And farm kids were used to early hours. He adapted quickly. Don't tell the instructors, but recruit training was about the most fun he'd ever had in his life.
Granted, it was a bit of a learning curve to straighten out the small town, cocky kid's attitude, but Jay eventually figured out the game, and played to expectations. The hills of San Diego, originally so fascinating to an Iowa boy, soon became a bloodied, mewling thing to conquer. Aching legs and burning lungs became the norm, but the rugged landscape did their work, and cut something semi-useful out of the high school star athlete.
When Jay left San Diego, he walked tall, shoulders back, and looking straight ahead. He knew there was nothing in the world he couldn't accomplish after those twelve weeks. Jay never lacked in self-worth, but walking out of there, a marine, in that uniform, he knew something was different. Least of which was the shearing of an awesomely stylish head of blonde hair, (the root of the nickname Hollywood) but he still had the famous grin and sweet baby blues. If anything, the grin was prouder and the blues brighter.
But you know, being a leatherneck had its perks. But Jay was never quite satisfied with staying still. After completion of SOI (school of infantry), he reported to the 2d Battalion, 8th Marines. While with 2/8 he deployed to Panama, twice to Polynesia, and once to South Africa and Uganda. In a Force Recon battalion, he dropped all over the world (non CCD world anyway) and gathered information between point A and point B. From there, he applied for, and was transferred into, special operations command, MARSOC. He jumped the gun a little early, applying as only a Corporal, an NCO, the minimum rank to be considered, but at 21 years old, exactly 24 months and three days after earning the Eagle, Globe and Anchor, he couldn't wait another day.
Everyone said MARSOC meant you wouldn't have a life; that you were a ghost. But Jay didn't see it that way. They were involved in foreign internal defense, hell they even trained friendly host-nation forces to defend themselves. But the real meat of the matter was to be one of the guys task-directed to conduct recon, step in with direct action, and operate missions in unconventional terrain. On top of all that cool-factor, they did so in support of a geographical combatant commander that needed an extra set of guys, sometimes even with other special forces. Basically, when the Marines had a task needed done outside their reach, they called MARSOC. They called Jay. The deployment tempo was flexible. The terrain weirder. And the missions critical. Better yet, he operated in a small, skilled and immaculately trained group of Marines bound by trust and cohesion. They were a family that dived, jumped, and blew shit up for their country. Who wouldn't fucking love it!
That was how he met Andrew Koehler. A Navy SEAL. Twenty years before then, they probably never would have known the other group was in the same country, let alone work together on a mission, but a more efficient discretionary spending budget meant the Pentagon had to stream line special operations, and that meant downsizing and buddying up with your neighbors.
Nicaragua, Central America. 0145 hours.
A Central American EvilNombre was holed up in a compound. Task was simple. Crawl out of the ocean, snatch him and lay waste to everything he owned so none of his lieutenants could take over operations after the Big Bad disappeared behind the walls of Guantanamo. It should have been clean. Recon said civilian innocents caught in the cross fire would be at a minimum. And they were cleared to go.
The SEALS had the fun task of dismantling the factory while Hollywood and three others took the compound by storm. They cracked like a whip on a rock wall, and Jay worked in a zone, like a void, where there was nothing in the world but his immediate surroundings, his guys, and the weapon in his hands. On the top floor they were met with a short round of firefight, but they quickly found EvilNombre barricaded in an interior room. The second Jay realized EvilNombre was using a little girl as his hostage, gun to her head, he lost his infallible cool. They weren't supposed to kill him – he knew it in his bones: the mission was to take the man alive; Jay was a rifleman and definitely not in charge. But the tears streaming down her face twisted his guts into a knot and something snapped in his mind no psyche test, individual training course, or dedication to the mission could have expected. He thought of the family he hadn't seen in ten months, the little sister that clung to his chest whenever he went home, and before he knew it, he fired a kill shot against direct orders.
He was stateside, Camp Lejune, N.C., one week later where he was watched like a hawk. The first time he was late for formation, he was cited. They goaded him into losing the cool he worked so hard to train away as a Recruit. But despite the setbacks, he stuck to his decision that day in Nicaragua. He'd made a decision, and fuck the order that said he was in the wrong, but he wasn't going to let a little girl be slaughtered in order to interrogate EvilNombre for bullshit intel. And, sure, he might have gone a little batshit crazy with his bayonet on the body after the fact. “YOU PIECE OF SHIT BASTARD! I’D RIP YOUR FUCKING SPLEEN OUT AND FEED IT TO YOUR DOGS! BUT I ALREADY FUCKING BLEW THEIR HEADS OFF YOU MOTHER-“
You get the idea. Suffice to say, they waited until he committed the smallest breech and suddenly he was up for Discharge, Other Than Honorable: nothing that required jail time, but harsher than general disqualification.
Of course, the mission was blacked out. Meaning he couldn't tell his family and friends back in the corn fields what happened. Koehler, and those there at the time, knew. And although they had to stick with orders, the look in their eye said otherwise. They understood. Hollywood had a soft spot, turns out, and something of a temper that only showed itself when that soft spot was threatened. Little girl hostage situations weren't a part of his training, but despite pages of psyche evals that suggested otherwise, a guy just doesn't know what he'll do until he's faced with his triggers.
Jay tried. Hand to God, but he tried to make the transition back into a civilian life. But Jay was sure to claw his own face off in Iowa. He loved being home. He loved his family. But nobody really knew what it was like. He began looking for work elsewhere. Security companies abroad and such.
That's when he found Legion Premiere. Based in North Africa, they were a for-profit corp, but digging around in their past cases and Jay was willing to bet there was more to the story than following the yellow brick road all the way to cashland.
They liked his application and statement. Jay was happy to fly to Morocco for a meet up. Good potential. It wasn't exactly serving his country, not in the same way, but after royally fucking up, he was just happy to see this side of prison. Besides, he was still a proud wearer of the red, white and blue.
At least he was able to have a decent hair cut again. And of course, the heart of gold grin to go with it.
The Legion was surprising. They were ridiculously well trained for private security, and their priorities were unexpected. They weren't too incredibly impressed by Jay's resume, then again, that meant they weren't too incredibly bothered by the circumstances of his discharge either. They must have liked his performance on the slew of tests, questions and checks that followed, because he was offered a spot, and he found himself moving to Casablanca.
Interviews, training (a breeze: although a greater focus on crowd control than he expected), and Jay "Hollywood" Carpenter was in the Legion assigned to the African contingent. Although he had an eye on the DV division, word of their African missions was what started this business. So, Africa it is. Legionnaire 1e Classe was a senior private rank, but thanks to past experience in a legit professional military (yeah no shit - legit professional military), he was told to expect quick advancement. Fine by Jay. He wasn't in it for the money. There were other things he valued. Camaraderie being one. Loyalty another. And being part of an elite unit that managed to do something in the world. Fidelity and Honor was their code. "The Legion is our Fatherland"
, their motto felt strange at first, expressing undying loyalty to something other than the Red White and Blue ’Always faithful, always forward,’ still rang in his head to this day, but Jay didn't see it as abandoning his country. He saw it as joining the world - or something equivalently pansy that he'd never actually admit to another living soul. Ever.
Though he wasn't too big a fan of their dress uniforms, he made those bitches look good.
Physical:
Good, average height, Jay has a lean build consistent with strict military (and his own) PT standards. He's quick to grin, but cool headed and difficult to provoke, unless touching upon the few things he holds dearest in this world, such as threatening those he feels he has a duty to protect, then he has a bit of a problem keeping his cool. Otherwise, he's a red-blooded American country boy, with hay-colored hair and cornflower blue eyes.
Powers:
Turns out, Jay can, and will, channel. He hasn't done so yet. He's 23 years old, so there's plenty of time, but it will happen. He's no reborn god either, unless you consider his own soul to be a god, which he probably does. But if he were around in the 5th or 6th Ages, he was nobody famous. Any life before that is long lost to the histories, but he was there, and he fought with all his heart for the Light, to his dying day.
- Jay Carpenter - 11-20-2017
2043, Iowa, USA
Two weeks ago, Jay was part of the Raiders. He was Special Forces in the United States Marine Corps. Two weeks ago he had a mission. He had purpose. He had brothers.
Today, he was a farmer again.
Discharged three days ago, it was a quick turnaround out of North Carolina, Camp Lejune was a memory. Combat boots were a memory. Uniforms were gone. Pins were gone. Patches were gone. Discharged, Other than Honorable wasn't the kind of thing where a guy came home to trumpets and parades. He didn't have awards and medals to hang on the wall. The picture on his mom's mantle was three years outdated, of a newly graduated marine out of basic training. Hell, he was lucky to not be in jail.
Jay picked up the frame, held it in his hands a moment, then put it back facedown on the mantle. He couldn't look at it anymore.
He pinched his eyes shut and started to reach for his back jeans pocket when a small voice stopped his hand. "Whatcha doin'?"
He turned in time to greet the face of his eleven year old kid sister. She plopped on the couch, tucked her ankles up under her and pulled a blanket around her shoulders. A light snow started to fall outside and the house was chilly. She was out of school for winter break, but she looked pale and thinner than he remembered. Maybe he'd spent too long in South America and forgot what it was like back home.
"Nothing, Cay. I was going to go chop wood for the fireplace,"
he started to go but Cayli twisted in her seat as he reached the door.
"Dad split all the logs last week. They're all out by the shed."
Jay didn't even look back at her as the screen door closed on his heels.
"I know, Cay. Thanks."
He knew exactly how many logs were stacked up ready for burning. Didn't mean he wasn't going to go chop more anyway.
An hour later, he came back inside, hands numb from the cold, hair soaking wet with snow. He stomped the mud out of his boots to leave them by the door. When he realized Cayli was napping on the couch, their cat curled up on her chest, Jay swore at himself for being too loud. He quietly locked up the front door, checking the horizon for signs of vehicles - that EvilNombre in Nicaragua had lieutenants that were out of business because of him. The mission was blacked out, but couldn't be too careful.
He paused on his way to the kitchen, studying the little girl that he still thought of as a bumbling toddler getting into all his stuff when they were growing up. Standing there in the middle of his parents' living room, stuck, he pulled the flask from his back pocket that he started to grab when she first interrupted him at the fireplace, twisted open the cap with numb, shaking fingers, and finished off the contents. There were only drops left.
Before heading to the kitchen to fill it up, he stopped, pulled the blanket up to her shoulders, brushed the hair from her face and scratched the cat on the top of the head. As soon as he refilled the flask, he came back to start the fire.
- Jay Carpenter - 11-20-2017
Hours later.
"Hey, it's Carp. I know I said i'd be there, man, but I just can't make it next weekend. Now that I'm home, I can see the family really needs me. You and Morgan look great. You'll have a kickass honeymoon. You deserve it. I'll see you around, man. Good luck."
He disconnected the call, relieved it went to voicemail. If there had been an answer, he wasn't sure he could have gone through with it. Then again, going to one of his oldest friend's weddings sounded like a special kind of torture he couldn't endure. Another marine, the ceremony would have been in dress blues. He couldn't take it. Hell, he was suppose to be a groomsman, one of six military men standing up there. They couldn't have him in the bridal party now. Morgan was a cool chick, but Jay wouldn't blame her for breaking up the party. It was better to save her the awkward conversation and bow out. Besides, his family needed him home. There were things to do. Like chop firewood. And uhh, taste Aunt Sarah's new fried chicken recipe. It was gluten free too. Never would have known it.
Now that task was done, Jay shifted the pillows behind his head. Any fluff that was once stuffed within were long ago flattened, and the twin mattress was something he'd had since middle school. He went through puberty in this bedroom, on this mattress. God they should really throw it out.
Pillows adjusted, he stared at the ceiling. Countless nights he stared at these textures in the walls. He knew their labyrinthian lines by heart now. There was one swirl that he swore looked like a dollar sign and another that looked like a dead tree. All those nights he hated this cheap old bed, but how stupid he'd been. He'd ached for this bed when he was in infantry training. Compared to a cot, or a floor, or a metal chair, this thing was downright kingly. And pillows? Forget about pillows. He lived the life of luxury as a teenager and had no idea. Hell, the bed was almost too comfortable for him now to sleep at all. Almost.
As he laid there, he contemplated whether he wanted to dig out another bottle of tequila or not. He only had one left. The nearest gas station was thirty minutes away and forget about an actual liquor store. He'd stocked up when his plane landed in Des Moines three days ago. Hell, he sat a mile down the dirt road and drank the first bottle before even knocking on the front door. He could still remember the look on his mother's face when the door opened and there Jay stood, bags slung over his shoulders, hat on, shades obscuring his eyes. The look on her face was enough to make him smile at the time. Of course, he couldn't tell anyone why he was home. Later that night he admitted to his father that his Discharge was Other than Honorable, but he couldn't explain why. Nor would he if he was free to do so. Since then, he holed up in his old room and did things around the house to keep busy. Like chop firewood that nobody needed and sweep out perfectly clean barns. He cleaned all of his father's pristine rifles and shotguns - he had a decent collection. Out in the country like this, the family had what it took to protect themselves and their livestock. Not to mention the myriad weapons for hunting season. Maybe he could take up the bow again. It'd been years since he shot one. The marines, even special forces, didn't have much use for a compound bow.
Deciding he was too lazy to get up for a fresh bottle, he sighed and opened the next email in his account. It was a newsletter of international events that he subscribed to. Some of the other guys gave him shit for keeping up with that kind of thing. But call Jay a pessimist, he liked to have some idea of what was happening in the countries they were visiting night to night.
As he scanned the links, one in particular caught his attention. It was on the death and aftermath of a drug cartel lord in Nicaragua, nicknamed El Tiburón, the Shark.
Of course, Jay knew his real name. He smiled faintly and opened the article.
As he read the contents, his smile faded. The article was obscenely incorrect. The aftermath was likely accurate. El Tiburón's factories were destroyed, his compound raided, and the man himself killed. His lieutenants were scattered, but it was his brother that was quoted to seek revenge on those that murdered him in cold blood. Actually, all that sounded about right. The scarily wrong part was that the murderers were said to be rival cartels. That would have been Jay's first guess, excepting, of course, that he'd been there. Seals and Raiders took down the fortress and dismantled the factories. And it'd been Jay himself that put a bullet in his brain. The motherfucker tried to use his own blood relative as a hostage? Jay would have killed him for less, but something snapped when he saw her face welled up with tears. She had reminded him of Cayli, his little sister. He killed the motherfucker and sliced up his chest with a bayonet just to make sure he was dead. That last bit might have been over reacting, but the guy was definitely dead.
He looked at the picture of El Tiburón's brother. They resembled each other, but this one was clearly the younger. Seeking revenge for his older brother's death. Jay tried to imagine what kind of relationship the two had. Suppose it didn't matter now. But the brother wanted revenge. He likely wasn't the only one. Their orders had been plain as day. Tiburón was to be taken alive. Under no circumstances was he to be harmed. Whatever piece of bullshit intel the American government wanted out of him was above Jay's pay-grade, but who cared. Someone in the higher ranks was screwed because Jay killed their man. Hence why he was booted in less than a week later. Suppose he was lucky someone wasn't sent to "permanently retire" him instead. He wasn't just lucky to be out of jail. He was lucky to still be breathing.
Whoever it was that he screwed, between the government and a vengeful little brother, Jay was going to keep his eye out. Nobody could possibly know he was involved, let alone that he was the killshot. Nobody outside the marines, anyway. Or the Pentagon probably. Okay, so there were probably hundreds of people that had access to his record. But he had nothing to worry about. Those kinds of conspiracies only happened in the movies, right?
He was about to switch to a new article when a noise outside perked his ears.
His entire body tightened. His breath caught in his chest, then came swift and shallow. He sat up, kept his head low so a shadow didn't cast across the window. The only light in the room came from his Wallet screen and the fireplace from the family room across the house. Nobody was home except him and Cay. Their parents would be back any minute, but they'd come through the front door, not sneak around the back.
He carefully peered between the window blinds into the back yard. Someone was walking slowly along the house. Their footsteps were careful in the snow, just deep enough for tufts of grass to peek through the top. The light on the barn across the yard cast an eerie luminescence that elongated the shadows and sparkled the powder to diamonds.
Jay caught sight of the figure ducking around the back of the shed. He dropped the blinds and moved stealthily to the family room. Cayli and the cat were still curled up asleep on the couch. So as quietly as he could, he pulled a shotgun from the gun cabinet, snatched some shells, and went to the garage.
He loaded the shotgun, stuck the extra shells in a pocket and slipped into the back yard. He smelled nothing of gasoline or explosives. There was no sound of a running engine in the distance. Even the dog must have been asleep in the warm barn.
But there were footprints in the snow. Large ones, male-sized, boots. Jay followed them, shotgun cradled at the ready. He was quiet as the snowfall since he'd gone out without any shoes himself. Hell, he didn't even take the time to put on a shirt let alone a pair of shoes.
As he rounded the shed, he heard a grunt and he paused, eyes darting, ears focused. The intruder's breathing was growing more labored. Then there was a thud and another grunt. Jay frowned. Did that sound like a log?
Headlights flashed, drowning him in blindness. He gasped, jumped out of the beams, ducked and came up to one knee, shotgun aimed at the truck that just flashed him. That's when he heard a voice call, "JAY!"
His father's voice. The headlights went out and he blinked, holding the shotgun steady, peering down the line of sight at the figure of a man climbing out of the truck. It was his father's truck. Then there were footsteps again. Hurried ones. The figure behind the shed rounded the corner, gasped at the sight.
"Jay for God's sakes put the shotgun down!"
By then, he was shaking. That was his father's voice. He approached carefully like he was afraid of what he'd do. Still on one knee, shotgun perched against his shoulder, he checked the other figure. "Who are you!"
He demanded. Never point your weapon you're not intending to fire, said a voice in the back of his mind, but his finger was straight alongside the trigger. He was in control. He was in control.
"WHO ARE YOU!"
He demanded a second time, staring down the figure, but he was met with stammering. Again, it was his father's voice piercing the cold.
"That's Pastor Mayson. For God's sakes boy put the gun down."
Jay blinked. Pastor Mayson?
He lowered the weapon and slowly rose to both feet.
"What the hell is he doing here?"
"His electricity went out. We were getting him firewood."
His father answered, coming close enough make sure his son wasn't going to raise the weapon again. Jay handed it off to him anyway.
He swallowed, looking between the stunned faces between them. The Pastor was a large man, stout enough to pass for the figure of a soldier in his gear. But Jay was seeing ghosts where there were none. Nobody was coming for him. El Tiburón and his brother were thousands of miles away. This was Iowa. Nothing happened here.
"I'm sorry. Next time text me before you sneak up on the house."
He returned inside to find his hands shaking.
He slumped on the floor in front of the fire. His toes were blue. His chest numb. He put his head in his hands and sat there, absorbing the warmth when the thump of four paws landed on the floor next to him and a quiet voice behind broke the spell. "What was that noise all about?"
Cayli asked as she reached for the tv remote.
Heart beating, Jay clenched his teeth and forced his voice to steady. "Nothing. I'm going to go help Pastor Mayson load some firewood in the truck. I'll be back when we're done."
This time, he went outside wearing boots and a coat, but the truck, his father and the pastor were already gone.
Jay didn't blame them.
Edited by Jay Carpenter, Nov 21 2017, 09:58 AM.
- Jay Carpenter - 11-21-2017
The next morning, or technically, middle of the night as it was still pitch black outside, Jay sat at the kitchen table, chin on his hand, and watched the coffeepot as it brewed. He was used to 0400 wake-up, 0430 PT, 0530 breakfast, and 0600 check in. He'd never gone for a run on snow before. While the challenge was tempting, lets face it, Iowa was fucking cold this time of year. And he was attached to all his toes. Maybe after sun up. Yeah.
He paused pouring a cup when his father came in. "Pour me one too, would you boy?"
Jay nodded and pulled another cup from the cabinet, then carried them both back to the table. The two men sat there in equal silence. They were both fully dressed for the day. His dad wore jeans and long-underwear of the type to fit under a pair of heavy-duty coveralls later. Jay was just in a t-shirt and jeans. Neither had shaved, either. Despite popular belief, a beard did keep your face warm.
The silence stretched. Only the sizzle of the coffee pot filled the air. His dad spoke first. "We gonna talk about what happened last night?"
"Nope."
Jay answered.
But it seemed they were going to talk about it anyway. "The preacher made me pray for you before I left his house last night."
His dad went on. He didn't sound too happy to be praying. His dad wasn't the most religious man in the world, but he would have complied with the pastor's wishes out of sheer respect.
"Thanks,"
Jay answered again.
Just to make it a little more awkward, his dad sighed and continued. "Jay, I know things are going to be hard for you for a little while. It's very different. I don't even know why you enlisted to start with. You had college, a girlfriend, and a family-"
"Stop dad. Please. I don't want to have this conversation again."
He glanced at the clock. 0440, it read. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. "What do you need help with around here? I gotta have something to do."
His dad finished off his mug of coffee and stood. "We should have time to check the dairy barn before your mother starts breakfast."
As good enough a plan as any, Jay finished his own mug and went off in search of another pair of coveralls.
At breakfast a couple hours later, his mother didn't bring anything up out of the ordinary. So either she was avoiding the awkward questions or his father hadn't told her about what happened. Cayli had no idea either. She'd slept through most of the confrontation last night. "Anyone need anything from town? I'm going to run to walmart later."
Jay looked around the table, figuring his mom would want to go. She only shook her head and got up to clear the dirty plates. Surprisingly, Cayli was the one to speak up.
"I'll go!"
She turned to their parents, eyes pleading. "Please let me go. Please, please."
Jay found it kind of odd that she asked so fervently, but maybe their parents were stricter with her than they had been with him.
"She can go. I don't mind,"
he interjected. Cayli beamed with happiness.
Their parents exchanged worried looks, but eventually nodded assent. "Alright. But take your cell phone and call me if anything comes up." His mother answered. Jay frowned, like he wasn't going to be in his right mind to keep an eye on his kid sister.
An hour later the pickup rumbled down a two-lane highway toward town. Des Moines was hours away, but there was a smaller town half the distance in the opposite direction. They mostly listened to music along the way in. The kind that made Jay tap the steering wheel with a thumb and once in a while sing along with the words. Cayli smiled, but didn't do much else. Shockingly, it was neither his mom or his dad to ask the awkward questions. It was his fearless, brave little sister. She turned down the music.
"So did you ever go anywhere and fight people?"
Jay blinked. "Uhh. I guess so. Yeah."
"Did you shoot anyone?"
Jay frowned, glancing at her from aside. "Only bad guys."
She laughed at that like he was kidding.
"Where was the farthest away that you went?"
He smirked, this time keeping his gaze settled on the road. "I'd tell you, but I'd have to kill you."
She laughed again. The sound made him smile.
"Well what can you tell me?"
"I can tell you that your older brother can kick some ass. So if anyone ever messes with you, they'll answer to me. When we get home tonight, i'll teach you a couple moves to keep someone out of your personal space you don't want in your face. Got it kiddo?"
She beamed. It did interfere with his plans for getting falling down drunk and driving around on the tractor that night to check fences that were probably completely fine. "Tell you what. Let's not even wait for tonight. I'll show you something when we stop."
They were in the Walmart parking lot standing alongside the truck. He had his arms wrapped around Cayli’s shoulders from behind. She’d be a breeze to squeeze, pick up off her feet, and drag away. Which was exactly why he was showing her a couple self-defense moves. “So in this position, you’d stomp on my foot as hard as you can. Twist around to face me, grab my shirt and pull my chest down as you knee me up in the groin. Don’t actually do it. Got it? Alright. And you’d scream as loud as you can. The idea is to get attention and get away. Let’s practice.”
Cayli had spunk. She pretended to do just that then proceeded to grab his jacket and mimic the moves he’d just described. “Good, good.”
He said. ”That should double over any guy. When you’re old enough we’ll get you a concealed carry. I’ll make sure to teach you everything I know.”
He stopped himself. Well. Not everything.
She nodded and they started to turn to go inside when a police squad car pulled behind the truck. A young officer got out, hands at the ready, and eyed Jay and Cayli. “Everything okay there miss?”
On second thought, roleplaying a hostage situation in the middle of a parking lot probably wasn’t the best idea. Jay stepped out into clear line of sight, eyeing the officer’s weapons, stance, confidence, everything about him. He was probably early twenties, which meant he was new to the job, and likely why he was doing street patrol rather than catching actual criminals. The vehicle was new, Jay scanned the license plate briefly, committing the numbers to memory. Everything. He made sure to keep his own stance neutral, meanwhile. As non-threatening as possible. “It’s alright officer.”
“Sir, I asked her,” he interrupted. Jay frowned and glanced at Cayli. She had that deer in the headlights look.
“I’m okay. This is my big brother, he was just showing me some moves to protect myself from bad guys. Jay?”
The name triggered a change in the officer’s expression. He looked him over more closely. “Jay Carpenter?”
“Yeah…”
he replied.
“It’s Anderson. From high school.” Jay’s gaze fell to the badge on the officer’s shirt. Anderson Barnes. Shit. Running into someone from high school wasn’t his idea of a happy reunion at this point.
He stepped forward, offering a hand and a forced smile. “Anderson. Right. Hey man, how’s it going?”
He was alright, he replied, and Jay offered introductions between him and Cayli, trying to keep it as short and sweet as possible. Besides, it was cold out here and Cay had to be getting uncomfortable.
“So you were showing her some self-defense? It actually looked pretty good from what I could tell. Which is why I thought it best to come check out the situation.”
Jay nodded, ready to depart when Cayli dropped the bomb. “Yah! Jay was in the marines!”
He frowned again. Anderson laughed. “Oh is that right? Was, huh?”
Cayli started to answer, but Jay gripped her on the shoulder. “We should get inside. It’s pretty cold. Good to see you, man. Take care.”
Cayli stammered, but Jay dragged her toward the entrance. “Why were you so rude?!”
She demanded of him. Jay shook his head. “Come on! That policeman was nice and you were just plain rude.”
“Cay, don’t,”
he responded.
“Now you’re being rude to me. Why? What’s going on that nobodys telling me? I’m a kid, but I’m not stupid.”
The big box store doors opened on a whoosh, and warm air slammed in their faces. He started to get a cart when she grabbed his hand. Her's was cold as ice. “Why aren’t you wearing gloves?”
he asked. She rolled her eyes and planted herself there in that way that said she wasn’t taking silence as an answer anymore.
His heart dropped into his stomach. “I’ll tell you on the car ride home. Let’s get our stuff.”
She was going to notice the case of liquor he was purchasing anyway. Might as well explain as much as he could. As much as he legally could, anyway.
- Jay Carpenter - 11-21-2017
The next two weeks passed in a blur. He drove tractors. He checked cows. He fixed lights. He checked the fences by horseback. He worked on the truck engine. He changed the oil in all the machinery. He cleaned. He painted. He chopped. He stacked. He even helped his Aunt Sarah bake an apple pie, which he devoured shortly thereafter. He did find it a little unusual that all these random odd tasks weren’t handled by the farm staff, but a few questions into the matter told him that most of the farm’s employees were let go. They had to cut costs, his father told him, and left it at that.
Other than that uncomfortable conversation, it was a blur. He walked in a daze, trying to cure the boredom with mundane tasks and numb the hours with tequila. Actually, he didn’t mind that last part so much. Nobody bothered him with more questions, not after he had his little heart to heart with Cayli. Sure, she was eleven. He didn’t tell her the whole story, he wasn’t cruel, but he did tell her enough for her to understand. She kinda had his back after that. They were close again. But soon, winter break was over and she was immersed in school again. He rarely saw her after that.
Two months after coming home he had his first date. Or, rather, he actually encountered a girl he actually found attractive enough to date. They went out a few times, but after the untold number of dinners at the hot-dog joint, movies and beers, Jay didn’t call her any more. It had nothing to do with her. She was cute and funny. And he actually did like her. But he found himself thinking about dating her the rest of the year. Dating her until they’d become a couple. He’d blink and next thing he knew, he’d be wearing a wedding ring, carrying around an extra forty pounds and looking forward to pool and beers at the hot-dog joint. Not that there was anything wrong with that. But he felt himself slipping. He was slipping into the life that made him want to vomit. That made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. That made him want to run away as fast as humanly possible.
The night he broke it off, he started googling for security companies abroad looking to hire. He had to get the hell out of Iowa. If he didn’t go soon, he’d be stuck there forever.
- Jay Carpenter - 01-04-2018
By February, Jay had received three rejections for private security jobs. It seemed that a dishonorable discharge from MARSOC didn't look as good on a resume as he thought. The rest of his applications were dead in the water and didn't get a response at all. The search became more and more focused: commercial enterprises, developing governments, aviation security, corporations, armed maritime. The biggest market was in Africa. The online community wasn't much help either. It seemed that jobs like these were hot commodities and US operators weren't as in-demand as they once were. So despite the impressive deployment and mission status Jay brought to the table, one look at the end of his service tenure probably landed his application in the trash most of the time.
He sighed and closed the screens. As he stared at the default desktop image, some generic picture of a surfer riding a big wave, Jay tapped a foot worriedly. It could take a year to get a job like this. If he even got one at all. He might end up a mall cop at the rate he was going. No. Better yet. A bank security officer. Kill me. I'd rather be the mall cop. Maybe campus police at the community college. Fuck, I feel old.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair and started to close the shut down the internet system completely when a flashing app caught his attention. He opened the weather alert and scanned the news release.
A dangerously cold weather system was set to descend on the great plains states this weekend. He glanced out a snowy window. It was already cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. He planned on going ice fishing this weekend, actually. But if temps were below 0 during the day and dropping to -30 at night, ice-fishing was out of the cards. The cattle were going to need round-the-clock care. Between him and dad, they were going to be hard pressed to keep them all alive the next two weeks.
"Damn. I really hate the cold."
he said just as his little sister came in. Cayli frowned, "Not suppose to curse 'round kids, Jay."
She smirked and grabbed a jar of peanut butter from the kitchen cabinet.
Jay laughed, but she went on. "Didja forget that its February in Iowa again?"
Jay crossed his arms and watched her fumble with the PB lid for a few seconds until he waved her over to let him do it. An easy twist later and he handed it back. "Get a plate down for me, would you Cay?"
She nodded and he went on. "You know what I was doing last February?"
That caught her attention. She froze and waited eagerly for a story. He wasn't able to discuss pretty much any of the missions he'd undertaken as a marine. No wonder she was eager. He smirked, "well, I can't tell you what. Exactly. But I can say that it was somewhere warm. With palm trees. Monkeys. And sand warm enough to stick your toes in and you wouldn't even care if the crabs nibbled on them."
He smiled when she giggled at the imagery.
Their father came in about then looking for a bedtime snack as well. Or maybe a bottle of whiskey. Jay wasn't sure which was more likely. "Dad. You hear about this cold weather snap coming?"
He grumbled, "Yeah. Worst winter in years. I swear what's with all this goddamn global warming? It sure as shit ain't warm here."
Jay looked at Cayli, who ignored the swearing. Or at least he thought so. Her back was turned as she smeared PB on some bread.
"I don't think that's how global warming works."
Jay replied and mentally prepared himself for his dad to go on some rant.
"Let me tell you how it works. It's those fucking russians---"
.... and there it was. Jay's face fell blank. "---ruined the climate.Ruined the o-zone. Spilled oils in the oceans. Fucked up the ocean currents---"
Jay nodded along, "yep dad."
"---Then they come and knock out all the oil in the middle east. They monopolize the whole fucking energy in the world and make us pay it out the ass---"
Jay hoped the Pastor wasn't around. Heck, he rather wished Cayli wasn't in the room. Maybe she was used to it. "Yep, gas is expensive these days."
"----Expensive?! You're sure as shit it's expensive. you know when I was your age, it was only $4 a gallon. Four. Dollars. A Gallon. And we sold off corn crops to ethanol plants. Now a days it costs more to grow the corn than you get out of the sales.---"
Jay let himself get distracted by the weather forecast. Luckily, there weren't calling for too much more snow. It was just the cold air and wind to deal with. That was something. "Yeah, you really hate those Russians, don't you dad?"
"We saved Europe's ass in world war II and now they just let us freeze and starve to death. Some thanks. Should have let Hitler win!"
Jay nodded. They'd covered the Russians, climate change, ethanol, and Hitler. There was just one topic left to ---- Yep. There it was. Those evil democrats.
"And the useless democrats in Washington! They're just as bad! They're just in it for the money! Brandon's just holding us all hostage! Those democrats are just like him! It's all a big conspiracy you know that they're all in it together. Mark my words, boy, you ever vote democrat and I'll disown yeh. Can't have filth like that in this house. Thank God President Dawson is in the White House."
That pretty much covered everything. Jay thought. Meanwhile, his mind went back to calculating how to consolidate the cattle into as few groups as possible. They'd need to build walls to block the northern and westerly winds. They'd also have to buy up extra fueling feed to keep the animals warm during the day. Grazing on harvested corn fields wasn't going to keep their metabolism up enough to survive in weather like that. They'd need the extra fuel. Not to mention the fact that the truck needed gasoline itself. That was going to a grand just to fill it up. Horse and buggy was a better option at this rate.
He scratched the back of his neck as Cayli sat down with two plates of PB sandwiches. Jay grinned and scrubbed her hair. "Thanks kid."
Their dad continued to grumble to himself about democrats and Russians when he took off with his own sandwich. Meanwhile, Jay shrugged apologetically at his little sister. "He was in a good mood."
"He usually is,"
Cay added.
- Jay Carpenter - 01-11-2018
Jay hefted the ice-breaker into the back of the truck, closed up the bed and checked his surroundings for anything he missed. Sledge-hammers were in the back. As were the long poles of the ice-breakers. Two shovels sat alongside. A folded tarp was wedged in a corner. There was an extra tire, a trunk of supplies. His breath was fog in front of his face, which reminded him to grab an extra face mask. The thermal fibers in the one he wore yesterday crapped out. That left the old carhartt clava he dug out of a drawer in the garage. Although he was rather fond of his face, frostbite would not be a good look on his nose. At -20 below zero, it took minutes for frostbite to settle into exposed skin. Better not forget that bad boy. Just in case, he checked dad's truck to make sure the spare thermal Clava was in there. It would keep dad's face warmer than the thermals. One of them would have warm cheeks anyway.
The storms of the past week took their toll. He dug the front door out of a snow drift two days ago that the wind promptly pushed back into place. Jay left it since then. They could use the back door to come and go. It was better than tromping in and out on mom's carpet anyway. More than snow, it had been the perpetual cold, sub-zero cold that left the two men shivering after only a few seconds outside unless properly bundled up. The Great Plains wind was really whipping hard today. The snow had stopped falling, but the wind made a white fog that was almost as bad as any other white-out conditions.
"Loading up,"
he called through the wind. His dad turned just before getting in his own truck, Jay signaled a thumbs up and climbed into his pickup. He'd been surprised when he came home that this old girl was still around. He learned how to drive on this truck, and it had been around for as long as he could remember. They just didn't build trucks like this anymore. It guzzled gasoline and emitted more carbon than were allowed on brand new models these days.
Climbing into the warm cab, Jay eagerly shut the door and block out the wind. It was before sunup, but the clouds were thick enough it would be hard to know how much longer that would be just by looking at the sky. Food was bagged up. A thermos of coffee lay on the seat beside him. He smirked when he saw it. His mom must have put it there, unrealizing -the significance. In high school, he snuck tequila in that thermos, left it right in the same cranny between seat cushions, and made out with Jo, his main on-again, off-again girlfriend at the time, in this exact same truck. He hadn't thought about Jolene, well, since yesterday when his mom brought up that she was a Vet Tech in town and he should go say hi. Since he was apparently newly single and all. He passed, but that wasn't to say he hadn't been tempted. But shit, he just broke up with a girl because he was terrified of falling hopelessly in love. Hooking up with old girlfriends was probably a bad idea. Even if she was smokin' hot still.
Except for the face mask, Jay was otherwise covered head to toe. The first day into the cold plunge and he underestimated the painfully freezing temperatures, and barely lived to regret it. In the days leading up, normal winter weather was something he could handle with regular insulated overalls and a pair of gloves. But apparently it had been slumming it in warm weather climates for too long and forgot that winter sucked. Going out by horseback had been fun, though. The marines weren't big on cavalry. Course, everyone knew the Green Beret's legend of the Horse Soldiers. Those guys accomplished the impossible, but all from horseback. Massive respect for that group, not that Jay had an interest in becoming a Green Beret, but thinking about their mission made tolerating the cold a little easier. The next day, Jay made sure to dress better. His mom was happier too.
Last thing to check before heading out were the emergency supplies. Their destination was about 15 miles from the house, down narrow county roads and across a few harvested corn fields where the livestock were mostly congregated. Other than food and coffee, the next most important item on hand was safely hung up on the rack behind his head. Three rifles waited there, freshly cleaned and oiled by Jay himself last night. A handgun was locked up under the seat, as was an ammunition box, road flares, a fire kit, a first-aid kit and apparently a very cold and forgotten bag of french fries. He smirked. He'd chuck it out the window if it wouldn't let all his toasty warm cabin air escape, so instead he wedged it back under the seat and flipped on an old handheld radio. "I'm all ready. See you there,"
he spoke into the device. His dad's voice screeched through the radio.
"See you there."
He twisted to check the driveway behind, shifted into reverse and the truck stalled.
"The hell?"
He turned back, reset the shifter, and tried it again. His dad was already driving off, but the vehicle wouldn't shift into reverse. He made a mental note to add transmission fluid that night and put it into drive. He'd have to circle around the barn, but not a big deal. Otherwise it would mean driving over mom's flower beds and they may be dormant for the winter, but he'd hear about it later.
The horses were tucked away in the barn as were a couple of really young calves. He scanned the building since he drove the perimeter anyway. All seemed fine. Cayli and mom were supposed to go inside to feed and water everyone, not to mention milking the dairy cows and giving the horses a walk around. Jay frowned at that. They used to have farm hands that did that kind of thing, but they'd all been let go over the years for reasons Jay never really got around to investigating. Probably should do that too. But after the cold spell passed. He usually crashed at night when he got in. Not that he was complaining. He was actually going to sleep at a decent time, lately, and not tossing and turning in bed half the night. Still woke up from fucked up dreams, but who didn't?
At least the radio in the truck still worked. He cranked up some good classic rock and tapped the steering wheel as he drove.
Edited by Jay Carpenter, Jan 11 2018, 11:37 PM.
- Jay Carpenter - 01-13-2018
A couple songs into the drive and the music faded and died altogether. Jay sighed and pushed a button to switch the dashboard to sync with his wallet. Anticipating the dead spot in this part of the country existed, he'd preloaded some music locally on the device. There definitely wasn't cell signal out here either. So he hung onto the steering wheel with one hand and rummaged around in a pocket in order to dig out the satellite plug. He popped it into the wallet and nodded in satisfaction when music streamed through the speakers again. The playlist wasn't long, and he'd listened to it repeatedly all week, but the wallet wasn't exactly brand new off the shelf tech. It could only hold so many songs. Besides, when the playlist was this kickass, it would never grow old.
The truck rumbled over a shallow spot in a ditch as he pulled into the corn field. The horizon was a line of double-stacked round bales of hay that made an impromptu wall on the northwestern side of the field. They lined a small ridge that sloped downward where the cattle were penned together. It didn't seem like much, but it kept the worst of the wind off their backs, and in this kind of weather, every single degree mattered.
His dad's truck was already parked and dad had the tailgate down, dropping the first of big bags of grain on the ground. The cattle could typically fill up on the stalks left behind after the harvest, but in the extreme cold, they needed special feed. It was a high metabolic blend that literally warmed their bodies from the inside out. Fucking expensive, but less so than if all the cattle died. Besides, the extreme cold was set to last only a couple of weeks.
Jay's truck rumbled up beside his father's, and Jay took a last swig of coffee before he bundled himself up. He was literally just a pair of eyeballs when he swung out of the cabin. Everything else was smothered in carhartt gear. Layers of it. He liked things like his toes.
Wordlessly, he went ahead and unloaded his own gear. Dad was already half way to the feed troughs with a bag when Jay hefted one on each shoulder and followed along. The livestock figured it out a couple days ago, and as soon as they heard the truck engines were gathering in anticipation. This grain was like fucking dessert for them. Expensive, but kept them all alive.
Switchblades open, they each opened a sack and began to dump it in. Dad grunted under the weight of the first bag, which Jay understood, but there were a dozen more to carry down the hill. Dad uncurled upright and knuckled the small of his back. He wasn't as young as he used to be. Jay frowned. "I'll get the rest, dad. You grab the chainsaw and get the ice?"
A nod was his response. Dad didn't argue too much. Besides, Jay didn't mind the workout. Being exhausted was exactly why he was sleeping better at night. One of the cattle glanced up when the chainsaw ripped to life nearby. Jay pat it on the nose with a thick gloved hand and tromped back up the hill to grab the sledgehammer. Funny that growing up he called these slopes 'hills.' To this day he recalled the awe at the steep hills of the mountains in southern California waiting for him in basic training. Then when the awe turned to terror that they had to run up those fucking hills, with rucksacks, in 120 degree heat, without water, three times a day. Damn those had been days of fucking glory! He missed it.
They spent the next few hours going back and forth from the barn to more fields to drop feed in troughs and break up the ice formed over ponds and water tanks. The chainsaw was the easiest way to get through pond ice, but the thing ran on gasoline, and it basically smoked money like weed. Dad used it, but Jay opted for the sledgehammer. Besides, the extra work efforts kept him warm.
They ate lunch in their respective trucks, but Jay was looking forward to a warm pan of meatloaf that night. Sunset came fast enough. The afternoon temperatures rose to a balmy -12, so basically rather than freezing to death in 3 minutes, an abandoned guy might freeze to death in 3.5 minutes. But the sledgehammer and grain sacks did their work. He was rather warm and pulled the hood of his mask up over his face when dad approached.
"I'm all packed up. About done?"
He glanced at the sledgehammer leaning against Jay's leg. He looked weary.
Jay nodded, "yeah. This is the last water trough. I'll get it broke up and get out of here. I'm starving."
His dad smirked, "Me too, son. Let me get another hammer and help."
Jay shook his head. "Don't worry about it. This'll only take a minutes. Go ahead and go. I'll be right behind you."
His dad frowned, glanced at the trough, and shrugged. "Alright. See you ... at home."
He hesitated over that last bit, but Jay didn't think much of it. Soon enough, dad climbed into his truck, and it rumbled away. Jay took a deep breath. Fog frosted in front of his face and ice crystals poked the inside of his nose, but the cold swirled painfully good inside his chest. He changed songs on his wallet to a good old Five Finger track, rolled the mask back over his face, and hefted the sledge hammer. The force of it slammed down with satisfying smack on the ice. It splintered into a thousand cracks at his feet. Then he hefted it up for another swing. Again and again. He was almost disappointed when the last of the ice swirled around the liberated water.
Taking a deep breath, he dropped the hammer into the back of the truck and climbed in himself. He liberated his own face of all the layers and scanned the horizon. He hadn't thought about El Tiburon in hours. The sky was dim. If it weren't for the white blanket of snow glittering flecks of light, it would be even darker. Now that he was sitting, he felt the full weight of fatigue settle into his bones. It was wonderful. Almost too tired to even think. The cattle were huddled together except for the bunch drinking up their water.
His stomach rumbled and he remembered the meatloaf waiting at home. He dug out his wallet, battery was running low having used it all day, but was plenty to jam along with some music for the drive home. He thrust the key in the ignition, turned it, and his heart sank.
The truck wouldn't start.
"You gotta be kidding me."
- Jay Carpenter - 01-14-2018
There was no reason to panic. No reason. Sure, dad was gone. There was no cell signal. Radio was out of distance now. The temperature would plummet after sunset to temperatures that could kill, even if he huddled down inside the truck cabin for the night. But this wasn't the worst situation he'd ever found himself in. No reason to panic.
It was like a switch flipped in his mind. A calm snow began to fall, soft and quiet. It was rather peaceful. Jay's eyes slid low and he systematically went through a checklist of things in his mind that could explain the failure. That's when he remembered the morning. The truck wouldn't shift into reverse gear. Transmission fluid. He meant to add more tonight, but he really didn't have a clue the transmission itself was failing. His jaw clenched. Was the whole farm falling apart?
Alright. Transmission going out didn't mean he was totally stranded. But that didn't explain why it wouldn't start. He waited a few more moments then turned the key rapidly in the ignition in and out of start position. Then, with a silent prayer on his lips, turned it into the engine and worked the gas pedal, and listened carefully.
The dashboard lights flickered. The engine growled. Alright. Not a total disaster yet. He took a deep breath, pulled on his gloves, and climbed back out into the winter air. Snow fell like soft fluffs of cotton on his shoulders. It was rather nice. Dad's truck had rumbled well out of earshot by then. The cattle were quiet. The complete isolation was rather welcome. So long as he didn't freeze to death. He'd prefer to avoid that.
A hammer and pliers later, he tightened the battery cables and returned to the cab. He breathed a huge sigh of relief when the engine turned over. "Alright girl. You have to get me out of here. Let's just get into one little gear. Easy as that. No reason to panic."
He pat the dashboard, clenched his jaw and focused.
His eyes glazed into a far distant sightlessness and operated under the control of all the other senses. He didn't smell the sweet, fruity scent of transmission fluid. No burning fumes. His foot on the clutch was controlled. His other fell down upon the accelerator. The engine revved, and he shifted. "Come on, baby."
And shifted. The gears grinded into position. Then the moment his fingers felt that sweet vibration, he pushed it into gear and touched the accelerator. His heart stopped, afraid to take a breath. The truck rolled forward a few feet. Then lurched to a halt. The gear slipped. "SHIT."
He pulled it back and tried again.
An hour later, the truck had moved a good half mile, but at this pace, it was going to take days to get home. He was dangerously low on gasoline. All the revving of the engine was burning through it like a hot knife through butter.
There were three clear options. He glanced at the fuel tank dial. There was probably enough gasoline to last a few hours with the engine running and heat on. Surely someone would realize he didn't come home and come back looking for him. Dad was going home, though. Right? The hesitation in his voice when he said they'd see one another there wasn't a good sign. He should have asked what he meant by that. If dad went somewhere other than home, although there was literally no where to go but home, then he'd not be aware if Jay didn't show up. Mom wouldn't know where he was, and he'd kill dad if she ended up spending the night searching for him.
Second option. Take off on foot. Probably best to take the guns. He'd not fare well against a pack of hungry coyotes in the middle of the night. That was, of course, if he made it somewhere before the cold took him down. He had no delusions. It was cold enough to kill him, but Jay wasn't too keen on dying tonight.
That left option number 3. Keep revving the truck, attempt to keep it in first gear, burn through gasoline, potentially lose the heat, and try to make it as far as possible.
He glanced at the wallet, frowned, and remembered he had cell signal about half way back to the house. So he just had to make it half way. Option number 3 it was.
Unfortunately, he didn't make it that far. When the engine lurched to a stop the last time and the dashboard lights all died, Jay knew this wasn't going to end well. He finished off the last of his water, bundled up, and checked the time one last time. Nearly midnight. Dad obviously hadn't gone home. Where ever the hell he was, Jay was for damned sure going to find out. Kind of an ironic turn of events. He was on the opposite side of that reaction practically every Friday night in high school.
He slung the rifle over his shoulder, tucked the firearm into a pocket, pulled the shotgun to his hands and pushed headfirst into the darkness, leaving the truck behind. He liked that old truck but not enough to use it for a coffin.
Edited by Jay Carpenter, Jan 14 2018, 06:57 PM.
- Jay Carpenter - 01-15-2018
This was a bad idea. He thought for about the hundredth time since abandoning the truck. Night had well and truly fallen, and although toasty warm wrapped in expertly chosen layers built to oppose the elements, the temperatures were plummeting fast. Probably best he didn't know the real temperature. it wouldn't bode well to know how fast he was going to die.
He found solid footing in the knee-deep snow for a rest. Snow-drifts on the bank of the road were probably waist-high. Following parallel to their path was about the only way he could tell where the road even was. The tracks from dad's truck were long ago obscured. The wind blew fresh powder over them ages ago.
But he needed to catch his breath and take a survey of surroundings. His feet were lead. Trudging through snow, even on legs that obliterated minimum PT standards, in this amount of snow was exhausting work. Not to mention that he kept having to shove the rifle back up a shoulder, until he got fed up and slung the strap over his chest and let it hang off his back. If only the same could be done for the shotgun, but it had no strap. He carried it the old-fashioned way. Not to mention that his pockets were weighed down by a handful of ammunition. He'd have to strip the gloves from his hands to load the weapons. His current gloves weren't built for that kind of nimble finger-work. With that in mind, he checked the horizon to his left. He thought that he saw some flashes of eye globes a while back, but nothing came of it. He'd not be surprised. Every coyote in three miles probably smelled fresh blood. They were growing hungry enough that they may start attacking livestock. Luckily, Jay already pulled the calves back to the barn. They were unlikely to attack anything bigger than a calf unless things got a lot worse. But a single guy walking along a dirt road? He was prime choice grade-A meat. Jay kept a wary eye on his down-wind side just in case.
Respite over. He made his legs go again. If it weren't for the likelihood of being ravaged by starving coyotes or freezing to death, or starving to death himself, there better be some meatloaf left over, then the walk might have been enjoyable. Giant flakes of soft fluff fell. He rather liked the solitude.
He still couldn't figure out where dad must have gone. Suppose it was possible he went somewhere else besides the house. Maybe Pastor Mason's house? The pastor's electricity was back on, but they had been borrowing firewood for a couple weeks now. He would have mentioned, that, though. But what stuck in Jay's brain was the hesitation. He had been unsure of whether to go home or not. Town was thirty minute drive away. There was a gas station closer than that out in the middle of no where. It was the closest place that sold tequila. Dad had been hitting the bottle more often, lately. Jay never really thought of it, mostly because he drank right alongside him. Didn't explain why he would want to hide the destination. Usually he offered to bring something back for Jay.
That left one plausible idea. A girlfriend? Besides the fact that was gross, that had to be it. He was cheating on mom. Jay's jaw clenched tight. That son of a bitch! How could he possibly cheat on mom?! How long had this been going on?! First thing he was going to do when he got back was find out for himself.
Assuming he made it back. Okay. That was definitely a flash of eyes. Jay stared off into the darkness like he could will himself to see through it. Those little bastards were quick. The shadow of one darted. Jay spun and caught sight of another behind. They were growing bolder. It was amazing how they could suddenly appear.
He pulled his gloves from his fingers. Exposed skin could freeze in a matter of minutes, but the underlayer of gloves were enough to buy him a good five or ten minutes before losing sensation. Luckily, he didn't need that long.
He loaded the shotgun and let his senses stretch over the horizon. His heart was steady. His eyes sharp. Ears tuned. The crunch of snow was almost imperceptible. He pulled one of the two flares from a pocket, snapped it and tossed it nearby. The sudden pulse of light flashed over four slender creatures.
Startled by the light, he had half a second to locate them. Semi-auto 12 gauge already raised, he took aim. At less than 10 yards, he fired and the first coyote went down. He swung quickly to the right and rolled a second at less than twenty yards. Two shots later and the third coyote was dead. He grabbed the rifle from his back and followed the fourth with a pop of gunfire, but it was over the hill and disappeared into darkness before the connection was made. He relaxed and slung the rifle back over his shoulder. The shotgun was already cooled to the touch in the freezing air. Speaking of, he tugged the work-gloves back on, took a deep breath, and kept on walking. At least the attack got his blood pumping again.
Edited by Jay Carpenter, Jan 15 2018, 06:24 PM.