TIME FOLLOWS ME

CHAPTER FORTY ONE IF YOU'RE ON A DESERTED ISLAND

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

IF YOU'RE LEFT ON A DESERTED ISLAND

WITH A FIRE YOU DON'T WANT TO HAVE

TWO CONVICTS WITH YOU

You may think you have everything under control the best you possibly can manage or plan, but things have a habit of turning out differently.

All day, I had been putting water onto the fire and burrowing the powerful fire hose into the ground so that I could get at the roots of the trees that had been burned. The ground was hot and sooty with grey ashes left over like after an apocalypse. The occasional bird flew through the burnt offering forest looking confused. I guess it will have to find a new home.

Climbing over the fall trees lugging hose to attach to a 15 HP "Briggs & Stratton" water pump 150 feet away, will wear you out by the end of the day, no matter how you try to conserve your strength. One of the tricks I learned was to rest my palm and forearm over the nozzle and let the power of the water and pump hold up my arm. This way I could direct the nozzle into the base of the fire, or move left or right spraying a large area keeping it wet, so no smudges would rise up into a full blown fire. If it did, then I would have to scramble before it got away from me. It would also mean two or three more days out here on the island.

There were a few stories this summer about close calls. Here's one. A.P. and I had flown by helicopter into an island fire. We put down in a clearing after circling and surveying it from the air. Flying through the smoke we tilted at a forty-five degree angle scoping out the blaze through the side windows. We thought we were safe for a while. The pilot waited for us while we scouted around. Suddenly, the wind changed direction and the smoke and fire moved rapidly towards the clearing. The dry under bush catch fire, near where the helicopter sat idling, it's blades making slow whooshing circles pushing the smoke away. We realized we would have to make a run for it. We hightailed it out of there, jumped in, and took off. I was thinking when we were airborne that if we hadn't made it, I would be treading water for a long time. The only escape was the lake until someone picked us up.

After dinner, one of the guys from "The Pen", wandered off into the woods casually. We didn't really know where he went, or how long he was gone. He came back as we were sitting around the campfire. Out on the point a large birch tree just torched. The fire raced right up the tree sending sparks shooting into the black night. It looked freaky. That was it for our carefully controlled line. The fire jumped and that meant we would be here for another day or two.

A.P. looked sideways. The convict who had gone into the woods started sharpening the axe used to chop wood. Wayne and Larry what a crew. Larry had been in for assault, Wayne for robbing banks.

"You know, I done some bad things in my time. But I was good at it. Used to rob banks and I signed my name "The Cat". I used to be in and out in ten seconds. I would just show them my gun and scream, hand over all your money and it worked like a charm."

"I terrorized a lot of people. Sometimes I would bring an Uzis and spray a round into the ceiling and everyone would hit the floor. I terrorized the police chief and his family."

"Really," I said?

"What you doing with that axe," A.P. asked?

"I like it really sharp."

"Don't you think it's sharp enough?"

"Maybe," he said after a long pause.

"Why don't you pass it here and I'll have look," said A.P. in a soothing manner?

Wayne waited a while and kept on sharpening the axe.

"Maybe I could do that," and handed it over.

A.P. felt the edge and it was razor sharp. When we were away from the two cons he said, "I'm really nervous. I think that guy with the axe might have set fire to the Point so that they could stay out here longer. I'm going to radio in the morning and have them taken out." That night A.P. gathered all the sharp tools like axes and hatches and stored them under a blanket beside his sleeping bag. He thought it might be better to be safe, but I wasn't too concerned about being done in, in my sleep. The next morning A.P. made a big show about calling in to Base on his small portable radio.

"We're out of milk. Please send some in, copy 10-4."

In less than two hours, a floatplane lowered itself out of the big blue and landed perfectly taxiing into our quiet inlet. The water lapped against the pontoons that nestled into the white lily pads. We chatted with the pilot as we unloaded the milk crates. A.P. said to the two guys, "O.K., you're not needed here anymore, you can go back to Base."

They got into the Big Yellow Turbo Taxi and we watched them rise serenely off the lightly rippled lake, circling out of sight, until we could only hear the distant drone of the engine. Those planes were built just right for these northern backwoods supply runs.

"What are we going to do with all this milk," I laughed. A.P. looked more relaxed after seeing the backs of Wayne "The Cat," and Larry "The Assault," just a couple of "hoser convicts".

"That was one guy crazy, crazy fucker. I was sure he was going to murder us with that axe."

"Ya, he seemed obsessed with weapons of all kinds, axes, knives and guns. Didn't know whether to believe half of what he said, or hope that the other half he said, was only half true."

We laughed that our plan had worked and both drank three tall glasses of milk in a row. It was still cold and the third one gave my head a brain-freeze.