Bound for Home (Tyler Cunningham Shorts) by Jamie Sheffield Page A
Authors: Jamie Sheffield
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could feel the emphasis on the ‘WE’, and assumed that he meant ‘Nick’ )
“You could also spend some time at the fish and game club, trying to see who can shoot, although I don’t think they have a range longer than 200 yards ( and why would they, as wooded as it is up here in the Adirondacks? ), but I think I’ve got an easier way to find out what we need to know that should pay off by noon tomorrow.” I said, as I started feeding the hot and fatty goodness into my mouth. John had a superb perplexed face, which I took a mental snapshot of for later practice.
“How are you gonna do it?”
“It’s so much more impressive if you don’t know … you can imagine all sorts of computer hacking, back-alley meetings, and high-level government contacts. I’ll call you tomorrow, once I know, and you can buy me lunch … again … while I share what I know and suggest a possible solution.”
“Suggest?” John asked. “You’re not just going to tell me what I’m going to do?” Even I could tell that he was using sarcasm ( although it’s possible that he had noted my difficulty in picking up on social cues, and leaned on the sarcasm extra-hard ).
“Nope, they’re your birds, and your money/loot/alien corpses … whatever. I’m working for you in this matter, and I’ll be content to suggest a possible course of action that avoids bloodshed, as well as a legal hassle for Sophia or you or the farm.”
I finished my food, and half of his, and said goodbye to Helgafell’s Gatekeeper until the next day.
The woods near Middle Saranac Lake, 6:43pm, 6/5/2002
I had hurried upstairs from my late lunch with John, grabbed a minimalist pack and stuffed it with what I’d need for an overnight ( it was only supposed to get down into the 40s, so I wasn’t worried ): camping hammock, sleeping bag, my current reading-book, snacks/drinks, bathing suit/towel, fleece for my head and feet and hands, a tiny first-aid kit, and some rope. There’s a nice beach roughly forty percent of the way from Saranac Lake to Tupper Lake, along Route 3, opposite the trailhead for Ampersand Mountain, and that was my goal for the night.
In my new home, the Adirondacks, you can camp anywhere on State Forest Preserve, as long as you are back 150 feet from water/trails . I had been having fun since Spring’s arrival exploring/mapping my new environment … building a list of places to camp, and categorizing them by view/hike/bugs/beasts/swim. I was enjoying the feeling of my new world expanding day by day.
I parked my Honda Element alongside six other vehicles, but instead of crossing the road and climbing Ampersand to the South, I went back into the woods and headed north to the beach. Three minutes later, I stripped and changed into my suit for a swim before the sun disappeared behind the trees along the shore at the western end of Middle Saranac Lake. I set up camp in bare feet ( perhaps only 100 feet back from the water, but it was a nice spot ), enjoying the pricking and pinching of pine-needles and pinecones and sticks and stones while I found the perfect trees to hang my hammock from for the night; it’s a Hennessy, which has built-in bug-netting, to protect me from the black flies and mosquitoes overnight.
With my hammock hung, and sleeping bag stuffed up into the chamber, I grabbed my book, slammed a granola bar and a bottle of Gatorade, and walked out into the water ( up to my waist ) to read in the remaining sunlight, out of reach of most of the bugs. I was currently enjoying “Sleeping Dogs” by Thomas Perry. As I read, I could feel my brain shaping some ideas and responses to my current situation, and new acquaintance John, based on Perry’s interesting storyline. I eventually found myself squinting in the near-dark, and swatting at a cloud of blackflies that had braved the crossing from shore to drink my blood … time to go and hide in my hammock.
I secured a length of rope
“You could also spend some time at the fish and game club, trying to see who can shoot, although I don’t think they have a range longer than 200 yards ( and why would they, as wooded as it is up here in the Adirondacks? ), but I think I’ve got an easier way to find out what we need to know that should pay off by noon tomorrow.” I said, as I started feeding the hot and fatty goodness into my mouth. John had a superb perplexed face, which I took a mental snapshot of for later practice.
“How are you gonna do it?”
“It’s so much more impressive if you don’t know … you can imagine all sorts of computer hacking, back-alley meetings, and high-level government contacts. I’ll call you tomorrow, once I know, and you can buy me lunch … again … while I share what I know and suggest a possible solution.”
“Suggest?” John asked. “You’re not just going to tell me what I’m going to do?” Even I could tell that he was using sarcasm ( although it’s possible that he had noted my difficulty in picking up on social cues, and leaned on the sarcasm extra-hard ).
“Nope, they’re your birds, and your money/loot/alien corpses … whatever. I’m working for you in this matter, and I’ll be content to suggest a possible course of action that avoids bloodshed, as well as a legal hassle for Sophia or you or the farm.”
I finished my food, and half of his, and said goodbye to Helgafell’s Gatekeeper until the next day.
The woods near Middle Saranac Lake, 6:43pm, 6/5/2002
I had hurried upstairs from my late lunch with John, grabbed a minimalist pack and stuffed it with what I’d need for an overnight ( it was only supposed to get down into the 40s, so I wasn’t worried ): camping hammock, sleeping bag, my current reading-book, snacks/drinks, bathing suit/towel, fleece for my head and feet and hands, a tiny first-aid kit, and some rope. There’s a nice beach roughly forty percent of the way from Saranac Lake to Tupper Lake, along Route 3, opposite the trailhead for Ampersand Mountain, and that was my goal for the night.
In my new home, the Adirondacks, you can camp anywhere on State Forest Preserve, as long as you are back 150 feet from water/trails . I had been having fun since Spring’s arrival exploring/mapping my new environment … building a list of places to camp, and categorizing them by view/hike/bugs/beasts/swim. I was enjoying the feeling of my new world expanding day by day.
I parked my Honda Element alongside six other vehicles, but instead of crossing the road and climbing Ampersand to the South, I went back into the woods and headed north to the beach. Three minutes later, I stripped and changed into my suit for a swim before the sun disappeared behind the trees along the shore at the western end of Middle Saranac Lake. I set up camp in bare feet ( perhaps only 100 feet back from the water, but it was a nice spot ), enjoying the pricking and pinching of pine-needles and pinecones and sticks and stones while I found the perfect trees to hang my hammock from for the night; it’s a Hennessy, which has built-in bug-netting, to protect me from the black flies and mosquitoes overnight.
With my hammock hung, and sleeping bag stuffed up into the chamber, I grabbed my book, slammed a granola bar and a bottle of Gatorade, and walked out into the water ( up to my waist ) to read in the remaining sunlight, out of reach of most of the bugs. I was currently enjoying “Sleeping Dogs” by Thomas Perry. As I read, I could feel my brain shaping some ideas and responses to my current situation, and new acquaintance John, based on Perry’s interesting storyline. I eventually found myself squinting in the near-dark, and swatting at a cloud of blackflies that had braved the crossing from shore to drink my blood … time to go and hide in my hammock.
I secured a length of rope
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