times, but Jackson kept trying to use his baseball swing, and his father’s father soon resigned himself to his only grandson being a duffer.
Shame Pawpaw wasn’t into a real sport.
“Looks like your dad did a good job.”
“Thank you, Jackson. He loved working here.”
Letting Aria take the lead to the eighteenth hole, soon enough, she had them to the metal shed. The side man door stood open, hanging all wrong, one hinge broke in two, the other gone. The insides looked ransacked, and his hopes fell. But Aria squeezed between the front barrels of fuel then wiggled and climbed all the way to the back. Right where she said, behind the diesel drums, the special one rested undisturbed.
She pointed to the work bench. “I need a pair of pliers or a flathead screwdriver to get the lid off.”
Cooper shot by Al who looked lost staring at the mess of tools. He searched for just a second then held up a big screwdriver. “Here, catch.”
He tossed it to Jackson who handed it to Aria.
With deft sureness, as though she knew her way around tools, she had the top off the drum. She smiled at him. “Seems it’s all our birthdays.” She pulled out a green army blanket like the one the old man had, then kept handing him stuff. Insulated coats, sealed food packets, water bottles, a first aid kit, ammo, knives, army backpacks, a small tent, and so much more.
He passed it on back to the others who laid everything out on the floor. By the time she emptied the barrel, there was so much, he began to wonder how he was going to carry it all. He took off his backpack and held it out. “Al, you take mine. Aria, you wear McKenzie’s. She and I will take the bigger ones.”
Al didn’t look too keen on the idea, but shrugged. “Yes, sir.”
After a couple of restarts, Jackson got it going on. With not much left to pack away, he noticed Boggs move toward the door. The dog barked once then bolted.
Jackson pulled out the pistol and waved for the others to take cover. He eased to the doorway. Why hadn’t he put more bullets into the revolver? Two men walked from the tee box up the eighteenth fairway. Each had a bag of clubs slung over their shoulders. Boggs raced toward them, but his tail wagged as though the men posed no danger.
Could he know the guys?
Slipping out, Jackson hid behind an oak that guarded the maintenance shed and watched. As the dog neared the golfers, he went to acting like a puppy or something, jumping and twisting all around. Finally, one of the guys put his bag down and held his arms out. Boggs leapt into them.
The guy hugged him then patted his withers before he pushed him down then picked up his clubs and headed toward the green. Boggs ran circles around the guys, his tail beating double time. They neared Jackson’s position.
The closest man looked right at him and smiled. What? How could it be? The old man? Or the dead guy? Maybe even the gentleman at the apartments, but he stood right there grinning like an old best friend. Then as sure as anything, with him standing right there staring at them, they were gone.
Both men vanished into thin air.
Only the dog remained. Boggs sat on his haunches and looked around.
Stepping out from behind the tree, Jackson searched in all directions, walking to where the dog still sat. Two sets of golf clubs lay on the ground.
He knelt beside the dog and hugged him. “You saw him, didn’t you, boy? The old man your master? I’m not going crazy. Am I?”
The dog didn’t answer, but if he had it wouldn’t have surprised Jackson any more, not after what he’d just seen. Maybe that whole morning had been a dream, the Russian helicopter, the loaded drum, and now ghosts or aliens or whatever they were. He didn’t have time for crazy. Four other kids needed him to be sane. But what other explanation was there?
An image of Cooper and McKenzie huddled together somewhere without food and water waiting for whatever evil befell them pulled him upright.
Okay, son of Jonathan
Shame Pawpaw wasn’t into a real sport.
“Looks like your dad did a good job.”
“Thank you, Jackson. He loved working here.”
Letting Aria take the lead to the eighteenth hole, soon enough, she had them to the metal shed. The side man door stood open, hanging all wrong, one hinge broke in two, the other gone. The insides looked ransacked, and his hopes fell. But Aria squeezed between the front barrels of fuel then wiggled and climbed all the way to the back. Right where she said, behind the diesel drums, the special one rested undisturbed.
She pointed to the work bench. “I need a pair of pliers or a flathead screwdriver to get the lid off.”
Cooper shot by Al who looked lost staring at the mess of tools. He searched for just a second then held up a big screwdriver. “Here, catch.”
He tossed it to Jackson who handed it to Aria.
With deft sureness, as though she knew her way around tools, she had the top off the drum. She smiled at him. “Seems it’s all our birthdays.” She pulled out a green army blanket like the one the old man had, then kept handing him stuff. Insulated coats, sealed food packets, water bottles, a first aid kit, ammo, knives, army backpacks, a small tent, and so much more.
He passed it on back to the others who laid everything out on the floor. By the time she emptied the barrel, there was so much, he began to wonder how he was going to carry it all. He took off his backpack and held it out. “Al, you take mine. Aria, you wear McKenzie’s. She and I will take the bigger ones.”
Al didn’t look too keen on the idea, but shrugged. “Yes, sir.”
After a couple of restarts, Jackson got it going on. With not much left to pack away, he noticed Boggs move toward the door. The dog barked once then bolted.
Jackson pulled out the pistol and waved for the others to take cover. He eased to the doorway. Why hadn’t he put more bullets into the revolver? Two men walked from the tee box up the eighteenth fairway. Each had a bag of clubs slung over their shoulders. Boggs raced toward them, but his tail wagged as though the men posed no danger.
Could he know the guys?
Slipping out, Jackson hid behind an oak that guarded the maintenance shed and watched. As the dog neared the golfers, he went to acting like a puppy or something, jumping and twisting all around. Finally, one of the guys put his bag down and held his arms out. Boggs leapt into them.
The guy hugged him then patted his withers before he pushed him down then picked up his clubs and headed toward the green. Boggs ran circles around the guys, his tail beating double time. They neared Jackson’s position.
The closest man looked right at him and smiled. What? How could it be? The old man? Or the dead guy? Maybe even the gentleman at the apartments, but he stood right there grinning like an old best friend. Then as sure as anything, with him standing right there staring at them, they were gone.
Both men vanished into thin air.
Only the dog remained. Boggs sat on his haunches and looked around.
Stepping out from behind the tree, Jackson searched in all directions, walking to where the dog still sat. Two sets of golf clubs lay on the ground.
He knelt beside the dog and hugged him. “You saw him, didn’t you, boy? The old man your master? I’m not going crazy. Am I?”
The dog didn’t answer, but if he had it wouldn’t have surprised Jackson any more, not after what he’d just seen. Maybe that whole morning had been a dream, the Russian helicopter, the loaded drum, and now ghosts or aliens or whatever they were. He didn’t have time for crazy. Four other kids needed him to be sane. But what other explanation was there?
An image of Cooper and McKenzie huddled together somewhere without food and water waiting for whatever evil befell them pulled him upright.
Okay, son of Jonathan
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