#as he sleeps under a boulder next to the camper

[sparkmender]

Here’s the first chapter of Close Encounters, the Faebug/Hive AU series I’ve been working on. I’m gonna cross post most of this stuff to Tumblr too just in an effort to keep things organized. :>

It’s Monday night—

The last Monday night before the end of the world, not that anyone knows it—

And there are two blue, pupil-less eyes the size of the headlights on her beat up VW Beetle staring at her through her bedroom window.

They blink out almost as soon as Charlie twitches. Whatever it was probably got spooked off by the fact that she jolted upright in bed and stared right back at it, compelled by— something. That feeling of being watched. The remnants of a nightmare. Whatever.

If whatever the eyes belonged to made noise as it departed, she couldn’t hear it over the buzz of the heavy fan her mom helped her drag into the big bedroom when she moved in to the old Ochoco house. It might as well not’ve been there at all.

Except for the fact that she saw it, and all the hair on the back of her neck and along her arms stood like she’d rubbed a balloon over herself to see the static electricity.

Lots of things had been a little weird since yesterday, though. Especially in the upper Northwest. It’s not exactly every day that a volcano goes off in the United States. Even if Oregon is a state away from Washington, Sunday had been stressful, to say the least. Some part of her had anticipated another explosion at some point. Guillermo had teased her for being a worry-wart and then started listing off all sorts of possibly apocalyptic events from most to least likely on his fingers. He got to ‘alien robots who disguise themselves as kitchen appliances’ before Charlie threw a shoe at him.

Under the quilt next to her, Guillermo sleeps as he always does, an arm shoved under his ridiculous stack of pillows and his long legs tangled in more than his fair share of the sheets.

Maybe it’s all in her head. Dreams were supposed to be how the brain processed stuff that happened during the day, right? So.

So she’s not crazy. It’s just her brain trying to make sense of the whole active volcano thing compounded by childhood fears and the well-ingrained camping habit of keeping an ear out for bears trying to pilfer your supplies.

Probably.

Charlie doesn’t sleep the rest of the night, or she could have sworn she hadn’t, but between this blink and the next the alarm is going off on the nightstand and Memo’s already in the kitchen, fighting with the coffee maker he can’t stand to get rid of because he bought it with his first paycheck from his magazine gig. (Who knew speculative sci-fi nerd writing not only paid, but paid well, with the right kind of publisher?) If he’d heard anything in the night, he doesn’t mention it.

After pulling her socks on but before shoveling flapjacks into her mouth, the eyes are forgotten.

If they’d ever existed at all.

————

In fact, the eyes remain forgotten all the way until her third break of the day, hanging out with two of the older rangers who’d come back to the main office after clearing out a couple of downed trees off the Crater Lake hiking trail. Samson Jr.— who usually went by ‘Spike’— was a lanky, shaggy brunet a few years older than Charlie who still got carded at every bar they went to, with a permanent sunburn across the bridge of his nose and a personality so sunny it bordered on obnoxious. On the other hand, his father, Samson Sr., was a warm, stocky man who worked construction before throwing his lot in with parks and recreation and could have been anywhere from his mid 40s to his late 60s. They’d both been there when Charlie had started as an intern in college and were probably both going to still be there if she ever decided to leave or get transferred somewhere warmer, like California, or something.

She liked the both of them. Samson was more of a family figure to her than her stepdad Ron, and he’d helped her get a permanent spot on the team. Sometimes she and Memo went out with Spike and his girlfriend Carly, and Memo and Spike had more than a few interests in common. Mainly Star Wars, but also stuff like He-Man and tabletop games and computers. Most of it went over Charlie’s head— she’d grown up a music nerd thanks to Dad and a car fanatic thanks to Uncle Hank, never much one for pulp fiction— but she and Carly enjoyed teasing the two of them for being ‘Oregon’s own X-Files department.'

So it wasn’t exactly surprising when Spike brought up his perennial fixation, Bigfoot theories, again.

“I don’t know,” he’d started, mouth full of half of a Snickers bar as he waved the other end of it around for emphasis. “I don’t know. But I don’t think that those trees just fell over for no reason. I mean, there were some aftershocks from the eruption, right? But nothing out here. It kind of looked more like some kind of impact hit them, sort of like a boulder had rolled down the hill and toppled ‘em over. But that doesn’t make any sense either, since there’s no loose rocks large enough to knock over three whole fir trees on that side of the trail. Maybe it was a Sasquatch. I bet they mark their territory by brushing up against trees like the bears do, and this one just got over-enthusiastic.”

Samson snatched the other half of the candy bar before Spike could accidentally smack Charlie with it, just to toss it back into the basket of goodies on the windowsill again.

“First of all, stop raiding the candy stash. That’s for visitors, and last I checked, you haven’t been a visitor since you were 16,” the older man scolded, but he couldn’t quite keep the amusement off his face— Spike had to have gotten his enthusiasm from somewhere. “And something tells me that if there really was a ‘sat-squash’ or whatever it is, it probably wouldn’t be hanging around where there’s regular humans coming and going all day, every day. At least if it knew what was good for it. It was just a regular tree fall, it’s been cleared, and now we’ve got more firewood for the campers.”

Though mourning the loss of his candy, Spike was quick to poke a finger in the air triumphantly at Samson.

“Okay, but how do you explain the fur clumps we found scattered there, huh? Way softer than any regular sort of wild animal.”

Charlie had been absently nodding along to their pseudo-argument, only to perk up at Spike’s outburst, dropping the pen she’d been fiddling with. And then curse herself out silently as both of the older rangers turned to her at the way she’d reacted. In the back of her head, she remembered: that split-second glimpse of those unnaturally big eyes, framed by fluff and set into a broad, flat face.

“Uh.”

Spike grinned.

“See? Charlie agrees with me—”

“She said ‘uh,’ Junior, that’s not an agreement—”

“I mean, maybe,” she blurts out before she can stop herself, heat flushing her face at the outburst, awkwardly picking up the pen she’d dropped to snap the cap over it again. “I don’t know what’s out there. You know what they tell us when we start ranger training; don’t go off the trails.”

God, it’s like Charlie can’t help herself, suddenly, as superstitious and paranoid as one of the characters Memo would write into his stories. It was all just stuff the trainers would tell them to haze the kids starting out, the sort of shit teenagers joked about or camp councilors made up to freak out their campers. None of it was actually true. But in another life, maybe, to someone more interesting or smarter or less lucky (or luckier, some stupid impulse wants to say) than Charlie—

For a moment, vivid and shining, Charlie felt some spark of pure terror in her.

The thing in her bedroom window. Was it still near her house? Was she going to come home to find Guillermo missing, or worse?

“Sure, some of it is just common sense safety guidelines, but what about the weirder ones? The rules about not climbing random staircases in the woods— don’t stop to listen to any music if you’re not near a registered campsite, like that’s ever been a thing? Or never telling someone you meet without gear on a trail what your name is? I mean, there’s got to be some kind of a reason for these things, or else we wouldn’t all have them hammered into our skulls over the course of three years,” she rambles, pulse thudding in her ears. “Nobody makes up how-tos about things for no reason.”

In the quiet pause in conversation that followed, Charlie felt the embarrassed burn on her face spread to her ears and creep down the back of her neck.

“…Or it’s an opportunistic raccoon?” she squeaks out.

“Probably a raccoon. Damn.” Spike finally relents, shoulders slumping with a dejected sigh. He really looks genuinely disappointed, soon ambling over to drape himself over Charlie’s desk in the hopes of some sympathy pats as Samson chuckles in the background about how today’s cinema is rotting everybody's brains out their ears.

————

Nobody notices the candy basket on the windowsill going missing as they head back out to do rounds of the campgrounds.

[abusybuzzingbee]

Wendigo | Supernatural Season 1 Episode 2 Rewrite | Dean x Reader

A/N::: This is another reupload from my previous account under the same @. I hope you newcomers enjoy!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Major Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Sam Winchester

Warnings: Canon level violence, language, Dean and the reader being assholes to each other

Word Count: 7,380

Summary: Post-Dean and the reader’s first big blowout fight, they’re still at each other’s throats, much to the disgruntlement of Sam.

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Season 1 Masterlist

You were sound asleep in the back of the Impala when you were rudely awakened by Dean slamming down on the car’s horn. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut as you blinked at the blinding sunlight. You slowly sat up and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes as Dean chuckled. 

“Morning, sunshine.”

“Fuck you.”

 Dean looked at you in the rearview mirror. “Aw, somebody’s grumpy.”

“I wouldn’t be if you would wake me up like a normal person.”

“But that’s not as fun,” he pouted. You could see a slight smirk tugging at his lips in the rearview mirror. 

“Asshole.”

“Bitch.”

“Guys,” Sam sighed. He turned to you. “You just woke up and you’re already fighting with him?”

“Yeah, Madelyn, take a joke,” Dean sneered like a bratty child.

“We’ll see how funny you think the joke is when I wake you up by banging pots and pans in your ears.”

“You don’t have pots and pans.”

“I’ll buy some just for the occasion, then.”

“Guys!” Sam shouted over you two.

“Sorry,” you muttered, lying back down across the smooth leather of the bench seat. 

“Nuh-uh,” Dean told you, stealing another glance at you in the rearview mirror, “Up. We’re almost there.”

“Where’s there?”

“Ranger’s station just outside of Blackwater RIdge,” Sam answered for his brother.

“Ranger’s station?”

“Uh, that’s what he just said,” Dean cut in.

“Fuck off, Dean. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, he does, he’s just being an ass. Blackwater Ridge is in the middle of a forest.”

“Oh...” you trailed off. “And your dad would be there because...?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “If we knew, we wouldn’t be out here, would we?”

You scoffed. You didn’t want to admit that he was right.

***

You and the boys walked into the Lost Creek Ranger’s Station. You took in the various pictures of dead grizzly bears and their hunters adorning the walls, as well as the giant three-dimensional map in the center of the room. In the far right corner stood a desk, and to the left of that desk was a hallway that led to other rooms in the station. 

Sam immediately took interest in the three-dimensional map, speaking as he looked over it. “So Blackwater Ridge is pretty remote.” You watched as he hovered his pointer and index finger over the map, pointing at the different physical features as he spoke about them. “It's cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place.”

“Dude, check out the size of this freaking bear,” Dean called to his brother from behind you and Sam. You turned, seeing Dean focused on one of the many pictures of the grizzlies with their hunter.

“Would it kill you to focus for a second?” you deadpanned. 

You heard Dean take in a breath to respond, but he was cut off by a voice coming from behind you. 

“You kids aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?”

Startled, you whipped around to see a park ranger standing there.

The younger Winchester came up with a lie in a flash. “Oh, no, sir, we're environmental study majors from UC Boulder, just working on a paper.”

Dean grinned and raised a fist. “Recycle, man.”

‘What the fuck, Dean.’

“Bull.”

‘Ha,’ you thought, ‘I knew he wouldn’t buy it.’

“You're friends with that Haley girl, right?”

You stepped out in front of the two boys. “Yeah, sorry about all this.”

“It’s no trouble,” the ranger replied. “But I’ll tell you exactly what we told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn't be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth, so it's not exactly a missing persons now, is it?”

You shook your head. 

“You tell that girl to quit worrying, I'm sure her brother's just fine.”

“We will,” you told him.

The older Winchester spoke up from behind you as he moved to stand by your right side. “That Haley girl's quite a pistol, huh?”

The ranger chuckled. “That is putting it mildly.”

“Actually you know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date.”

The ranger eyed Dean curiously but ended up giving him the paper nonetheless.

The three of you walked out of the ranger’s station, Dean holding the permit and laughing to himself. 

“What, are you cruising for a hookup or something?” Sam questioned his brother pointedly.

“What do you mean?”

“The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?” Sam pressed.

Dean stopped on the opposite of the Impala from you and Sam, placing his hands on the hood of the car. “I don't know, maybe we should know what we're walking into before we actually walk into it?” Dean watched his brother strangely.

“What?”

“Since when are you all shoot first ask questions later, anyway?”

“Since now.” And with that, Sam opened the door and slid into the car. 

“Really?” Dean asked more to himself than anything, shaking his head.

***

You rapped your knuckles against the door of the Collins house. When a pretty girl’s face appeared at the door, Dean swept you to the side with his arm, stepping in front of you. 

“Hey!” you exclaimed. 

Dean ignored you, speaking over your small exclamation. “You must be Haley Collins. I'm Dean, this is Sam, that’s (Y/N), we're rangers with the Park Service. Ranger Wilkinson sent us over. He wanted us to ask a few questions about your brother Tommy.”

Haley studied you all carefully, hesitating. “Lemme see some ID,” she finally said.

Dean pulled out his fake ID and held it up to the screen door. The brunette examined it closely, her eyes flicking from the card to Dean. She opened the door a moment later. “Come on in.”

“Thanks,” you told her. 

As the door swung open, you noticed Haley checking out the Impala. 

“That yours?” she asked Dean.

“Yeah,” he smiled.

“Nice car.”

Haley turns to lead you three into her home. You watched Dean as he mouthed, ‘Oh, my god,’ to Sam, who shook his head and rolled his eyes. 

“If all he does is eye-fuck her this whole hunt, I’m gonna scream,” you whispered to the younger Winchester as you walked into the Collins’ kitchen.

“Yeah, me too,” he whispered back.

You turned your attention from Sam to Haley, who grabbed a bowl off of the countertop. “So if Tommy's not due back for a while, how do you know something's wrong?”

Haley walked back to the table where a teenage boy sat playing mindlessly with his fork. She placed the soup bowl on the table. “He checks in every day by cell. He emails, photos, stupid little videos—we haven't heard anything in over three days now.”

“Well, maybe he can't get cell reception,” Sam proposed.

“He's got a satellite phone, too.”

“Could it be he's just having fun and forgot to check in?” Dean questioned.

“He wouldn't do that,” the teenager snapped, surprising you. He looked down in embarrassment and grabbed the ladle out of the soup bowl.

Haley placed more dishes on the table. “Our parents are gone. It's just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other.”

“Can I see the pictures he sent you?” Sam asked her. 

“Yeah,” she answered. She grabbed her laptop and pulled up the pictures her brother sent her. 

“That’s Tommy,” she pointed out, gesturing to a young man with a bright smile on his face, sitting next to another guy you assumed to be a friend of his.

She clicked through another photo before stopping on the still frame of a video. She played the message for you and the boys. 

“Hey Haley, day six, we're still out near Blackwater Ridge. We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow,” Tommy told his sister.

You noticed something flick past in the background during Tommy’s speech. You turned your head to Sam, who seemed to have noticed it, too.

“Well,” the older Winchester started, “we'll find your brother. We're heading out to Blackwater Ridge first thing.”

“Then maybe I'll see you there,” she replied.

You quirked a brow at her.

“Look, I can't sit around here anymore. So I hired a guy. I'm heading out in the morning, and I'm gonna find Tommy myself.”

“I think I know how you feel,” Dean told her. He was watching her closely.

‘Damn, he’s really going for it,’ you thought. 

“Hey, do you mind forwarding these to me?” Sam asked Haley.

“Sure.” 

***

“You wanna talk about me whoring around with my puppy-dog eyes,” you scoffed as you and the boys walked back to the car after exiting the Collins’s house.

“What?” Dean questioned. 

“She’s hot, you obviously were trying to get in her pants in there,” you shrugged. You did your best impersonation of Dean’s voice. “All, ‘I know how you feel,’ and shit.” 

The three of you got into the car. 

“Oh, come on, (Y/N). We dished that out two weeks ago. And I’m just sympathizing with her, not trying to hook up with her.” Dean started up the car, pulling it away from the front of the Collins’s house. 

“I’m sure,” you deadpanned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know.” You crossed your arms and stared out of the window, slumping down in your seat. 

“God, you are such a bitch.”

“And you’re a dick.”

“Know-it-all.”

“Man whore.”

“Guys, enough,” Sam begged.

The car went silent. 

***

You were sat next to Sam opposite Dean at a table within a dingy bar. Activity swarmed all around you. Busty waitresses carried trays, guys were going after their flavor of the week, and the buzz of talking and laughing in the building never stopped. 

You took a sip of your beer as Sam spoke. “So, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.” 

“Any before that?” you asked.

The younger Winchester pulled newspaper articles from his dad’s journal to show to you and Dean.

“Yeah,” the brunet started, “in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack--” Sam pulled out his laptop, “--And again in 1959 and again before that in 1936.” He opened his laptop which already had the window of Tommy’s video pulled up. “Every twenty-three years, just like clockwork. Okay. Watch this. Here's a clincher. I downloaded that guy Tommy's video to the laptop. Check this out.” He clicked through the three frames in which you saw the shadow appear earlier one by one.

“Do it again,” Dean told his brother, his brow furrowing in concentration.

Sam did so. “That's three frames.”

“That's a fraction of a second,” you noted.

Sam nodded. “Whatever that thing is, it can move.”

Dean smacked his brother on the arm. “Told you something weird was going on.”

“Hey, check this out,” you told them, looking down at the newspaper in front of you. “In 'fifty-nine one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow at you. “Is there a name?”

***

Mr. Shaw led you and the boys through his cluttered, dark house. He had one lamp on in his living room, glowing dimly and doing nothing to illuminate the room. The only reason you could see anything was the moonlight streaming in from the window.

The old man spoke around the cigarette hanging from his lips, his voice gravelly. “Look, ranger, I don't know why you're asking me about this. It's public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a—”

“Grizzly? That's what attacked them?” Sam interrupted. 

Mr. Shaw took another puff of his cigarette and nodded.

“The other people that went missing that year, those bear attacks too?” Dean spoke up. 

Mr. Shaw hesitated.

“What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing?”

Another momentary silence filled the room.

“If we knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it,” Dean pressed further. 

“I seriously doubt that,” the old man shook his head. “Anyways, I don't see what difference it would make.” Mr. Shaw sat down in his plaid-printed chair. “You wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever did.”

“Try me,” you told him, your voice gentle. “What did you see?”

“Nothing. It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar. Like...no man or animal I ever heard,”  he told you.

“It came at night?” Sam asked.

The old man nodded. 

“Got inside your tent?”

“It got inside our cabin,” Mr. Shaw said, his face changing as he recollected the event. “I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn't smash a window or break the door. It unlocked it.”

You quirked a brow.

“Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn't even wake up till I heard my parents screaming.”

“It killed them?” you asked.

“Dragged them off into the night.” Mr. Shaw shook his head. “Why it left me alive...been asking myself that ever since.” The man wrapped his hand around his collar. “Did leave me this, though.” He pulled the collar down to reveal three gigantic claw marks. They looked like they had cut deep, as the scars were wide and raised above his skin. “There's something evil in those woods. It was some sort of a demon.”

***

You walked behind Dean and Sam down the hallway of your motel. Doors lined the dark, wooden walls. 

You were only half-listening to Dean and Sam’s conversation as you tried to figure out what the creature was. 

“Spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. If they want inside, they just go through the walls,” Dean stated. 

“So it's probably something else, something corporeal.”

“Corporeal? Excuse me, professor.”

“Shut up. So what do you think?”

“The claws, the speed that it moves...could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog. Whatever we're talking about, we're talking about a creature, and it's corporeal. Which means we can kill it.”

‘No, no, can’t be a skinwalker. The scar would’ve had four claw marks. Not to mention, puppy claws can’t cut that deep. Same thing with the black dogs,’ you thought as you completely tuned whatever the two brothers were talking about as you three walked outside. ‘Three long-ass claws, ridiculously fast, drags victims off to god knows where, left the little kid alive. Left the little kid alive... kid has less meat on his bones, parents will sustain him. Sustain... every twenty-three years... keeps food at the ready for twenty-three years til he needs more... drags ‘em off into the night...’ You stopped next to the boys by the Impala, still deep in thought as you stared off into space. ‘Too fast to see--’

Sam’s voice brought you out of your thoughts. “We cannot let that Haley girl go out there.”

Dean was loading guns and other weapons from the trunk into an army green duffel bag. “Oh yeah? What are we gonna tell her? That she can't go into the woods because of a big scary monster?”

“Yeah,” Sam stated as if it was obvious.

Dean gave an incredulous look to his younger brother. “Her brother's missing, Sam.” 

You reached into the trunk and grabbed two flare guns. 

“She's not gonna just sit this out-- (Y/N), hands to yourself,” he commanded, giving you a hard glare. “Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend.” 

“Finding Dad’s not enough?” Sam questioned.

You continued rifling through the trunk and loading things you thought were useful into the bag as Sam spoke. “Now we gotta babysit too?”

Dean neglected to answer Sam’s question as he turned to you. His conversationalist tone he used with Sam completely shifted to hard as he spoke to you. “(Y/N), I thought I told you to stay outta my shit.”

“I’m helping,” you threw back at him. 

“No, you’re not, you’re pissing me off.”

“Well, I think I have a better idea of what the monster is then you do, and you’re picking up the wrong damn weapons. So, yes, I’m helping.”

“And what exactly do you think we’re dealing with?”

“A wendigo.”

“Right, because those are only up in the Minnesota woods, or Michigan, even. They’re not out this far west.” He spoke down to you, and you did not like that at all.

“First of all, I’m not a dumbass, so don’t treat me like one. Second of all, I thought about that. But what else makes claw marks like that? Or moves that fast? Or drags its victims off before killing them?”

Dean went to say something in retaliation, but he seemed to realize you might be right, even though he would never admit it. He turned away from you, shaking his head as he zipped up the duffel bag and slammed the trunk shut. “The two of you, man.” He walked off, but not before chucking the duffel bag at Sam. 

You stared after Dean for a moment before shaking your head and stomping off to your own motel room. 

***

You were slumped in the backseat, arms folded as you stared out of the window of the Impala’s backseat. You chomped down on some mint-flavored gum, enjoying listening to the music that played through the car.

“Can you stop chewing your gum like that?” Dean asked, aggravation clear in his voice.

Truly, you were not being that obnoxious with your gum chewing. Dean just wanted to get pissed at you for something, apparently. Out of spite, you chewed your gum a little louder, making sure your lips smacked together with every chew.

“Mature,” Dean deadpanned. You smirked at him in the rearview mirror.

He parked the car near the place where two other cars were parked. You noticed Haley and the teenage boy standing with another guy. Haley shook her head, clearly disappointed to see the three of you.

You grabbed your duffel bag off the floor of the backseat. You tossed the one for the Winchester brothers to Sam.

“You guys got room for three more?” you heard Dean ask the other group as you shut the back door of the Impala. 

“Wait, you want to come with us?” Haley inquired.

The older man that you assumed was the guy Haley hired was the next to ask a question. “Who are these guys?”

“Apparently, this is all the park service could muster up for the search and rescue,” Haley deadpanned.

“You're rangers?” the guy asked.

“That's right,” Dean nodded.

“And you're hiking out in biker boots and jeans?” Haley pressed.

Dean looked himself over. “Well, sweetheart, I don't do shorts.” Dean walked past Haley over to Sam, who had passed all of you to get a look at the forest. 

“What, you think this is funny?” the older man snapped. “It's dangerous backcountry out there. Her brother might be hurt.”

Dean turned back to the guide. “Believe me, I know how dangerous it can be. We just wanna help them find their brother, that's all.”

***

Your pack trekked on through the dense trees over dead, fallen leaves that covered the forest floor. You brought up the rear of the group, just behind Sam. Haley and her brother-- whose name you still did not know-- were in front of Sam and behind the other Winchester brother. The older man, whose name you discovered was Roy, led the group.

You noticed Dean and Roy having somewhat of a tense conversation, but did not bother paying close enough attention to their chat to hear what it was about. However, things got interesting for you when Roy grabbed Dean roughly by the arm. 

You watched Roy as he picked up a stick and poked at something on the ground that turned out to be a bear trap.

“You should watch where you're stepping. Ranger.”

You snickered at Roy’s comment.

“It's a bear trap,” Dean announced to the rest of you.

You shook your head, rolling your eyes as you did so. 

You continued your walk as you saw Haley jog up to Dean, who walked a few paces ahead. She spoke in a hushed tone, and you didn’t hear her from how far back you were. She grabbed his arm and spun him around to get him to stop walking.

Dean indicated to Sam to keep walking, so you followed Sam forward. You hummed to yourself as you kept going. You loved music, and so did your mother. She, like you, had a lovely singing voice. The two of you used to sing together when you were little. You were humming one of her favorites, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” by Ella Fitzgerald. 

“Hey, princess!” Dean called to you from a few paces behind. “Keep the humming for when we’re not being hunted by something that finds us by sound.”

“And you yelling at me isn’t gonna attract it?” you called back over your shoulder.

‘Dick,’ you thought.

“This is it. Blackwater Ridge,” Roy announced up ahead.

Sam asked about the coordinates, and as it turns out, they matched the ones John had sent to the brothers. 

Dean walked up to his younger brother, and you followed. “You hear that?” he asked Sam.

“Yeah. Not even crickets.”

“I'm gonna go take a look around,” Roy told the rest of your group.

“You shouldn't go off by yourself,” Sam warned him.

“That's sweet. Don't worry about me.” He waved his gun around to display it, pushing between you and Sam to get back in the lead of the group.

“All right, everybody stays together. Let's go,” Dean commanded.

After a few more minutes of walking, your group decided to have a look around. You noticed drag marks in the dirt, following them to the tattered remnants of a campsite. The tents had been torn open, one of them splattered with blood. Backpacks were destroyed, supplies scattered all over the place, and things from within the tent, like sleeping bags, ended up in pieces on the ground. 

“Haley?” you called to her.

She rushed over to you, letting out a breath when she saw the scene. 

“Oh my God.”

“Looks like a grizzly,” Roy said.

“Tommy?” Haley threw her backpack down and ran across the campsite, calling for her brother.

Sam shushed her, but she kept yelling Tommy’s name.

He shushed her again, a bit of bite to his tone.

“Why?”

“Something might still be out there.”

“Sam.” You pulled him away from Haley.

“Yeah?”

“I followed tracks in the dirt to find the camp. I assume those were made by the bodies when they got dragged away.”

Haley caught your attention when you saw her crying out of the corner of your eye. She had what you assumed was Tommy’s cell phone in her hand. 

Dean walked over to her, crouching down next to her. “Hey,” he said gently, “he could still be alive.”

‘It’s amazing how sweet he is with everyone else but me.’

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a man’s voice yelling for help. His voice was gravelly, almost raw from shouting.

Roy ran after the voice.

You grabbed Dean’s arm before he could run after the rest of the group.

“Dean, I don’t think that’s a--”

He shrugged you off of him, running after Sam and the rest of the pack anyway.

‘Dick.’

You decided it was best for you not to be alone while a wendigo was on the loose, so you opted for running after the others. 

“It seemed like it was coming from around here, didn't it?” Haley asked as you reached your group. They were looking around for the source of the voice but found nothing. 

“Everybody back to camp,” you ordered.

You were the first to reach the campsite, noticing yours and Dean’s duffel bags missing, as well as Haley’s and Roy’s backpacks.

“Our packs!” Haley groaned.

“So much for my GPS and my satellite phone,” Roy commented.

“What the hell is going on?” Haley questioned.

“It's smart,” you informed them. “It wants to cut us off so we can't call for help.”

“You mean someone, some nutjob out there just stole all our gear,” Roy challenged.

“No, Roy, I mean ‘it,’“ you responded.

You grabbed Sam and Dean’s arms, pulling them away from the others. “I need to talk to you guys.”

“Fine,” Dean said, “but I can walk on my own.” He yanked his arm out of your grip.

“Now,” you started once you got a safe distance away from the others, “I’m not gonna say I told you so...” you trailed off.

“Fuck off, (Y/N).” He turned to Sam, raising his pistol in the air. “Well, then this is useless.”

“Yeah,” you started, pulling a flare gun out of the back of your jeans, “but this isn’t.”

“Is that mine?” Dean asked.

“Yup,” you stated, popping the ‘p.’

“I thought I told you to stay outta my shit.”

“And I thought I told you that I knew what we were hunting. But ya didn’t listen to me then, did you? So why should I listen to you?”

“Gimme that,” Dean groaned, ripping the gun out of your hands.

“Hey!”

“We gotta get these people to safety,” Sam prompted, hoping to end the fighting.

You shoved Dean with your shoulder, and he shoved you back as you headed back to camp.

 “All right, listen up, it's time to go. Things have gotten...more complicated.”

Haley seemed slightly offended at the mere suggestion. “What?”

“Kid, don't worry,” Roy piped up. “Whatever's out there, I think I can handle it.”

“It's not me I'm worried about. If you shoot this thing, you're just gonna make it mad. We have to leave. Now,” Sam explained.

Roy stepped a little closer to Sam. “One, you're talking nonsense. Two, you're in no position to give anybody orders.”

“Relax,” you told the two men presently competing in a glare-off. 

“We never should have let you come out here in the first place, all right? I'm trying to protect you,” Sam pushed back.

The older man got right up into Sam’s face. “You protect me?” he laughed. “I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you good night.”

“Yeah? It's a damn near perfect hunter. It's smarter than you, and it's gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid, sorry ass out of here.”

Roy laughed again, venom dripping from his tone. “You know you're crazy, right?”

“Yeah? You ever hunt a wen—” Dean shoved Sam away from Roy, silencing him.

Haley went after Roy, trying to calm him down. 

“Chill out, alright?” you told Sam.

“Stop. Stop it,” Haley demanded. “Everybody just stop. Look. Tommy might still be alive. And I'm not leaving here without him.”

A silence settled over all of you before Dean spoke up. “It's getting late. This thing is a good hunter in the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night. We'll never beat it, not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves.”

“How?” Haley questioned.

***

You were drawing Anasazi symbols in the dirt, using the dim firelight coming from behind you to see what you were doing in the dark of night. 

You noticed Sam sitting alone on a fallen tree by the edge of the campsite. Dean made a comment about Roy’s skepticism about your whole situation before heading over to Sam. They seemed to be having a deep conversation, so you left them alone for a little bit.

You stood at the sound of a twig snapping, reaching for the flare gun, only to remember that Dean had it.

‘Dick.’

“Help!” the wendigo cried.

"He's trying to draw us out,” Dean told everyone, “Just stay cool, stay put.”

“Inside the magic circle?” Roy questioned, tone filled to the brim with sarcasm as he scanned the tree line.

“Help! Help me!” it tried one more time. When it realized none of you were coming after it, it growled.

“Okay, that's no grizzly,” Roy finally admitted, pointing his gun at the sound.

Haley was attempting to keep her younger brother calm as something rushed through the bushes right behind her. She let out a shriek as Roy shot at the rustling. And then again, he shot.

“I hit it!” the older man exclaimed, running to see what he hit.

‘Coconuts and tobacco,’ you thought as the scents filled your nose. You sprinted after Roy, yelling for him to stop. 

“It's over here! It's in the tree!” he yelled. 

You got there just in time to see the wendigo reach down for Roy. You leaped into action, grabbing onto Roy’s foot as the wendigo began pulling Roy upwards. You planted your feet in the ground under the roots of the tree, pulling as hard as you could, but the wendigo gave a hard yank and pulled you off of the ground, too. You knew there was nothing more you could do for Roy, and due to the fact that Roy hadn’t been screaming during that tug-of-war session, you assumed he was dead.

You dropped to the ground, landing flat on your ass. 

Dean and Sam ran up just as you stood up and dusted your pants off. 

“It would’ve helped if I would’ve had the damn flare gun just now, Dean,” you scolded him. “I could’ve killed it and saved Roy, too.”

Sam figured another argument was about to ensue, so he went back to the camp to check on Haley and Ben. 

“Well, maybe don’t be so reliant on me to have all of your guns for you. Get your own damn flare gun, and stay outta my stuff,” he threw back.

“Why does it matter to you so much? We’re a team now, we work together. Basically, we all have joint custody over each others’ weapons,” you argued.

“No,” Dean said gruffly, “we are not a team. You... are a stowaway. I don’t even know why you’re here! You don’t know our dad. Hell, you barely know us.”

“I stuck around because I cared and I wanted to help! You’re an asshole, but Sam’s my friend. So forgive me if I’m just trying to be supportive of someone who’s just lost his girlfriend.”

“Whose death you seemed to have predicted. I’m not ruling out the possibility that you didn’t somehow kill her.”

“Kill her? Are you hearing yourself right now, Dean? I was with you and Sam the whole time, how could I have killed her?” You stared at him incredulously as he ran a hand through his hair.

“How the hell else would you have known to turn the car around before Sam’s apartment got deep-fried?”

“First of all, that’s none of your business. Second of all, I had nothing to do with Jessica’s death.”

“I think it is my business,” he stated firmly, stepping closer to you.

“Too bad, dickhead. Let’s head back to camp before we kill each other.” You sidestepped him, storming away. 

***

You refused to sleep that night, too busy keeping watch over the camp and too uncomfortable to sleep inside one of the destroyed tents like the rest of your crew did. It felt disrespectful to you. 

You hugged your knees, resting your head on top of them against a tree near the outskirts of the “magic circle” as Roy had called it.

‘Roy.’

You felt so guilty for his death. He was a douchebag, but you still didn’t want him to die. 

‘If only Dean wasn’t a dickbag and let me keep the gun, Roy would be alive right now.’

You stood up, pacing around the area, trying to keep yourself awake. You yawned, rubbing a hand over your eyes.

“Why don’t you get some sleep,” Dean murmured in your ear.

You inhaled sharply, jumping away from him. “Dammit, Dean,” you breathed. “You scared the shit outta me.”

“I meant to.” You could see the smirk on his face barely illuminated by the pale moonlight shining through the trees. 

“You’re a dick, and I’m fine. I can’t sleep in those tents.”

“Well, sorry we don’t have a cabin for you, princess,” Dean sassed.

"It’s not about a cabin, Dean. It’s about the fact that the people who used to sleep in them might be dead,” you responded. 

A silence fell between the two of you.

“Well if you’re not gonna sleep, I am,” he told you, for the first time since you had met him speaking without an edge to his voice. He walked back over to the tents. 

‘What a weird dude.’

***

Morning came around, all of your group members minus Roy assembled in the clearing. You were dog tired, but you needed to power through the day. You sat next to Sam beneath the same tree you occupied last night, leaning your head back against its trunk. Sam held his dad’s journal in his hand, pulling at a lanyard attached to it. 

You were watching Haley, Dean, and Ben having a conversation about the wendigo and its origins when Sam spoke up.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asked you.

“No,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut.

Sam shook his head, chuckling at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know you weren’t asleep either.” You rolled your head toward him.

He turned to look at you.

“I could hear you tossing and turning all night.”

Sam looked back down, playing with the lanyard again. “C’mon,” he finally said softly, “we should get going.”

He stood, extending his hand to pull you up.  You gladly took it, walking over to Dean and the Collinses. 

You noticed an empty beer bottle, a white cloth, and a lighter among the supplies scattered about the camp. 

“What are you doing?” Dean asked.

“Well, since you staked your claim over the flare gun, I get a Molotov cocktail.”

“Bringin’ that up again are we?” Exasperation was clear in his tone.

“Mm-hmm.” You shoved the cloth into the mouth of the bottle.

“Guys--” Sam butted in. “Focus, please.”

“I am focused!” you protested. “And productive. See?” You held up the lighter and the cocktail. 

“Impressive. You put a towel in a bottle.”

“You know what, Winchester--”

“Will the both of you stop?” You and Dean turned to look at Haley. “We gotta find Tommy. Now let’s go.”

The five of you started off, heading in the direction of the drag marks. They circled around the camp and stopped deeper into the woods. You and Dean walked side by side at first, before you noticed how close the two of you were. You sped up your walk, getting slightly ahead of him. Dean noticed what you were doing and walked in front of you, too. The two of you got angrier with each time one passed the other, and you noticed the two of you were leading the group. Everyone else had just let you through. You spotted something out of the corner of your eye, your angry expression softening. 

“Claw marks,” you noted, looking at the bloody ones on the tree in front of you.

“Yeah, no shit,” Dean chided.

“Dean--”

“Okay,” Sam said, dragging out the ‘o.’ 

You and Dean glared at each other but kept moving through the forest behind Sam.

A few minutes of walking had passed when you heard a chomping noise coming from behind you. You turned around to see Dean holding his bag of peanut M&Ms.

“Seriously?” you questioned monotonously.

“What?” he asked, mouth full of the chocolate candies. You slowed your walk, getting side-by-side with him.

“You’ve just had that the whole time and didn’t bother telling me?” You reached for the bag, but Dean snatched it away. “Hey!”

“Hands off my stuff.” He popped a few more into his mouth. “I think we've had a conversation about that before.”

“You sound like a grumpy old grandpa.”

���Dean,” Sam called, getting his attention.

Dean caught up to Sam, and you followed close behind. 

“What is it?” the older Winchester questioned.

Dean and Sam looked around the clearing you were in at all of the bloody claw prints marking the trees.

“You know, I was thinking, those claw prints, so clear and distinct. They were almost too easy to follow.”

A grin spread across your face as you snatched the bag of M&Ms out of the arms of a distracted Dean.

“Hey!”

You laughed, shoving a few in your mouth. You were silenced by a growl coming from above you. You held your Molotov cocktail in one hand and your lighter in the other, the bag of candy now tucked under your arm. 

You pulled your eyes from the tree leaves when Haley shrieked. You turned around and saw her scrambling to her feet and Roy’s body on the ground. 

Dean bent down and looked Roy over. “His neck's broke.”

A growl came from directly behind you. 

You sprinted further into the woods, yelling for the others to follow your lead. You took the M&Ms from under your arm before they fell, holding those in your left hand and the cocktail and lighter in your right.  

You turned your head around to check for the rest of your group, but you saw only Haley a few paces behind you. You did a double-take, yelling for Sam, when you slammed into something hard. You fell flat on your back, looking up into the face of the Wendigo. 

Haley screamed as the Wendigo grabbed you both, one in each hand. It had you by your leg, and you had managed to hold onto the M&Ms but not the cocktail when you fell. You ripped the bag all the way open with your teeth, dropping the candies as the Wendigo sprinted through the woods. You lifted your head up to see a miner’s cave a little ways off in the distance before the Wendigo carelessly rammed your head into a tree, knocking you out cold. 

***

“(Y/N)?”

You could barely hear Dean’s voice through the haze that seemed to cloud your senses.

“(Y/N)? Wake up.” 

You opened your eyes, blinking a few times. You noticed Dean’s hands on either side of your face, slightly squishing your cheeks together.

“Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?” you let out, your voice a little deeper and gravelly. 

“I am not short,” Dean grumbled as he began cutting you down.

Despite your still foggy state of mind, you found it within yourself to go through another argument with Dean. “Oh, come on, Dean. It’s a Star Wars reference--” Dean helped you down, tossing your arm over his shoulder. “--Don’t take it so seriously. And I can walk on my own, thank you.” You ripped your arm out of his grip, immediately stumbling as you took your first step.

“No, you can’t.” The older Winchester grabbed you again, putting your arm back around his shoulders. 

You groaned in pain as Dean set you down against the wall of the cave. 

“You okay?” Sam asked you.

“Yep. Yep. All good,” you groaned, trying to sound convincing. “Where is it?”

“He's gone for now,” Sam told you.

“Cut him down!” you heard Haley order. You looked over to see her standing next to Tommy, who was hanging from a meat hook by his wrists like you were. 

Sam and Dean rushed to help Tommy. 

You rolled your head to the side to see your group’s bags sitting in the corner. 

“Sweet,” you muttered, instantly perking up. You crawled over to them, grabbing yours and standing.

“Dean come get your shit since you don’t want me touching it.”

“Not a good time for this, (Y/N),” Dean sighed.

“Well if I would’ve touched it, you would’ve started the fight.”

He rolled his eyes at you, picking up his bag while Ben and Haley helped their brother walk. 

“Dean, can I pretty please with sugar on top borrow a flare gun?” you asked, dramatically batting your eyes at him.

“Fine,” he grumbled. He dug around for the other one you had packed in his bag, handing it to you when he found it. 

“Wow. Didn’t think you’d actually give it to me.”

“I hope you know how to use that thing.”

“Oh, puh-lease, I learned to use a gun before I learned my ABC’s.”

Dean shook his head. “Let’s just go.”

Your pack traveled down the mine train corridor, fear filling all of your hearts when a growl came from somewhere within the mine.

“Looks like someone's home for supper,” Dean commented.

“We'll never outrun it,” Haley stated.

Dean looked back at his brother. “You thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he sighed.

“Uh, he is, but I’m not,” you piped up.

Dean ignored you. “All right, listen to me. Stay with (Y/N) and Sam. They’re gonna get you out of here."

“What are you gonna do?” Haley questioned.

Dean winked at her and started walking. “Chow time, you freaky bastard!” he yelled. “Yeah, that's right, bring it on, baby, I taste good.”

You could hear him continuing to yell, but he was too far away at that point to make out what he was saying.

“All right, come on! Hurry!” Sam urged, leading the Collinses down the tunnel.

You got behind the family, your back facing Tommy’s, pointing your flare gun down the tunnel. 

You heard growling coming from within the mine. 

“Get him outta here,” you ordered Haley and Ben.

“(Y/N), no,” Haley protested.

“Go! Go! Go!” Sam pushed them.

“Come on, Haley!”

Her younger brother’s words finally got the brunette to leave and continue helping Tommy limp down the mine corridor.

You were poised to shoot, staring down into the darkness of the mine shaft. “Come on, you bitch,” you muttered under your breath.

The monster crept up from the shadows, catching you off-guard. You still landed a solid shot with the flare gun, watching the monster go up in flames. 

You scrunched your nose in disgust at the smell of its burning flesh but took satisfaction in watching the son of a bitch disappear. 

When all that remained of the wendigo were ashes, you could see Dean standing opposite you in the corridor.

“And you didn’t wanna trust me with a flare gun,” you commented, smiling proudly.

“Can it, (Y/N).”

***

You observed the scene around you as the EMT before you tended to your brush burns and cuts.

Sam and Ben were talking to the police, describing the “grizzly attack” they had just experienced.

Dean was leaning on the hood of his car and Haley stood in front of him. At one point in their conversation, Haley kissed Dean’s cheek, making a wide grin spread across his face. 

Sam came up behind Haley with Ben, and she put her arm around her younger brother’s shoulders. She said something to Sam before yelling to you, “Thanks (Y/N)!”

You nodded at her, smiling. 

“You’re all good,” the EMT said to you.

“Thank you so much.”

You walked over to the Impala.

“Man, I hate camping,” you heard Dean say as you got closer to the two brothers.

“Me too,” the younger of the two responded.

“Me three.”

The ambulance carrying the Collinses drove away behind you, its sirens blaring through the quiet of the night.

“Sam,” the older Winchester started, “you know we're gonna find Dad, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” He paused. “But in the meantime? I'm driving.”

Dean tossed his brother the keys.

“Aw, man. I wanted a turn,” you whined.

“Uh-uh, missy. It’s taken twenty-two years for him to let me drive. You got a long ways to go,” the younger of the two brothers smirked.

“Damn.” You climbed into the backseat, feigning hurt. “Someday.”

“How ‘bout ‘never,’�� Dean quipped.

“I like ‘someday’ better.”

“Well, it’s not happening, so you can forget it--”

“Guys!”

Tags are open! Feedback is always appreciated!

Series Rewrite Tags:

@rach5ive​ @ppeachygemss​

[sohannabarberaesque]

Underwater America with Peter Potamus: Florida’s Space Coast

art by MaudeDraws (https://www.deviantart.com/maudedraws)

This story continues a Friday Fanfic series which debuted late last year, in which Peter Potamus and friends go on a cross-country tour of the nation’s most interesting diving sites in the hope of selling their adventures to television. This story takes place early in the summer of 1970.

I drove the bus out of Ocala at around six o’clock in the morning while everyone else inside was still sleeping off our latest refreshing adventure.

Early into the next leg of our cross-country tour, I pondered taking the winding country roads instead of the highway. I eventually decided on the highway, for the roads were generally less bumpy—thereby making the crew less irritable—and faster, even though we had lots of time to get to our next stop: Florida’s famous State Road A1A, featuring the longest stretches of beaches one could ever hope for.

About 90 minutes later, once everyone was awake, alert and begging for breakfast, we stopped at a diner in Ocoee, not far from Orlando, Walt Disney’s latest conquest. In fact, as we sat in two separate booths looking at menus, the conversation turned to the resort.

“What do you think he’s got there?” Breezly pondered.

“Do you think we could get up close and take pictures?” asked a slightly hyperactive Squiddly, shivering with delight.

“Yeah!” Magilla giddily exclaimed. “Maybe we could have a piece of history!”

“Please,” Mildew said in his usual sassy style. “I doubt they’d let anyone near a construction site. Plus, this is Disney we’re talking about, so they’d probably shoot you!”

“Indeed,” I added, dead serious. “I’m not going to waste valuable time going there. We’ve got Cape Canaveral coming up in a few hours.” The thought of me or any of the others possibly getting arrested for trespassing immediately came to mind. “Let me remind you all that even though we’re all having fun here, I’m spending my life savings to make this dream happen. You all have nothing to lose, but not me.”

Squiddly and Magilla clammed up immediately. I figured they knew what I was talking about: nobody else had any means of support. Hokey and his partner Ding-a-Ling only had their street smarts to get them out of jams. Lippy and Hardy were just struggling. While Magilla could simply go back to Peebles’ Pet Shop, it simply wasn’t a life. This was a ticket to a new life for them and I was not about to risk that for something stupid.

Breakfast, otherwise, was nothing special. The coffee was a little too strong for some of them, and some of the meals just weren’t up to par. Lippy, sitting opposite from me, wasn’t thrilled with the slightly-soggy pancakes, either. We still paid for the meal, though, and went on our way. At least Squiddly loved the bagels and lox.

To compensate for the lack of Disney in our lives, we made an unplanned stop at the Tosohatchee Wildlife Management Area in Orange County. The area brings hunters, birdwatchers, campers, hikers, botanists, fishermen and wildlife enthusiasts together under one roof, and today all of the above were out enjoying themselves.

We took plenty of pictures of birds that morning, with bald eagles and kestrels hunting for their next meal, while herons and ibises, among others, hung out in the wetlands. We were also able to get on camera a group of wild turkeys congregating nearby, with Mildew and Hokey instantly regretting not bringing a shotgun—if only we had one.

“Monsters,” Loopy said with a smirk, although I am certain that, deep down, he would’ve wanted it.

The excursion turned out to be a good thing: the heavy showers came in a few miles after we got back onto Route 524. Better now than later.

“Oh, dear,” Hardy moaned. “That’s going to ruin our plans.”

“Aww, don’t sweat it, Hardy!” replied his optimistic friend, Lippy. “Better now than when we’re out on the boat, right?”

“If you say so,” the sour-flavored hyena moped. “I suppose it could have been worse. We could have been out in the water when—“

As if on cue, lightning struck a few hundred feet away from us, startling everyone but especially Hardy, who would’ve jumped into Lippy’s lap had the seat belt not prevented him from doing so—and yet, we all soldiered on past the rain and out of danger, and just in time.

The timing was perfect: the sun shone brightly on the Indian and Banana rivers, the first things one sees before entering State Road A1A from the north. Sandwiched between the two rivers is Merritt Island, home to the John F. Kennedy Space Center, known throughout the world for NASA’s Apollo space missions that eventually put man on the moon for the first time in history.

We stopped at the northernmost point of Florida’s Space Coast—the town of Cape Canaveral, where space tourism and beach tourism combine to provide an unforgettable experience. As we were on a mix of both pleasure and business, however, we immediately sought out a boat to rent for today’s underwater journey.

Once we secured one, we got to work loading our gear from the trailer into the boat. To avoid confusion and clutter, not only are the swim fins and masks hooked to the belt of the harness, our names are marked on the backs of the harnesses so we do not end up wearing someone else’s kit. We then started on our way, into the Atlantic Ocean.

As we continued on our way, we were able to get a glimpse of houses lined along the streets, not far from the Space Coast’s gorgeous beaches. These streets bear the names of past U.S. Presidents, the greats and not-so-greats among them: Washington Avenue. Adams. Jefferson. Eventually ending with Harding.

“Huh. Coulda sworn Van Buren would get his due,” Wally said before letting out his familiar, ear-pleasing laugh, noting the absence of his own street.

Further along the coast, the beaches were endless, although the places had different names. Cocoa Beach? Satellite Beach? Melbourne Beach, just a drive away from the city of Melbourne? It’s all good. You get to enjoy the feeling of sand between your toes.

I made certain to check my gear to ensure everything was operational. I took a breath from the regulator and found no problems. While everyone else was testing their tanks and regulators, I went into the cabin to plot out a course for ourselves using a nautical map.

Now, Cape Canaveral itself is not an ideal place for diving. Consulting the guidebook, I had two options: either explore a natural reef twenty miles out of Port Canaveral in an area called Pelican Flats, or explore the wrecked Dutch steamship Laertes, the Allied cargo vessel sunk by a German U-109 in May 1942. We couldn’t tackle both at once, as those two were a mile apart. As I looked further through the book to see if there were other reefs, it turned out there are plenty of other wrecks along the waters off A1A, some of them much, much older.

My mind was made up: we would be exploring a reef that day. …Or at least, I thought! Maybe some of the gang wanted a change of scene early. If there were other natural reefs along the coast, they were hard to come by. So, I told them we’d go to the reef.

After agreeing amongst ourselves on 90 feet for 40 minutes with a seven-minute decompression stop, we geared up for our journey into the depths in our familiar way: tanks secured to harnesses; harnesses worn and buckled securely; fins snugly worn; mask lenses spat-at-and-rinsed before donning; regulators being given a final check.

art by Kandlin

After a final safety briefing and the dropping of the anchor line, we were about to back-roll into the ocean when an Atlantic flyingfish flew up from the water and landed right on Breezly’s lap. We all had a terrific laugh over it, even after Breezly non-chalantly threw the fish back in the ocean, toward where the little fella had hoped to go.

“We could’ve had some lunch!” Lippy laughed. “Why’d you throw it back?”

“I didn’t want to punish him for one simple mistake!” Breezly replied with a warm smile to match his warm heart.

After that slight delay, we back-rolled into the water and slowly followed the anchor line down to the ocean floor, right next to where the reef was located.

Immediately the ten of us split up into several groups, giving us several times the opportunities for fun things to happen, though the feeling of water against one’s skin or fur is always a source of delight, regardless of the results of these dives.

One thing we noticed was that the reef was not a coral reef as some of us had hoped. Instead, we found plenty of short seagrass, an important source of nutrition for some of the aquatic life. The lack of coral gave me the first impression that the reef resembled a formation of mossy rocks and boulders one would perhaps find in the woods.

On the ocean floor nearby, Hardy swam close to what appeared to be a small, wide formation. It looked like it was a little smooth to the touch, unlike coral, so he brushed a few fingers along the length. The “formation” moved slightly, causing Hardy to jump back a little. The thing Hardy touched was a Florida sea cucumber, one of many such invertebrates found along Florida’s waters. To reassure Hardy, Lippy gently picked it up and showed its underside, with its many rows of tube feet, and the oral tentacles on the front side. Hardy nodded, having fully understood.

Meanwhile, Hokey and Wally, apparently not yet over their hunger pangs, scoped out a sizable group of lobsters congregating beneath a portion of the reef. With no net with which to catch them, and no way to bring them back, lest they carry it with them throughout the dive and even the decompression stop, they were at a loss. Even so, they were not about to be defeated.

Hokey beckoned for Loopy to swim over. Once Loopy joined the pair, Hokey pointed to the lobsters that were taking cover, then rubbed his belly to communicate everyone’s favorite language—food.

Loopy looked at Hokey quizzically, pointing up to the surface: did Hokey really intend to take his dinner up to the boat? When Hokey and Wally nodded in the affirmative, Loopy shook his head, not wanting anything to do with it.

Wally, however, had a plan, and he started to take off Loopy’s scarf, despite the wolf’s objections. Once Hokey got into the mess, Loopy had no chance. He then laid down one end of the scarf by the lobsters, waiting on one of them to take the bait. It didn’t take long, as one of them gripped the scarf.

Excitedly, Hokey pulled the scarf out, but the lobster, sensing what was happening, let go and rejoined the others.

Wally laid out the bait again, but before a lobster could hook onto it, Loopy, disgruntled, snatched the scarf away and swam far from them in order to put it back on. So much for lunch.

Meanwhile, our camera-octopus, Squiddly, located a gorgeous queen angelfish swimming alongside me. The somewhat fluorescent-looking colors on its body make it stand out from most of the other fish. Getting to experience seeing one up close is exciting enough, but when about a dozen more show up in the vicinity, you get worried about whether or not you actually loaded the film into the camera!

Some of the others were able to witness a loggerhead sea turtle swim by them. Mildew started off by following it, with Loopy instinctively joining his lupine companion. Soon, Lippy and Hardy were on the chase as well, though I do believe they just wanted to pet it. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why they couldn’t just get it over with and form a conga line.

I followed Magilla and Breezly when they decided to stray a little from the reef. We had reached a sandy area where the two of them went fish-watching, without any of the others getting in the way.

We were able to witness a group of African pompanos on their way to the reef. While the juveniles prefer to go where the ocean currents lead them, adults prefer the coastline, in depths of up to 100 meters.

Outside of that, we were unable to find many fish of interest, outside of a solitary cocoa damselfish that swam right between the polar bear’s and gorilla’s bodies. The two of them turned around in unison just as the fish passed them; perhaps those two should have signed up for synchronized swimming instead.

We were about to rejoin the group when we saw what appeared to be a large school of fish—at least from a distance. As they drew ever closer, however, we realized they weren’t fish, but a group of about three dozen manta rays swimming towards us and above us. We quickly turned around, kicking our legs as quickly as we could, swim fins waving up and down, so that we could alert the others. We were going to get a chance to swim along with the rays.

art by Enookie

Squiddly got in front of us so he could capture this epic scene. I positioned the other camera at a different angle, and we were on our way.

As we followed the group of rays, we were awestruck by the graceful movement of their pectoral fins. Taken individually, it’s a gorgeous sight, but to witness over thirty of them doing it was like viewing real-life natural art.

Mildew had the right idea when he swam the backstroke. The rays’ movements, combined with the limited light of the sun, made for the best viewing experience.

The mantas have a pair of horn-like cephalic fins on either side of their mouth. When the manta forages for food, these fins flatten in order to channel food into their mouths. At the surface they will feed on zooplankton such as shrimp and krill. At deeper depths such as these, they will feed on small or medium-sized fish.

As were were approaching a variety of fish, we had no choice but to let them be. Squiddly kept filming, yet kept a safe distance. As the rays fed on the sundry fish, I discovered, while editing this film for broadcast, that one of the rays may very have well feasted on that same cocoa damselfish Magilla and Breezly saw earlier. That’s the way life goes for an animal: one day you’re minding your own business, and the next day you’re gone. I would talk about life’s fleeting mortality, but that’s for some other show. It was time for us to ascend, anyway.

In deep dives, nitrogen starts to accumulate in the diver’s body. If a diver ascends like one usually would in a relatively shallow swimming pool, these nitrogen gases could turn into bubbles, thereby causing decompression sickness, which can be potentially fatal.

To help relieve the pressure, the diver’s ascent must be approximately thirty feet per minute. Depending on the details of the dive, a decompression stop may also be necessary fifteen feet from the surface. In this case, because of a 90-foot dive for 40 minutes, our wait was seven minutes. Even in dives at shorter depths, precautionary safety stops of three minutes may be required.

Because of the potential for danger, it is advised that dives are planned carefully. Use the most conservative figures when consulting dive tables. Know how much air you have, and do not plan lengthy dives if you don’t have the air to do a safety or decompression stop.

Squiddly Diddly, bless him, doesn’t have those disadvantages we mammals have. While we waited to ascend again, the good old octopus took the time to take one last tour of Pelican Flats, showcasing all its flora and fauna in its glory, however fleeting it may be. Who knows—maybe the fish Squiddly caught on camera could be the next to be swallowed up by a manta ray!

After the decompression stop, we made our final ascent to the boat, where we climbed out of the ocean, one at a time. Some of us laid back, gear still on, a little worn out from overstimulation.

“All those wasted years of trying to catch lambs,” Mildew chuckled. “Now this is living!”

“Who woulda thought? Swimming with manta rays!” Magilla said giddily, removing the gear one piece at a time and drying himself off.

“I think all of us needed that spark in our lives where we truly got to experience something special,” said I, stacking my fins and mask together as Squiddly climbed back onto the boat, the last to do so. “We’ve all forgotten how much of a thrill life could be. All we’ve been doing before is trying to survive.”

Lippy and Hardy, having known the feeling for years, nodded in agreement.

I slowly arose from the ledge and walked to the cabin. “All right. Let’s get this boat back, we get the gear back in, get our tanks refilled, and then finally we relax. I hear there are some good seafood places here.”

“How about a lobster?” Hokey said, smiling, eager for something exquisite.

“Me, too!” Wally added.

“Eh, we’ll see,” I said with a laugh, and the others were pretty much amused.

Once back on shore, we got the tanks refilled and all the gear loaded back onto the trailer. We bade farewell to Cape Canaveral and continued further south along A1A. Although Cape Canaveral isn’t a haven for divers, what we did see was good enough to warrant a visit, and the beaches are still very exquisite. If you would like to get to know NASA’s space program up-close and get wet and sandy—preferably not at the same time—set aside some time to visit the Space Coast.

Although we never got a chance to explore the Laertes shipwreck, a greater opportunity arose pre-dive when I learned of an early 18th-century Spanish ship, part of the doomed 1715 Treasure Fleet that transported goods and treasure from Spain’s territories back to the mainland. In our next episode, in which we travel to Florida’s Treasure Coast, we will explore one of those ships lost to a hurricane, the Urca de Lima, and perhaps come away with some treasure of our own.

[summervanlife]

30 June

The wind picked up in a menacing way last night. Rain hammered into the windows horizontally. Sometime in the middle of the night we heard the windscreen wrap-around flapping. Soon enough it had broken free of the windscreen wipers and the wing mirrors. Now billowing like a kite, it wasn't going to be long before we lost it altogether. In a state of undress we braved the wind and rain to battle the flailing cloth. It was lovely cozying back into a sleeping bag after getting chilled. Waking in the morning, the weather remained the same. We performed our very first conversion with us all in the van and without opening a door - quite an impressive achievement and in good time too! Breakfast was taken to the campers kitchen where we elongated our stay in the dry and warm. Cian was keen for another shower before eating so Jay accompanied him to use the toilet. Cian kept his underwear on to lock the door after Jay left and before he got into the shower. A while later Cian joined us in the kitchen with wet pants. He had forgotten to take them off before showering! Poor sleep deprived boy! Someone had placed a dehumidifier in the laundry and therefore our damp clothes on the horse had pretty much dried by the time we got to them (with the exception of Cian's pants!) It was still gone 1100hr by the time we drove out. We decided that the day needed to be largely vehicle based, the wind was still 40mph and gusting stronger, rain showers were frequent. A guidebook we had kicking around in the van called 'Made in the Outer Hebrides' became our inspiration, and Nia guided us around North Uist on a trail to find as many of the featured art installations as we could. The first was called 'Reflections' and was at the end of a very long and windy road with a multitude of dedicated signpost along the way. This was way too much hype and we were a little dismayed when we eventually braved the weather to view it. A bench of mosaic tiles curved in an S shape stood overlooking the loch. We moved on. Bronze sculpture representing swans in flight was next. It was alright - but not a patch on the old ships carcass we found on the edge of the loch! Then that was beaten by the four stags Clare spotted photogenically staring at us from the ridge line! Then to a stone circle. We walked around it anti-clockwise bashing our way through the tick infested heather. We had decided that in doing so, it gave us 30 seconds of magic power in which Jay was able to make the rain stop! Onto a 5000 year old burial chamber contained under several hundred tonnes of boulders. Unfortunately, a sign at the bottom of the path told us that a recent collapse of the entrance had meant that the chamber had been sealed off. Jay put a head torch in his pocket. We tramped up the hill in the drizzle and gale. The burial mound really was just a huge pile of stones until we got to the east side where the entrance was. What do you know? Some naughty person had removed the wire grilled barrier leaving the entrance open. Out with the headtorch. It was a crawl to get in. The collapse was evident; just to the right of a pillar light streamed in over the rubble debris. Further in however, past the entrance, the structure looked sound (as sound as a 5000yr old structure with hundreds of tonnes of rock piled onto it could look). Jay went in followed by Cian. It's shape was similar to that of an igloo; short tunnel in, widening to a large circular room. The ceiling was made of several very thick slabs of granite stretching from one side to the other and supported on thick granite pillars. It was easily high enough for Cian to stand up. We didn't find any bones or mummified bodies but soon felt it quite important that we exited before Indiana Jones arrived! Clare acknowledged that Nia was going to head into the chambers as well but gritted her teeth and accepted it just as a good expedition photographer ought! Our final destination was a 7ft high carving of Hercules the bear. The tribute was to commemorate the pet and film-star bear who escaped from his adoring owners whilst filming on location in North Uist for an Andrex advert. He was at large for 24 days in which time the military, RAF, police from numerous areas and volunteers searched for him. A Crofter eventually spotted him on day 24 and local vets tranquillised him before he got returned to his owners. His owners by the way, looked after him like a proper pet, he lived indoors and ate with them. The husband made a name for himself by wrestling with Hercules in the ring! He seemed like a nice bear, who should have been in the wild, but who made the most of his 25 year domesticated life. Hercules (1974-2001) was buried adjacent to the carving. During our walk back to the van the midges started biting. Jay noticed they were attacking Cian's face and started to help him get rid of them. One of the midges was not a midge; it was a tick. Right on his left eyelid and already buried in. Back at the van 'operation tick removal' ensued. We think we got it all out and Cian was very gracious saying goodbye as we released the little blighter back to the wild. We had spotted the old road snaking alongside the new A road. This was good. The unused road was sure to offer us a spot for the night if we could get onto it. Sure enough we found a way in and a decent spot. There were 3 newly placed road signs along this stretch, written in both Gaelic and English. The first simply read 'Quiet', the second 25m on 'Calm' and the third 'Still'. We couldn't work out why or who might have put them there but I'm certain that in the right conditions the signs are accurate. Tonight we parked between Calm and Quiet. It seems that right between these signs there used to be another, which is long gone, but that used to read 'Symphonic Percussion Crescendo of Weather'. Clare's amazing camp culinary skills filled our bellies. Then we settled in to the van conversion and an early night.

[theverylastoption]

CHAPTER THREE

When she finally rouses from her strange dreams, she's surprised to see him sleeping on the rug next to the couch. He'd fallen asleep on the floor next to her as he used to when they were younger. She raises a brow, but says nothing, just looking at him sleep. It had been a long time since she'd seen him in repose, and he seemed a lot more innocent while asleep. There is a crease between his brows as he sleeps, as though even in his dreams he is angry, and fighting something. With a slight shift, careful not to make any sound, she leans down. Gently caressing the line betwixt his brows. She hums a gentle, "It's okay. You're safe, V." His brows unfurrow, and he seems more relaxed. The tension in his shoulders seems to release and his fists unclench. She knew they weren't friends anymore, but it seemed as though her voice brought him solace. It was lonely being a superhero. Being a villain. Being a super of any kind. She knew it all too well. Bringing anyone home put you at too much risk. You never knew if they were a sleeper, or in it for the long con. And you had to be careful what you did, and were doing at all times. Relationships were hard, and often one-sided. It was a reclusive and solitary lifestyle. It left one feeling desolate and broken a lot of the time. Extremely lonely. Hiding who you truly were. That was why she had adopted Bob. Bob had been yelling her damned head off about the outrageousness of the situation, and how dare they lock her in a cage. That she wanted to talk to the damned manager, and would be scratching her eyes out the moment she did. Confused, Brooke had followed the voice until she saw the fat cat glaring at whoever dare look at her. She had hissed with all she was worth at Brooke, and Brooke had looked her directly in the eye. "Not a happy camper?" She had asked. Do I look like I camp, human? "No, I suppose you don't. What do you do…" She had asked, while looking for the name tag. "…Bob?" I like food. And I miss my human. She died. She was old. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Were you with your human for a long time?" Brooke had inquired softly. There suddenly seemed to be a dawning realization in Bob's eyes. They narrowed abruptly, but all of her yowling had paused. I was. Ever since I was a kitten. I miss her. I'd give up all the wet food in the world just to have her back. "Ever since you were a kitten? I'm so sorry, Bob. Would you like to get out of here?" Brooke had offered quietly. Don't you want a kitten? Everyone wants a kitten. Bob seemed sad at this. No one wants an older cat… Brooke had smiled forlornly. "I need someone with a little more life experience, so no, I'd rather not have a kitten." Okay, human. Don't expect cuddles, and don't touch my back paws.

"Deal," Brooke had said, pressing her hand to the cage. The cat had sniffed her briefly and looked at her warily.

You smell different than other humans.

"Do you often talk to the other humans?" Brooke had questioned Bob.

I do, but they don't hear me like you do. Not even my old human heard me.

"Well, perhaps we were meant to meet one another then," Brooke suggests.

Whatever you say, human. Get me out of here, and I promise not to scratch your eyes out when you do.

Brooke had agreed, having bartered with the cat, and now she had someone at home to keep her company. The solitude had been destitute of warmth, and even the companionship made a huge difference. Even if Bob did wake her up stupid early.

By the second week, she had woken up to Bob curled into her side. When Bob woke up, she'd actually hissed at her, as though she'd somehow moved the sleeping fat cat beside her. Cranky little thing, but she had been wearing the cat down.

Albeit now, she knew that it was going to take a lot of wet food and a ton of treats to convince the fat cat not to smother her in her sleep. Hopefully, the baddies hadn't found her. She worries fretfully for a moment, and looks back to V.

She was feeling so much better now. And glancing through the rips in her shirt, she snorts trying to muffle her laughter at the duct tape. Stitches were such a pain in the ass to deal with. Which it seems, Victor had remembered from forever ago when she'd first gotten injured after she'd gotten her superpowers. She looks a complete disaster, and knows it, but she was alive.

If not for Victor, she may not be here right now.

Whatever was in that dart was a game-changer for all supers. She wondered if he'd stayed with her the entire time, or just finally fell asleep while waiting on her to wake up. He wouldn't like to be known for having a weak spot for her, but it went both ways. Otherwise, she never would've literally crawled to him on her hands and knees begging for help.

The reclusive lifestyle left most supers without the companionship of other supers. It made it so if they could find one, they could find the other. And so, isolation was the safer bet. How they had found her, she genuinely had no idea. She leans over and looking down with something akin to warmth, strokes her fingers down Victor's shoulder gently. She doesn't want to shake him awake.

His super strength would throw her through the danged roof, and she couldn't risk that. She may feel so much better than before, but she knew she was still weak. She realized now that there was nowhere to go. Not just yet. They knew where she lived. She'd have to collect Bob somehow, and change her identity.

"Victor," she says softly. His gray eyes open abruptly, and the pupil dilates to a pinpoint, focusing on her quickly. He makes a disgruntled sound, realizing she'd caught him in a compromising situation. He sits up abruptly, running his fingers roughly through his dark hair. "It's okay," she offers quietly. Trying not to cross any boundaries.

"Yeah, saving your ass is a fucking exhausting chore," he snaps. She smiles, a smile bereft of any amusement.

"Yeah, I genuinely have no doubt. I can't thank you enough—" She starts.

"Don't," he snarls. "Don't thank me. This is not a fucking favor. Consider it a debt," Victor says abruptly, standing and moving away from her. He glances up at her IV and seeing it empty, he looks away for a moment. She follows his eyes, and disconnects it from the top of her hand.

"A debt then. But you didn't have to, and I'm grateful-"

"Don't be. I always expect my debts repaid, and in triplicate," he narrows his eyes at her, and that dark stormy look covers his face again. His voice was like gravel. A rock slide. An avalanche. Cracking and thundering, as though the slide of gravel and large boulders from the rock slide would consume her entirely if she only dared to press her luck. She sits up, and throws her feet over the side of the couch. She catches him watching her closely as though despite the furious expression he feared that she'd collapse all over again.

"You will be repaid," Brooke says with promise in her voice. She didn't know how, but should he ever come knocking at her door as she had his, she would return the favor. She doesn't shy away from his sullen and sunken eyes. He had clearly stayed awake and watched over her, even if he was unwilling to admit it. His expression doesn't soften even in the slightest. She smiles. "Can I make you breakfast or something?"

"You can leave now, if you're able to walk," he says snarkily. This time she cringes. She has a backup place, under another name, but she can't leave like this. She looks down, and realizes she's caked in mud, blood, and only the Gods knew what else. And she can't fly like he can.

"Can I… steal your shower? Or steal some clothes at least? I think I'd, uh, attract a lot of unwanted attention the way I look right now. And I have to go and get my cat," she says simply. He scowls,

"You're going back for a fucking cat?"

"Yeah, Bob and I have a special relationship," she says defensively. He stares at her like she's grown three heads, but abruptly turns on his heel and leaves the room. She doesn't follow. She's not exactly sure what she's supposed to do. Is he just going to grab her clothes and throw them at her? Kick her out right away? She wouldn't be too surprised.

"Are you fucking coming or what?" His voice yells from deeper inside the small house. She stands abruptly, realizing she was supposed to follow, and gasps as all the blood rushes from her head.

The dizziness hits her hard, and she starts to sit down again, but he's abruptly there. His arms are wrapped tightly around her, and holding her up. "Fucking knew you weren't ready to go anywhere. There's a bench in the shower. You'll sit down there, and keep the temperature at a reasonable level, so you don't get dizzy from the heat."

He picks her up like she's a feather, which she knows she's not. He carries her through the kitchen, past a half bathroom, and moves her through the door of the master bedroom. He then carries her into a full bathroom. It's done up in a charcoal stone, with matte black faucets. Everything masculine and toned to be shadowy and mysterious. She supposed he liked that kind of thing. He places her on the bench in the enclosed glass shower.

"Sorry," she mumbles, embarrassed.

"Shut up," he snaps. He seems genuinely exhausted with her being in his bubble, and she sighs quietly. "Where is your stupid cat?"

"At Michael's. He lives a floor below me, in A1. Cops should be crawling all over the place by now though," she says as he adjusts the water temperature.

"I'll stay until we can get you in new clothes and I can cover the couch, then I expect you to stay put while I go to this Michael's and get your cat," he says, sounding more and more annoyed.

"I'm sorry," she tries again.

"Shut up," he repeats. "I'm tired of the apologies, and I'm tired of you in my space. You have a back-up place or two, right?"

"Yes," she mumbles. She feels like she's being reprimanded by a much wiser, older person than herself. She exhales in near ecstasy as she feels the warmth of the water touch the bottoms of her feet. There's even a shower bar that seems to be installed for old people in his shower.

Odd, I have the same thing at my place.

He sees her glancing at it, and he looks away.

"You're not the only one who gets injured. Sometimes, I have to hold on to something to keep myself from falling and drowning in an inch of water," he mutters. He starts pulling at the hem of her shirt. "Raise your arms."

"I can do this, y'know," she says, keeping her arms firmly at her sides. He gives her a venomous look, which dares her to question him again. She sighs, and raises her arms instead of listening to him talking down to her again. He lifts the shirt in one fluid motion, and she covers her breasts with one arm.

"Seriously, Brooke? I've been up and down your body going over wounds, lacerations with duct tape, while you were unconscious… I've seen every inch of you before when we were younger. I'm pretty sure you can handle a single shower before I loan you some of my fucking clothes," Victor says, and his voice is softer this time around.

"I just… It's been a long time since anyone's seen me naked. Except for Bob," she fills in absentmindedly. He strips off his shirt, and strips out of his pyjama pants, down to his boxers. He throws them outside the shower, and turns on the shower head. The warmth helps her relax immensely. She leans against the wall in relief as she feels all the caked mud, blood, and whatever else she was covered in slowly starts to soften and slide loose.

He chuckles in a sarcastic tone,

"I'm sure."

She doesn't say anything as he helps her pull down her pyjama pants. He leaves her white cotton panties on though, thankfully. The truth was, she hadn't been with anyone since him. That was something she didn't want to voice aloud though. She and Victor had still been together when she'd gotten her powers, and after that…. It wasn't that she was some virtuous celibate, she just didn't know how to let go or trust anyone enough to involve herself in a relationship afterwards.

She stares at the ceiling. She's sure her whole face is bright red. She avoids his eyes and sits with her hands at her sides, trying to enjoy the warmth of the water. He reaches over and says,

"Brace yourself."

"What?" She asks, abruptly alarmed.

"I have to take the tubing out from your punctured lung. It's going to suck. Brace yourself," he quips, wrapping his palm flat against her skin just below her breast. She holds her breath, and clenches her teeth, and waits. For a moment there's nothing, then she feels it. Pulling free, the tugging and harsh pain that follows with it. She groans through her clenched teeth.

"Fuck!" She curses loudly into the echo chamber of the shower. Victor actually laughs at this.

"Wow," he chuckles, pressing his hand over the wound, and holding it there. "You fucking cursed. Proud of you." He's teasing her, and she chokes back laughter mixed with pain.

"Fuck you," she mutters, glaring at him through wet pointed lashes.

"Oh, and another! Are you sure that you aren't damning yourself to hell with a tongue like that?" He narrows his eyes at her, and for a moment, she sees him as she once saw him.

"You'd be surprised what a tongue like mine can do," she quips back, still grimacing in pain. She bites down hard on her lower lip to ease the pain. His eyes are drawn there for a moment, and she catches him staring before he grumbles out,

"Put pressure on it. We don't want water in your lung. It's taking time to heal, so keep your hand on it while you bathe, or do you need my help with that, too?" His voice husky but sarcastic.

Almost sarcastic.

She watches his face closely, before looking down at the floor of the shower. He seems to notice her discomfiture and coughs to clear his voice. "I said, can you handle yourself from here on out, or am I going to have to collect an unconscious you from the floor of the shower here?" He growls out, his voice thunderous in the echo of the bathroom. She nods,

"I'll be fine, thanks. I just won't stand up if I can help it," she says in a near whisper. He nods jerkily, and stands abruptly.

"Don't stand up. If I hear you fall, we're going to have words, so don't fucking fall," Victor snaps, and exits the shower. "Call me when you're done, and I'll get you a towel." He doesn't even grab a towel for himself, he just leaves the bathroom, in his boxers. They're clinging to every muscle of that fantastic ass, and she has to physically shake her head to get focused on the task at hand.

He slams the door behind him to give her some privacy. She reaches for his body wash and awkwardly as hell, lathers herself up generously with one hand. It has a slightly honeyed woodsy scent to it. She leans back tiredly, after simply soaping herself up and takes a breather, her hand still over the hole in her flesh.

A soft-sounding ting comes from the ground and she sees one of the bullets has finally worked its way out. Well, at least she was finally healing. That was a good sign. She grabs his two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, and washes the mess that is her hair. It was much too long, and needed to be cut. It was dangerous as a superhero to have long hair, but it was the one gift she gave herself. Long blonde hair that was almost white, much like her mother's.

Nothing can get the tangles out but she doesn't care right now. Anything to get the blood and grime out would have to do. She had an entire set up at a different place in the city. She worried that those who had found her where she was before would find her again. What would Victor even say to Michael if he went to collect Bob?

She frowns into the spray, letting it run down her body. She grasps the handicap bar, still holding one hand over the wound between her ribs as she stands on weak legs. She doesn't want water in her lung or anywhere in between. Any soap would just add a problem.

"What did I fucking tell you?" Victor's voice comes out of nowhere and she squeaks in surprise. Plopping down on the bench again. "I told you not to fucking stand up!"

[windywordz]

Missing Links Are Hard To Replace

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Relationship: Prompto x Ignis x Noctis

Rating: [T] Teen

Word Count: 3969

Tags: grahic depictions of violence and injury, major character injury, mild cussing, angst, hurt/comfort, whump, crying

Summary:  Noctis, Prompto, and Ignis as making it on their own after Gladiolus leaves the group for an unexplained reason. With no idea when he will be coming back, the group decide to hang back and do some easier missions while they wait for his return. They take up the hunting request that's supposed to be relatively easy for them, but without Gladio to watch their backs, it proves much harder than they anticipated, and they begin to realize just how much they depended on their friend.

Based off of @kaciart ‘s prignoct piece where noct is getting patched up after a particularly rough injury on his back.

-Read under the cut-

The day had started out foggy, a layer of heavy humidity hanging over their campground when Prompto and Noctis had managed to slide out of their poorly-propped tent. It was hard to set up camp without Gladio, but they’d been too far out to make it to a camper or hotel before nightfall. They’d stumbled across a haven by pure luck, and clumsily put up the tent. It made them realize how much Gladio was there to help them with it, and how little they knew how to do on their own without his guidance.

Their morning was a kind of silent they’d become used to without Gladio to make the usual morning jokes or chide their late-rising; muted, but bearable. After the stunted breakfast Ignis had whipped up with their dwindling supplies, they’d packed up the Regalia and headed towards their next objective. It wasn’t too far a drive, about halfway between Galdin Quay and the outpost near Hammerhead. Something easy, as they were down on both numbers and supplies.

Prompto leaned his arm on the open window, resting his head in his hand as he watched the scenery pass by. The fog had cleared as they put distance between themselves and the sea, leaving an expanse of hard brown and dusty yellow under a beating sun.

“Not going to take any pictures of our sleeping friend?” Ignis’s voice startled Prompto out of his staring, making the blond lift his head as he turned to look at him. Ignis cocked a brow without looking at him, jutting his chin at the rearview mirror. Prompto furrowed his brow and turned back to see Noctis stretched out in the now spacious backseat, eyes hidden under his arm as the other rested on his stomach, one leg hanging off the seats while the other was bent at 90 degrees and tucked under it. A position that Prompto couldn’t understand would be comfortable, but then again, he’d personally witnessed Noctis sleep through a car wreck, so he wasn’t surprised. “Usually, you would be quite ecstatic to find such an embarrassing photo op of the prince,” Ignis continued.

Prompto turned back in his seat, smiling dryly, “Yeah, I bet Gladdy would get mad when I showed him.” There was something off in his voice, though.

Something Ignis easily caught, ever the observant one, “Something on your mind?”

“Ah, no- I mean, yeah, but like... it’s not a big deal.” Prompto stumbled over his words trying to cover himself, but he’d always been the most open-faced of all of them. He sighed when Ignis gave him an unconvinced glance when he slowed down to turn. “It just looks so empty back there. Even with Noct stretched out like that, it’s like he’s trying to fill the void rather than taking advantage of the free space.”

“You miss him,” Ignis summarized, to which Prompto nodded. “I understand. We’ve been together through so much, that now that he’s gone, it’s like a piece of us has been stripped away.” He managed to reach over with one hand and give Prom’s leg a couple of reassuring pats before returning it to the wheel. “Not to worry, though. He’ll be back before Noct gets used to all that free space.”

Prompto chuckled a bit, a little lighter, “Heh, you’re right. Then he’ll be whining about the lack of leg room even more.”

“I heard that.” Prompto turned back again to see Noct had moved his hand from his eyes enough to glare at him, which made Prompto grin.

“Aw, you’re just mad ‘cause you know I’m right.”

Noctis scoffed, returning his arm to where it was, “As if.”

When they finally made it to as far as the road would take them, Ignis pulled over and set the car in park. Their mark was about half a mile off road, past a small thicket of shrubbery and boulders. The area had been marked on their map, and they made their way there quickly. It was midday, the sun high in the sky and raining harsh sunlight over the dry ground spotted with grass. They could see the thicket up ahead, and when they heard growling, they slowed their pace and quieted their footsteps with practiced ease.

There was a behemoth that had found its way east and taken over some of the voretooth hunting grounds, disrupting the food chain of the nearby fauna as it devoured Spiracorn foals and Anak calves. It was wreaking havoc on the environment in its quest to fulfill its appetite, and it was the target of their hunt.

“We’re nearing our query, and from what I can see from here, it’s far smaller than any behemoth we’ve encountered yet,” Ignis briefed them, curling around a short tree to get a better look at the beast. “Though I don’t understand why it would rank so high on the request- Ah, I see.”

“What is it?” Noct asked, sliding a knee forward to come beside him and lean around his shoulder.

“There’s two of them,” the taller male replied, and sure enough, a second behemoth made itself visible.

“Two? But I thought there was only one!” Prompto gasped softly, blanching. “That’s it - we’re dead. We’re going to die.”

“Now is not the time for dramatics,” Ignis hushed quietly.

Noctis rolled his eyes at his friend and gave him a light shove, “Yeah, c’mon, quit bein such a whiner. We’ve faced worse before.”

Prompto threw his head back with a sigh, “Ugh, you’re right, but I still got a bad feeling about this.”

“You always have a bad feeling, Prom.”

The blond huffed, “And it’s usually right, you know! Remember the naga?” He shuddered as he remembered, and Noctis couldn’t blame him.

“Yes, well, for now, focus on trying not to get killed while taking out our targets,” Ignis said, and his words seem to put a stop sign up for argument. He then turned to Noctis, “Prompto and I will stay here and create a diversion from a distance. Noct, you circle around the other side. While the creatures are distracted by us, take out their limbs before they have a chance to counterattack.”

“Gotcha,” the dark-haired male replied, nodding once.

“Alright, good plan. We got this,” Prompto said, grinning.

Noct scoffed, “What happened to ‘we’re going to die’?”

“That statement still stands, but at least we’ll go down swinging.” He made finger guns at the other and winked, to which Noctis only rolled his eyes and quietly crawled off, making his way to the opposing side.

They waited until they saw Noctis’s shadow slip into position, and then Ignis motioned for Prompto to begin their assault. He stood and threw a Thunder spell Noctis had given him earlier, causing the area the two beasts were in to light up with electricity. Their roaring drowned out the sounds of Prompto’s shooting, but all his shots found their marks, and the larger of the two behemoths stumbled as a succession of bullets found their way into its shoulder.

Something was off, though.

Only one of the behemoths seemed affected by the spell and Prompto’s attack, snarling as it reared on them. The other one, however, had apparently been out of range of the spell and while it was angry at the surprise attack, its focus was not on them. It was on Noctis, who had been snuffed out of his hiding spot too soon. The prince clicked his tongue in frustration as he shuffled backwards, rolling low to the left to avoid the swipe of a massive paw.

“Noct!” Prompto shouted, moving to turn one of his guns towards the other behemoth. But the one he’d been firing at didn’t seem to want them to interfere with its partner’s new prey, and put itself between them, growling fiercely.

“Damn!” Ignis bit under his breath, before turning to Prompto. “Keep it busy while I ready another spell. We’ll have to take it down before we can help Noctis.”

“Ugh, this bombs!” Prompto huffed before resuming fire on the other behemoth. It roared in pain before turning itself fully towards them and charging. “Shit!” Prompto said, eyes widening in fear. Ignis wrapped an arm around his waist as he rolled to side, pulling them both out of the way before the beast barrelled past them.

“Stay focused!” Ignis shouted before turning around, standing as he did so and pulling out another spell. “Jump after I throw it or we’ll be within range!”

“Aye aye, cap’n!” Prompto yelped, scrambling to get up as Ignis threw the spell directly under the beast’s feet. It exploded, releasing another surge of intense, electrical energy that Prompto made it away from, but a bolt caught one of Ignis’s legs. It ripped through his pants and seared a burn over skin, making him hiss under his breath, though it wasn’t too bad.

“Now, Prompto! It’s weakened! Finish it off!”

“You got it, chef!” The blond resummoned his guns and quickly aimed a flurry of shots at the screaming beast’s head. The roar it gave out became something of a gargle as its legs buckled under it, and it toppled over.

“Whoo-hoo!” Prompto cheered, spinning his guns by the trigger guards. “Nailed it!”

“Not quite yet,” Ignis reminded him, turning to where Noctis was still on the defensive with the other behemoth. It had pushed him back further, away from his friends, and he continuously rolled out of the way in the open field with nowhere to warp to or take cover behind.

“Damn!” Prompto said, his face twisting in horrified realization. “He’s so far away!”

“I know, but we have to help him,” Ignis assured, forcing himself to stand, even as hot pain shot up his leg and down into his foot.

Prompto noticed when Ignis staggered, moving to brace him with a hand on both his front and back, “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, it was my own fault. Noct needs-” His reply was cut off as they heard a scream from where their friend was fighting, and both turned just in time to see the massive behemoth dig its long claws into Noctis’s back and toss him across the open field. The dark-haired male bounced and rolled for an impressive distance before sagging to a stop. He lay unmoving, which was more concerning than anything, and had the other two screaming his name as they rushed over, Ignis’s injury forgotten.

Prompto immediately started shooting at the beast, trying desperately to draw its attention as Ignis ducked under his stream of bullets and threw his last Thunder spell at the creature. It wailed as lightning coursed through its body and blackened its flesh, legs collapsing under it. Noctis had apparently weakened it considerably before it had caught him, so it was dead before the spell had fully dissipated. Ignis sprinted over to the fallen prince, Prompto hot on his heels. He knelt beside him as Prompto slid to his knees on the other side, hand hesitating just a fraction when he saw the blood staining a huge swath of his jacket, the thick leather and thin fabric of his shirt shredded to reveal a series of gouges in his back.

“No… No, he… he c-can’t be dead,” Prompto whispered, as if afraid that speaking too loudly would make his words true.

“Nonsense,” Ignis spat softly, leaning over to get a look at Noctis’s dirtied face. He gave his cheek a few paps, first soft, then a little harder to try and waken him. “Noct. Noct, wake up. Open your eyes.” They both sighed in relief when the other moaned, eyelids fluttering a bit but not opening.

“He’s alive…” Prompto sighed, falling back to sit on his legs.

“Yes, but not for long in this condition,” Ignis said, already shrugging off his jacket. “We need to stop the bleeding before we can move him to the car, or he won’t make it.”

“Can’t we just use a potion or something on him?” Prompto asked with wide eyes.

Ignis pulled in the corner of his lips marginally, “Unfortunately not. We’re running low on curatives, since we’re also low on money. We need to save all we have.” He began folding his jacket to use it as gauze, rolling Noctis fully onto his stomach to press it to his back. “If we can make it to town and claim the hunt’s reward, I can buy the proper healing supplies.”

Prompto nodded silently and watched with worried eyes as Ignis worked to stop the bleeding. Noctis whimpered and cried out as the fabric was pressed against his wounds, but still his eyes did not open. After ten minutes and one incredibly soaked jacket later, the bleeding seemed to have tapered off, and Ignis started to gently remove his jacket. “Prompto, I need you to help me carry him. We have to be as gentle as possible so as not to restart the bleeding.”

“Right…” The blond said softly, struggling to keep his voice steady as he helped Ignis pick up the injured male. “So where do we go? Galdin Guay?”

“Can’t afford it, especially if we want to buy curatives for Noct. No, we’ll make for the outpost outside of Hammerhead.”

“That’s just as far away, though!” Prompto replied, voice tinged with panic.

“I know, but it’s our best shot. And we haven’t long before the daemons start to make their appearances.”

The walk back to the car was long and slow, but eventually, they made it. The sun was already well into its descent by that point, the bright blue sky fading to a pale orange-yellow as it stretched for the distant mountains. Prompto was situated in the back with Noctis, while Ignis drove faster than Prom had ever seen him go. They managed to make it to the outpost before night truly fell, pulling up by the pumps.

Ignis was already out of the car as soon as he’d put it in park, waving a hand for Prompto to stay where he was. He briskly walked over to the innkeeper to expend the last of their funds on a hotel room. A pained groan from his side immediately stole Prompto’s attention, and he looked down to see Noctis stirring.

“Hey, buddy,” Prompto said softly, relief flooding his voice as his free hand come up to brush some of Noctis’s hair out of his dirt-covered face.

The dark-haired male gritted his teeth before his eyes blinked open slowly, “Where…?” His voice was soft, and cracked on the single-worded question.

“The outpost a few miles past Hammerhead,” the blond supplied. Noctis blinked slowly, clearly still disoriented with his surroundings before he made to push himself up. A bad move, as his face immediately split in pain and he slumped back against Prompto’s side, his chest now heaving with pained gasps. Prompto immediately put a hand over Noctis’s chest to keep him down, “Woah there! Don’t move! You’re in pretty bad shape, Noct. We need to get you fixed up before you can be up and moving around again. Noctis merely nodded, sagging into Prompto’s arm that was wrapped around his shoulders. Ignis came back just then, and his face lit up marginally when he noticed Noctis was conscious.

“Back with us, then?” Noctis moved his hooded gaze slowly over to him, and Ignis gave him a soft smile. “Come, let’s get you inside and patch you up.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Noctis gritted out. They managed to maneuver Noctis out of the car, supporting most of his weight from both sides as they made their way to their assigned room. It was a slow process, since both of them stopped whenever Noctis so much as winced or let slip a whimper of pain, but they eventually made it inside. They sat Noctis down on one of the two beds that occupied the main room, and helped him shed his torn, blood-stained jacket and shirt.

The wounds were covered in a mixture of dirt and drying blood, jagged and practically glowing a fierce red: a clear sign of infection. Ignis frowned but silently got to work nonetheless, moving to the bathroom to retrieve the bowl usually reserved for rinsing, and retrieving the rest of their supplies out of the car. Noctis seemed more awake now, and that was both a blessing and a curse, as he struggled to hold his composure through what was no doubt a monstrous amount of pain.

“Prompto,” the tallest male said softly, gaining the blond’s attention. “I need to clean his wounds before I can treat them, and I want you to just be there for him while I do it.” The youngest nodded hesitantly, turning back to look at Noctis. “The best we’ve got is the last of Gladio’s vodka he left behind. It’s… going to hurt quite a bit.” He added the last bit to Noctis, who pulled his lips to a fine line and nodded. “If you’re sure, then…”

Ignis filled the bowl with warm water, pulling out the few hand towels and draping them next to himself. He gently washed away the blood first, and could hear Noct give a shaky sigh at the more pleasant feeling. When Ignis was finished and started cleaning the open wounds with the vodka however, Noctis gasped sharply, choking on a cry as he hunched forwards. His eyes and mouth opened wide in pain, and Prompto did the only thing he could think of and grabbed one of Noctis’s hands with both his own.

“Fuuuck…” Noctis groaned, squeezing Prompto’s hand in a fierce grip as Ignis dabbed at his wound with the alcohol. Noctis actually bit his lip and choked on a sob. Hot tears rose to his eyes, spilling over and trailing down the curve of his nose.

“I know, man, I know,” Prompto hushed softly, squeezing back. He glanced over Noctis’s shoulder at Ignis, and found the eldest had a pained frown on his face, eyebrows pinched together as he worked.

“How ya doin’, Noct?” Prompto asked softly, as Ignis started applying the bandages soaked in a diluted solution of their last potion and antidote.

“Hnghh, it h-hurts...” Prompto tried to put a reassuring smile on his face, even though the other was scrunching his eyes shut and gasping through his teeth from the pain. A couple of tears fell from his skin and splashed thickly over Prompto's hands, still holding on to Noct and rubbing his thumbs over the other's knuckles.

“We got you, buddy. Just a little longer.” He tried to swallow the hard lump in his throat and take his own advice, giving Noctis’s hands another reassuring squeeze. He’d always been a sympathetic crier, so seeing the other like this made his own throat tight and his eyes bead with the beginnings of tears, and he has to blink rapidly to push them away. It’s hard to see his best friend in so much pain, but he can only imagine how hard it must be to be the one partially causing it. The blond looked over at Ignis again, but his expression had only shifted to something closer to resigned concern.

When the elder was done, they shifted Noct as gently as they could to lay on his stomach, and with Prompto carving gentle waves into Noctis’s hair, the prince fell into a broken and fitful doze. His back lay covered in patches of gauze, some of which were already spotted in new blood, and Prompto could feel his chest tightening.

“We need Gladio,” he said softly, more to himself than anything.

Ignis looked up from where he was reorganizing supplies to take care of his own injury, pausing to take in Prompto’s expression before continuing, “...Indeed. It seems his absence has left a greater wound than we’ve realized. In our struggle to compensate for his leave, we’ve been left with many openings and blind spots that Gladio has always covered.” He collected the dirtied towels and his bloody jacket, piling them to wash later. “But now that we no longer have him, it seems we’ve become far too susceptible to things we could usually handle.”

“You can say that again,” Prompto replied softly. He crested waves in his sleeping friend’s hair for another moment before he stood up. He scoffed softly, almost bitter as he felt the lump in his throat press against the walls of his trachea, “Some ‘King’s Knights’ we are.”

Ignis watched him with sad eyes as the blond disappeared into the bathroom, the soft lock almost deafening in the silence. He sighed and began using whatever was left of the potion and antidote solution on the burn strike on his leg, rolling up the torn pant leg so he could clean and treat his own wound effectively.

He finished quickly enough, and after glancing at the still-sleeping prince, decides to leave Prompto to himself for a few more minutes. He could hear the muffled sobs and choked gasps from the bathroom; the loud but ineffective bathroom fan only marginally covered them. The chef pushed himself to his feet, only limping a bit now as he makes his way to the bathroom. He knocked lightly on the door twice, and heard the other stutter and go silent.

“Prompto?” Silence. His shoulders sagged a bit before he resolved himself, knocking again as he softens his voice. “Prom, come out.”

“What are we even doing, Ignis?” Was the hoarse reply; one that caught Ignis off guard, and he slowly lowered his hand.

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean this! This whole freaking ‘adventure’ we’re on right now!” Prompto’s voice cracked and he hiccuped softly. “We’re running around in circles day in and day out, hardly making any progress on finding Lady Luna or figuring out how to stop the Empire. Gladio up and just left us with no explanation or even when he was coming back. And neither of us could stop Noct from getting hurt today on a mission that was supposed to be easy!” He choked a bit on the last part, cutting off his rant, and he fell silent.

The older male waited a breath before responding, “I know. Things seem rather tough right now, but we’ll pull through.” Ignis lowered his gaze to the floor, shifting his weight off his injured leg. “We’ll make it on our own long enough for Gladio to come back and we’ll start making headway on taking down the Empire. Everything takes time.” He tried to smile just a bit at the locked door, “And while we may not always be well and running, we’ll always have each other.”

More silence broken by the occasional sniffle from the other side of the door, until Ignis heard some shifting and shuffling before the lock unclicked. He stepped back as Prompto pulled the door open, red-rimmed eyes downcast as he wiped the back of his hand over his eyes.

Ignis gently reached down and slid his fingers over Prompto’s limp wrist, “We’ll be alright, you’ll see. For now, though, you need just as much rest as the rest of us if we’re to keep going until Gladio comes back.” Prompto merely nodded stiffly and let himself be lead back to the bed Noctis was sleeping on. He pulled off his boots and shed his vest before he rolled onto the bed, sagging against it as he realized just how tired he was, and closed his eyes.

Ignis’s fingers threaded their way into his hair, and Prompto hummed softly, curling in a bit on himself as he turned towards Noctis. He was out within minutes, his breathing gentle and deep, and Ignis let himself finally breathe a sigh of relief. He limped over to the other bed and sat down, letting the tension drain from his body as he removed his own shoes. He gingerly placed his injured leg on the bed before scooting further onto it and let himself lay down. He barely remembered to take off his glasses and place them on the adjacent pillow, thinking of what meal he would make for Noctis when he woke, before sleep washed over him like the blackest night.

[wanderlust-journal]

Down East #1

Mid-summer in Maine and the campground is empty but for three other sites, although the tall fat fella in the white van with a hound dog drove out this morning. Perhaps he’s moving on? Another couple in the big sand colored tent drove by shortly after and it’s not even 8.30. Maybe I’m alone then? Is anyone else around? Time to explore, well, after the morning coffee on the rocks. Rocks on the coast, solid sit-upon boulders, smooth under bum, and slippery under paws (Harold’s).

I’ve been up for hours, the light wakes us around 5am, the lobster trawlers thunder by, deep and low in the water as I sit on those rocks with a plain coffee. The fog is so thick this morning that the boats are invisible even though voices talk back and forth over the rumble of engine and waves, tides and eddies.

McClellan Park campground is a little known hideaway right on the ocean with ten sites for campers and tents. The road down is winding and narrow through dense woodland but easy on the vehicle, just tight, there’d be no room for anything bigger than a Sprinter. We pull off to let a sedan pass on the way up, and the couple tells me to claim number twelve.

“It’s open, a nice little bit of meadow, and just the other side of the trees is the shore.” She’s missing a tooth up front in that cheery smile of hers, and her husband says something unintelligable. They wave me off. My new neighbors.

We camped in number twelve as directed with a hundred feet of mown grass, a ring of birch trees and the sound of the incoming tides on the rocks. The fire kept us warm although the wood Dennis, the caretaker, sold ended up being damp and green. That couple I’d mentioned though, they brought me some dry wood one morning.

“I was worried you’d be cold, that other stuff doesn’t put out much heat, does it? Here you go, your cat came by this morning. I saw him in the trees, shy isn’t he? Yes, I told Jerry we needed to bring you some wood, get you warm. It’s chilly today. They say it’ll rain tonight so cover up your stuff, won’t you?”

She’s in striped loose pajama pants, a pink checkered long sleeved shirt, and another purple layer over her shoulders, quite a colorful thick-set woman in her sixites. Her frizzled hair is held back by bright red plastic clips. Jerry wears work boots, pressed blue jeans, and a sweatshirt with Vietnam Veteran in bold white letters. His front teeth are missing, his tongue swallows his words, and his grin is like a ten-yer-old boys, all mischief and innocence. He’s about the same size too, wiry, compact, small as a pre-teen.

“You have to visit Jonesport, it’s pretty. My sister lives in Millbridge, that’s why we come here. We only live an hour away but love camping here each summer. Columbia Falls too, that’s a stop if you’re heading to Eastport. South of here, go see the ferris wheels on the beach. Jerry here was on stage for July 4th. He’s an Elvis impersonator.”

Millbridge is an odd little town in US 1, with very little by way of tourism, just a couple of stores, a diner and a mexican take-out, just what we want on the ocean, mexican food, right? I don’t find anywhere to get clam chowder, a sudden craving on these grey days. There’s a laundromat, library, bank, and a couple of churches, but no cafes or brew pubs that I can see. Bummer. I’ll not be staying here too long then. The supermarket undercharges me for the beer and I say nothing but feel guilty for a moment, and again as I write this. Oh well. I have worse regrets.

The shore is rough with a deep sudden drop from brown-stained rocks into swilling waves below. My brain imagines Harold slipping in and that fear that comes, knowing I’d jump in to save him. Probably kill us both. But I’d have to. It’s Harold. Fuck. “Get away from there!” I startle us both, he slips but not into the Atlantic.

We walk in the mornings, early, mid, late. We walk in the afternoons, every hour or so I jump up from book or laptop, “let’s go, guys.” All three pets bounce up, two dogs and a cat, and off through the trees we go, over the rocks, I sit on the grass to the east of this path and lean back. I can spend hours staring out over the ocean. This calm rejuvinates me, brings me back to myself, and reminds me of the Gower Coast in Wales. The grey skies with occassional bursts of sunshine. The salt on my skin. The damp air curling my hair. I wish there was a way to live on the coast like this, wake up each morning to stare out over the horizon and daydream in the cool breeze off the ocean. Can I? Make this a goal of mine? Why not? Or perhaps just drive along coastlines for the rest of my life? I could do that.

My brain ticks over, the lists, the stressors, all that needs to be taken care of in the next few weeks. Instead of tackling any of this increasing number of projects and the relevant details, I make another cuppa. This is the week before I move in finally to a rental apartment in Montpelier, start work, and then college. This is problably the last break for a while. It’s time to explore then, isn’t it? So we do. We do. Gratefully.

Mosquitos follow my everywhere but the DEET works well, not that I’d want to live with it on me year in, year out. But who cares about a few weeks here and there? Toxic crap I know but it works. When I go pee though, that was a problem.

McClellan campground costs only ten dollars per site and another five for a generous bundle of (green) firewood. There’s a shower, potable water, trash cans, and a friendly host who lives near by. Yes, come here. Yes, stay a while. Millbridge is within reach of a bunch of interesting smaller villages, one’s you wouldn’t normally come across on you trip across US 1. The camping has been here since 1946, Dennis tells me, but the State only just realized it, so came a knocking over winter, demanding a licence fee, a few changes, and less sites. Dennis just took down a couple of numbers but left the picnic tables and still mows the grass in those numberless places.

“There, done.” He grins, his eyes wrinkle in mischief, “And they left. Not so bad after all. It might help that the Chief of Police runs this place and threatened the guy, but what do I care? Oh, if this fog eases up, tonight we’re meant to be able to see the Northern Lights!”

The fog only thickened though so I went to bed by nine, curled up in the camper with Harold on the front seat, Rosie in her crate (door open) and Stevie the cat at my feet, looking out the sliding window, gazing upon squirrels. We sleep deeply.

Such utter calm and peace here, looking out over the Altlantic, I’m dreaming of a retreat, a time in a cabin on the waterfront, a deck, some shade, a place to swim, to walk the dogs, and days of peace to read, write, and create more. Yes. I’ll get right on it. Right after I finish my three years of the MFA.

Next though, it’s Down East/ Up North. Time to find the eastern most town on the United State’s coastline. There’s a brewery there.

Down East in Maine: back after 28 years Down East #1 Mid-summer in Maine and the campground is empty but for three other sites, although the tall fat fella in the white van with a hound dog drove out this morning.

[canvas-of-dreams]

The Hallowed Ground: Chapter Two

By nightfall, I'd eaten, slept and woken up again. After packing up camp I blew my silent whistle for Talu, who had been awake hunting for a while. 'Time to go,' I said, and off we went under the cover of night. It was the moon's turn to guide me, my other friend. Her gaze gleamed pearly beauty on the world below. We walked towards our destination, stopping by a stream to drink, and then pressed on. Talu's eyes scanned, almost like a shimmer, over the landscape around us. She was my greatest help, hearing things before I did, seeing them from a good way off. Without her, travelling wouldn't be half as easy as it was. My hand brushed my dagger fastened to my thigh. Sometimes I'd fasten it around my waist and have it along my lower back, but my thigh was preferred. I could check it was there, to comfort myself. Night wandering was dangerous for other reasons compared to the day. It was halfway to the destination that we encountered one of these reasons.

We heard the voices before was saw them. Men, I think a few women too, said Talu, and I crouched down beside her in the cover of the undergrowth. We could see them at the bottom of a steep slope to a forest path. They couldn't see us from here and wouldn't hear us either. 'What are they doing? What are they saying?'

I need to get closer to know. We have enough cover to go down.

We slid silently down the slope, sticking close to the dirt. Hiding behind ancient trees, we listened. Whatever was happening wasn't good.

The soldiers have captured these women. Nefarious purposes I assume. They are Silver Army men. The women, Adalans. I can tell by the accent. From here we heard a panicked shriek, and I immediately looked to see what was happening. The moon let me see it all. It looked as though they had set up camp along the side of the path in a clearing, and the soldiers weren't being gentlemen.

They are putting up a fight. Nothing terrible has happened yet.

'But we should stop them, help the women go free.'

And how do you suppose we do that? There are too many of them and too many women to get out of here safely. Talu looked ahead, and I sighed. She was right, but I couldn't let this happen. These women were probably from nearby. They were probably captives from some village that refused to submit to the Argyros Order's rules. Asides from that, soldiers are not gentlemen and even gentlemen sin. These women were prizes to them. 'We have to try. I think I have an idea.'

I took us some time to get down the slope and stay out of view of the campers, but we eventually made it round to the back and darker side of the camp. Looking at the sky, dawn was still a good distance away. We had time. Talu waited on one side in the dark, and I on the other. I would go in and tell the women to run to the nearest town or village, not to stop till dawn and to keep going until safety. Talu would distract the soldiers, using her fierce appearance to stir them into action. She would be too quick for them to catch and too large for them to want to mess with. She had dealt with far worse than infantrymen like these.

From what I saw, there were three male soldiers, and five captives, three women and two girls my age or a bit younger, presumably daughters. It wasn't my responsibility to see them home, only to set them free and get them running. I'd have to escape the soldiers later if they caught onto me. Creeping up to the women as the soldiers slept, I revealed myself. They gasped, but I gestured for them to stay silent. 'I'm here to rescue you. Do exactly as I say.' They nodded, clearly glad that sleep hadn't come to them on a night as horrible as this.

'I'm going to untie you now. In a minute, I will blow a whistle to signal my mountain cat to rouse the soldiers. She will attack them and that is when you run. Run, and don't stop until you are at safety, do you understand?'

'Thank you,' said one of the women. I noticed a bruise on her cheek, and my heart pounded harder. These women had done their best to get away. I knew that many women didn't make it out. I smiled at her and looked over to see if Talu was there. When I sensed her, I cut the bounds on the women's wrists and ankles and told them to get ready. I concealed myself, making one of the girls gasp again, and blew the silent whistle. Out of the darkness on the other side of the camp pounced Talu with a bellowing growl, jolting the men awake. 'I thought you were on watch!' yelled one of them to a younger man.

'I was!' he yelled back, shaking in terror at the beast only five feet away from him. Clearly, he wasn't, I thought, and set the women off running. The men were too distracted by Talu to notice that their captives had gone free. Time for the second phase of the plan. I had to get Talu out of there before they might've hurt her. She was doing a good job at swatting them away, their weapons fairly useless. She growled, hissed, nearly striking them at times with her powerful front paws. I knew what I had to do. I began my chant.

'Let dark hearts suffer the pain they give out,

Let the hunter be the hunted,

The snare-setter becomes entrapped,

The abuser will be punished.

Poison of ivy, venom of snake,

What these men give, they shall take.' Then I touched the ground before me and watched the results with a grin.

Out of the ground sprung vines, grabbing hold of the weapons and flinging them out of reach, then coiling around the men's limbs, constricting. The screams of horror rang out through the forest. Talu abandoned her attack and ran into the darkness again. Soon, three vines curled into S's and as they took their form, shifted into dark green snakes with wine-dark eyes, taunting each of the men. I knew what would follow and walked away. No evidence would be left by morning... not even the bodies.

••••••••••••

We reached the letter-hold at daybreak, a concealed crevice in a rockface. No one passing by would even think that anything was there. That was partly to do with enchantment, but also to do with its well-thought location. I left Talu to nap, and climbed up the boulders to the crevice, then slid through the seemingly invisible gap. Inside was a chamber carved by nature, its purpose as ancient as the nomads that lived in Adala thousands of years ago. Carvings they had left were seen on the walls, paintings faded by time. Light poured in through a small hole in the ground above. From up there, it must've seemed like burrow.

How the Society sent letters was a little bit of magic. There would be messengers who would move letters from one location to another at different points in the year. They would do this so that if someone couldn't, for whatever reason, pick up a letter at one hold, they would find it at the next. Of course, the messengers took messages directly if urgent or containing private information, but for the sake of moving letters around in an organised and predictable system, this was functional too. Maybe members of the society were spies and had to be on the move constantly. We all knew when the letters were moved, because in each message the sender would write a code indicating the pattern of movement. I knew that this letter would first arrive here because of when the last one was sent, I also knew that if I missed this one, the next location would be near the city of Adolis due to the code. The code on the front of the letter would tell you and the messenger what box your letter had to go in. This meant that everyone got the right letters. I looked at the code on the last letter. I'd deciphered it when I received it. 'Box 21,' I sighed, and read the symbols on the walls. 21 was the snow monkey. 'Snow monkey, snow monkey...' when I found it, I placed my hand on the rock and tried to find the key slot. It was on the monkey's belly. I took out my dagger and slid it into the key slot. With a click, the rock slid to the side. I told you that how the Society sent letters was a little bit of magic.

My letter was inside, the seal still Cassius's. But as I pulled the letter out, something fell on the ground. In the pale light, I saw a coin. Not just any coin: one for the Circle of Elders, the Society's highest-ranking officials. On the front of the letter was no writing to decipher other than the location of this box. There was no further destination. Something wasn't right about this at all. After opening the seal, I began to read.

Dear Tayn,

We are in trouble. The Society has fallen apart. There is not much I can write in this, but your brother and some old friends, are on my side. People are hunting the members of the Society down, and many believe that you are still alive. Be careful. My location will be where you expect it.

I ask you to join me now, in the fight against the AO, in the fight to reunite the Society. There is corruption everywhere we go, you know it as well as I do. I know you want to do the right thing. I know you want to use your gifts for good.

Remember: I am where you expect me to be.

Cassius.

That thorn in my heart thrust deeper now, and my thoughts raced. Adala was crumbling. The Society had crumbled. Even Cassius, the perfect leader, was in hiding, terrified for first time in his life. As much as I hated him, he was right. I couldn't let the corruption I'd seen in the last four years carry on any longer. I wanted to fight, it's all I'd ever trained to do. These gifts of mine, my instructors used to say, were a responsibility as much as a blessing.

In that moment, a plan planted itself in my head, and there was no turning back.

[asfeedin]

‘There are some camps that are more than prepared to do this:’ Will kids across America have to cancel camp this summer?

This summer, camps could be scrapping color wars, ditching field trips and reducing the number of kids sleeping in each bunk.

That is, if camp is even happening this summer.

The coronavirus outbreak has already shuttered this summer’s Olympics, various concerts, Fourth of July events and New York City’s public pools. Many Americans are calling off their vacation plans too. Almost half (48%) of consumers say they’re cancelling their summer plans, according to a 1,201-person survey.

So will day camps and sleep-away camps join the growing list of cancellations?

That’s something millions of cooped-up kids and parents want to know — not to mention the members of a camping industry that’s worth approximately $18 billion, according to the American Camp Association, a trade group for the nation’s camps.

“Camp, right now, is truly very much up in the air,” said Ron Hall, executive director of Maine Summer Camps, a professional organization for more than 140 camps in the state.

“ Some modifications could include fewer kids per bunk and requirements that specialists wipe down and sanitize equipment between periods. ”

As the coronavirus pandemic shuts down businesses across the country and infectious-diseases experts weigh the likelihood of a second wave in the fall, parents and camp counselors are waiting for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention to offer guidance on when and how it will be safe to return to group activities like camp, where kids and adult staff are often in close quarters.

The federal public-health agency’s guidance is important because many state and local health authorities, which issue camps’ operating licenses, take their cues from what the CDC says, Hall explained.

In the meantime, many Maine camps are planning for three scenarios, Hall said. The first is a normal summer, the second is a shortened season and the third is closing down for the 2020 summer.

Some camps are weighing how they can incorporate social-distancing tactics into the experience, he said. Other possibilities are nixing inter-camp competitions, calling off field trips and avoiding all-camp gatherings. It could also mean fewer kids in bunks and fewer people in the dining hall at any one time, Hall said.

Don’t miss:This is what air travel could look like in a post-coronavirus world

“There are some camps that are more than prepared to do this, and other camps where it would be very difficult,” Hall said, citing maintenance costs and facilities.

Joey and Lori Waldman, the owners and directors of Camp Blue Ridge, a sleep away camp in Clayton, Ga., are also drawing up contingency plans and grappling with the same questions of what social distance camping looks like.

Some modifications this year could include fewer kids per bunk and requirements that specialists wipe down and sanitize equipment between periods, Joey Waldman said. Field trips would be off the table and staff would have to stay on-site, even when they are off duty, he added. The camp has 250 acres, so that’s a lot of space for campers and staff to spread out, he noted.

“ ‘If we don’t feel it’s safe, we have to commit to what we feel is right.’ ”

— Joey Waldman, co-owner and director of Camp Blue Ridge

Waldman’s state is in the center of the reopening-the-economy debate, as Georgia Governor Brian Kemp tries to get the state’s economy back up running soon. He is planning on creating hand-washing stations, replete with hand sanitizer and, instead of meals being buffet style, one staffer would bring over a camp group’s food.

Kemp is allowing gyms, hair salons and bowling alleys to get back to business on Friday, so long as they follow certain requirements. Movie theaters can start selling tickets and restaurants can go to limited dining as of Monday under the timetable. Some critics, however, say that’s too soon and will lead to a rise in more COVID-19 infections and fatalities.

For now, Waldman’s getting ready to open up, but prepared to close if he thinks it’s ultimately the best idea. “If we don’t feel it’s safe, we have to commit to what we feel is right,” he said. If the camp, a family business for five decades, closed for the summer, Waldman said it would be tough but, “we would make due.”

‘An endless list of things’

It’s been a tough spring for many students. There are 50.8 million public-school students and another 5.8 million private-school students, according to the Department of Education.

Almost 40 states have closed their physical schools to slow the spread of COVID-19 and that’s affected 40.7 million public students, according to Education Week, a media outlet focused on education matters. The camping industry serves approximately 20 million kids, according to the American Camp Association, a non-profit professional association offering camp accreditation.

“ ‘These kids have been isolated socially, educationally.’ ”

— Ron Hall, executive director of Maine Summer Camps, a professional organization for more than 140 camps in the state.

“These kids have been isolated socially, educationally,” Hall said. “Now, more than previous years” camp could be a valuable bridge between “where we are now and where their lives are normally in the fall.”

Furthermore, many camps have big financial pressure to make this season happen, Hall noted. “If camps can’t open, there will be Maine camps that cannot survive unless there really good financial support from the state and federal government.” Maine camps generate $220 million annually in direct and indirect support for the state’s economy, between employment, construction, restaurants and insurance fees, he noted.

Yet camps everywhere have to balance all those concerns with ensuring a place that’s safe for kids and staff, Hall emphasized.

There are all sorts of open questions now, Hall said, from the big picture to details like how often to wipe down bathrooms and water fountains. “It’s an endless list of things that need be considered.”

That list could end up costing camps more money if they have to build more bunks and hire more staff to supervise smaller groups. So will more camp expenses equal bigger costs for families?

“The camps I talked to are saying if there are additional expenses, they are not going to increase tuitions,” said Hall. Tuitions for the camps in Hall’s group range from $200 a week to $15,000 for the summer. Camps would give pro-rated refunds for shortened sessions, he said.

“The big unknown” is what testing requirements will be, and whether camps will have to foot the bill, Hall noted.

Five weeks at Camp Blue Ridge costs $5,900 and seven weeks cost $7,900. If the camp had to shorten its season, Waldman said he would either reimburse tuition on a pro-rated basis, or apply the remainder to next season. If he had to pay for more supplies and staff to meet new guidelines this summer, Waldman said he would not pass that price onto parents.

“ Camps are working on their contingency plans as they wait for more information from the CDC and other public-health authorities. ”

The CDC is still working on guidance “specific to where people live, work, learn, pray and play in order to help communities ‘reopen’ as safely as possible during this unprecedented COVID-19 pandemic,” a spokeswoman said.

Camps are working on their contingency plans as they wait for more information from the CDC and other public-health authorities, the American Camp Association said in a statement. “We expect to have more information to share by early May regarding the future status of camp operations,” it said.

Some camps aren’t waiting on public health officials.

Stuart Jones, the owner and director of Outpost Summer Camps, a San Diego, Calif. day camp, announced earlier this month his camp would be skipping the 2020 season.

Families could get their money back, donate the money to a fund for campers who otherwise couldn’t afford to attend or apply the money to the 2021 season. One-third chose to either donate it to the fund or apply the deposit to next summer, he said.

“ ‘We feel it’s more responsible for our camp, the way we run our camp, to close for the season.’ ”

— Stuart Jones, president of Outpost Summer Camps in San Diego, Calif.

“We feel it’s more responsible for our camp, the way we run our camp, to close for the season,” he told MarketWatch. The camp, which usually serves 1,500 kids, was “the opposite of social distancing,” Outpost Summer Camps said on its website.

Tommy Feldman, the founder and director of the 135-acre Camp Granite Lake near Boulder, Colo., announced the camp’s 2020 closure earlier this week.

He obtained a small business loan through the $2 trillion stimulus bill, and after that, he’ll skip his salary for a year and his staff will take a one-third pay cut. But the decision was “straightforward” considering the risk, Feldman said.

“I think the families that really want us to run are going to forgive us for cancelling. But the families that don’t want us to run would never forgive us,” he added.

Back in Georgia, Waldman said he understands the decisions other camps are making. “We’re not at that phase. We want to plot the course,” he said.

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Tags: America, article_normal, arts, CAMP, camps, cancel, consumer goods, hospitality, Kids, leisure, prepared, Sports, Summer

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[survival0001-blog]

10 Amazing True Survival Stories Too Incredible To Be Real

New Post has been published on https://outdoorsurvivalqia.com/awesome/10-amazing-true-survival-stories-too-incredible-to-be-real/

10 Amazing True Survival Stories Too Incredible To Be Real

These true survival narratives will leave you in awe of the unbelievable human spirit and sheer will to survive whatever the odds.

RELATED: A Story of Personal Survival | Survival Lessons From The Field

In this article :P TAGEND

Ricky Megee Joe Simpson and Simon Yates Aron Ralston Mauro Prosperi Douglas Mawson Marina Chapman Amanda Berry, Gina DeJesus, and Michelle Knight Andes Plane Crash Survivors Sully Sullenberger and the Crew and Passengers of U.S. Airways Flight 1549 The Chilean Miners

True Survival Stories: Narratives of Surviving the Impossible

1. Ricky Megee

We’ve watched survival movies you wouldn’t suppose possible in real life until you come across well-documented true survival stories from random people.

In 2006, employees in a cattle station in one of the most remote the sectors of Australia came upon a man named Ricky Megee. He claimed to have been stranded in the Australian outback for 70 days.

Megee said the last thing he recollected was his vehicle breaking down during his cross-country drive. There is some speculation that he was the victim of a violent assault during which he was perhaps medication. When he gained consciousness, he realise his demise.

For over two months, Megee survived on only frogs, serpents, lizards, and the water he found in a nearby dam. He lost over half his body weight upon rescue.

Check out the Geo TV video below via AwKahoot to find out more about Ricky Megee’s survival narrative :P TAGEND

2. Joe Simpson and Simon Yates

Together with Joe Simpson, Simon Yates climbed Siula Grande in 1985, via the hitherto unclimbed west face. On the descent, Simpson fell through a cornice, breaking his right leg and heel.

To continue descending, Yates then utilized ropes to lower Simpson down the mountain in stages. While descending in the night in bad weather, Yates lowered Simpson over an unseen cliff edge.

This meant that he was hanging over a deep fissure with only Simpson’s hold on the rope to prevent him falling. To avoid falling off the mountain himself, Yates cut the rope.

Simpson thus fell approximately 50 feet into the fissure. He survived the autumn, unbeknownst to Yates, who presumed he died.

Simpson managed to climb out of the crevasse and reached base camp four days later. Some mountaineers were very critical of Yates’ decision to cut the rope on his partner.

Yates argued that he could not rely upon an army of people to help since they were far on the mountain flank with a raging cyclone in progress.

Despite this decision, his rescue try contributed significantly to saving Simpson’s life. Simpson has always vehemently defended Yates, saying he would have done it himself given the same position.( via Wikipedia)

Watch Today’s interviews with Simpson and Yates below for their true survival narratives in this video by the World Expeditions :P TAGEND

3. Aron Ralston

In 2003, a young climber named Aron Ralston set out to conquer Bluejohn Canyon in Utah. When an 800 -pound boulder changed, Ralston observed himself trapped against the canyon wall with his hand crushed under the boulder.

After six days of what he calls” sleep-deprived, meandering thinks ,” Ralston built the difficult decision to use his multitool to amputate his own limb and free himself. He then repelled to safety.

Ralston’s story inspired the movie 127 Hours. Learn more about his survival narrative in the video below by TLC via Sirtoppim :P TAGEND

4. Mauro Prosperi

In 2014, an Italian athlete named Mauro Prosperi set out to complete the Marathon des Sables — a brutal six-day run in the Sahara desert. By day four, he was making good time in the race( he was in fourth place) and had begun to fall in love with the desert landscape.

Prosperi’s luck changed when he found himself in the middle of an eight-hour sandstorm that left him disoriented, lost, and alone.

With just a few furnishes and MREs on hand, and after trying and failing to catch the attention of two pas aircrafts, Prosperi survived for 10 days by drinking his own distilled urine and eating bats.

Learn more about his amazing survival tale by watching the video by 20 th Century Fox below :P TAGEND

5. Douglas Mawson

Douglas Mawson is now an Australian hero due to his historic Antarctic exploration mission in the early 20 th century. According to Cracked.com :P TAGEND

On December 14, 1912, Mawson and his two colleagues, Belgrave Ninnis and Xavier Mertz, were returning to base after successfully not dying for a few days … when Ninnis fell into a fissure, dragging their sledge, their renders, and most of their puppies down with him. They were around 310 miles from home.

Eventually, Mertz died from cold and exhaustion, leaving Mawson to soldier on alone … Then, unbelievably( or perhaps entirely believably ), Mawson’s sledge get wedged in the snow.

He also fell into a crevasse, where he” dangled helplessly above the abyss, with his sledge behind him edging towards the lip .”

After pulling himself up from a frozen grave and surviving 32 days in the harshest environment on countries around the world, Mawson ultimately reached his hut.

He was then told that he would have to wait 10 more months in Antarctica. The ship meant to take him back home had sailed off only a few hours earlier, believing him dead.

Learn more about Mawson’s journey and survival in the video below by Today I Found Out :P TAGEND

RELATED: Man Survives Yukon Winter in Camper Van

6. Marina Chapman

Of all the true survival stories here, Marina Chapman’s story might be the most unique and unbelievable. True survival narratives in the wilderness don’t get any more amazing than this.

Though there is some speculation that her survival tale may be untrue or embellished, Chapman states she was kidnapped from her Colombian village. At four years old, she was then abandoned in the jungle.

Unable to fend for herself, she began to follow a group of capuchin monkeys. She said, they “raised” her rescue by hunters around age 10.

During her time in the jungle, Chapman took shelter in trees and lived off of wild berries and bananas. After her rescue, Chapman says she was sold to a brothel and lived as a street urchin.

She was also enslaved by a mafia family before finally adopted around age 14.

Do you think her survival narrative is true? Check out the video by Buzz Sourse below :P TAGEND

7. Amanda Berry, Gina DeJesus, and Michelle Knight

Between 2003 and 2004, Ariel Castro kidnapped these three young women in Cleveland. They expended the next ten years captive in his home.

They suffered harsh living conditions, starvation, and physical, psychological, and sexual abuse. One of them( Amanda Berry) was even impregnated by Castro and dedicated birth to a daughter during her captivity.

In 2013, Berry’s young daughter “ve noticed that” her father’s car was not in the driveway and alerted her mom. Acting fast, Berry grabbed the child and ran out into the street, crying for help.

She called 911 from a neighbor’s telephone, and the three women were finally rescued. These women’s story is a true evidence to how much a human being can withstand and just how strong the will to live is.

Watch this interview by BBC Newsnight with two of the kidnapping survivors below :P TAGEND

8. Andes Plane Crash Survivors

Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571 was a chartered flight carrying 45 people, including a rugby union team. With them also were their friends, household, and associates.

The plane crashed in the Andes on 13 October 1972, in an incident known as the Andes flight disaster. In the Hispanic world and South America, it is also known as the Miracle in the Andes( El Milagro de los Andes ).

More than a quarter of the passengers died in the crash and several others rapidly succumbed to cold and injury. Of the 27 who were alive a few days after the accident, another eight died because of an avalanche that swept over their shelter in the wreckage.

Rescue came for the last 16 survivors on 23 December 1972, more than two months after the accident. The survivors had little food and no source of heat in the harsh conditions at over 3,600 metres( 11,800 ft) altitude.

Faced with starvation and radio news reports that search and rescue stopped, the survivors fed on the dead passengers preserved in the snow.

Rescuers did not learn of the survivors until 72 days after the crash when passengers Nando Parrado and Roberto Canessa, after a 10 -day trek across the Andes, discovered Chilean arriero Sergio Catalan.

He then, devoted them food and alerted the authorities to the existence of the other survivors.( via Wikipedia)

Watch this video documentary about the Andes Plane Crash by History Channel via ro7477 :P TAGEND

9. Sully Sullenberger and the Crew and Passengers of U.S. Airways Flight 1549

On January 15, 2009, U.S. Airways flight 1549 took off from LaGuardia airport in New York, heading for Charlotte, North Carolina. After just a few minutes, the plane struck a flock of geese, causing both engines to fail.

In an act of gallantry, quick reasoning, and exceptional airmanship, the pilot, “Sully” Sullenberger alerted air traffic control that he would be landing the plane on the Hudson River.

And he did just that, saving the lives of his entire crew and all 150 passengers on board the plane.

Learn more about the historic flight in the video below by AIRBOYD :P TAGEND

10. The Chilean Miners

The 2010 Copiapo mining accident, also known then as the” Chilean mining accident”, began in the afternoon of Thursday, 5 August 2010 as a significant cave-in at the distressed 121 -year-old San Jose copper-gold mine.

The interred humen, who became known as” Los 33″ (” The 33″ ), procured themselves trapped 700 meters( 2,300 ft) underground and about 5 kilometers( 3 mi) from the mine’s entrance via spiraling underground service ramps.

The mixed crew of experienced miners and technical support personnel, with less experience working underground, survived for a record 69 days deep underground before their rescue.( via Wikipedia)

The video below by CBS tells the astounding tale of the Chilean miners’ survival and rescue :P TAGEND

It’s truly amazing what human beings are capable of under pressure. We don’t truly know what we’re able to withstand or how far we’re willing to go to survive until we’re in a situation where we don’t have a choice.

Do you have an inspiring #survival tale to share? Tell us about it use the hashtag #truesurvival!

— Survival Life (@ SurvivalLF) April 12, 2016

The truth is, most of us will never be in these kinds of survival situation, but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t prepare. By learning from these inspirational tales of survival, we attain ourselves better survivalists. Try to learn some sea, dessert, or jungle survival abilities before you find yourself in a survival situation.

Do you have other unbelievable survival tales to share? Do share it with us in the comments segment below!

Up Next:

True Survival Tales: The Miracle In the Andes True Stories Of Survival: The Shackleton Antarctic Disaster 7 Military Disaster Survival Tips | Survival Life

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Editor’s Note: This post was originally published on June 28, 2018, and has been updated for quality and relevancy.

Read more: survivallife.com

[travelingtheusa]

NEVADA

1 Jan 2018 (Mon-New Year’s Day) – We went to Adam & Diane’s house to pick up our mail that was forwarded there.  Adam took us to his BNB house a few blocks away.  Although he has many regulations to contend with, the house is nice and they are making good money with it.

     We stopped at the Road Kill Grill for lunch.  It is a meat processing place that also sells barbecue food.  It’s a kind of run-down, dirty looking dive but the food is excellent.  Guy from Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives has been there.  They also accept venison and other game hunters donate that they feed to the hungry.  

     On the way back, we stopped at the drug store so I could pick up some more drugs.  Nothing seems to be touching this thing.  I am feeling better but still congested.  I don’t look forward to the plane ride to New York tomorrow.

 31 Dec 2017 (Sun-New Year’s Eve) – We met Joan & Pete and their friends at Trattoria Italia for dinner.  The food was very good and quite plentiful.  Afterward, we all drove to Joan & Pete’s where we had snacks, drinks, and pleasant company.  We wound up playing Rummy Cube while watching the ball drop in Times Square back home in New York.  It was SO cold!  They said it was 11 degrees with a wind chill factor making it feel like minus 4! Brrrrrrrr.  

      We left the condo at 10 and returned to the campground.  We watched the festivities in Las Vegas on TV until the fireworks went off for midnight.  We kissed and went to sleep.  Another year down.

 30 Dec 2017 (Sat) – We hung around the camper all day.  I was feeling so lousy, I didn’t want to do anything. I sure hope this virus clears up before I have to leave for New York on Tuesday.

 29 Dec 2017 (Fri) – I am still feeling crappy, but better than yesterday.  The cold seems to be moving into my chest.  We’ll see how this thing goes.

     We did the laundry today.  Paul put the new pads on the RV that we bought each other for Christmas.  Other than that, it was a quiet, uneventful day

28 Dec 2017 (Thu) – We ran some errands today – got fuel in the truck, picked up some gifts for our grandsons for me to take back to New York, went food shopping, and even enjoyed lunch at the Cracker Barrel.  We also went to Bass Pro Shops to buy some hiking boots for me.  I found some snow boots on sale.  Since New York is having a really cold winter blast, I figured I would want to have them with me next month.

 27 Dec 2017 (Wed) – I have been sick with an ever increasing cough and congestion.  I felt so bad today, I didn’t go anywhere.  Paul ran out to pick up some propane because we ran out overnight.  The temperatures have been really cold at night, falling to the mid-30s.  

 26 Dec 2017 (Tue) – We met Joan & Peter at Vegas Image at 1 p.m.  Taking Devin with us, we drove to the strip and parked at the Luxor.  We all walked through casinos and rode the monorails to look at the Christmas decorations.  Sadly, there weren’t many Christmas trees or lights around.  I guess all those flashing neon signs on the strip overshadow any attempts to decorate.

     After enjoying the Christmas display in the Bellagio, we all went back to the Luxor where we watched The Blue Man Group perform.  It was very funny.

 25 Dec 2017 (Mon) – We were back over Adam & Diane’s house for left overs.  It was a laid back, hang out, kind of day.  Everyone played with their toys and games, showed off their new clothes, and watched TV.  Joan & Peter taught us how to play Rummy Cube.  It was fun.

 24 Dec 2017 (Sun) – We went over Adam & Diane’s house for a Christmas Eve dinner.  They cooked a fabulous meal of prime rib and fried turkey.  Diane’s parents, Nit & Wally, were there as well as Joan & Peter, and, of course, Adam’s son, Devin.  Adam’s friends also came over; one of them with a 3-month old infant. There wasn’t a woman at that dinner who didn’t hold that baby at least once.  lol.

      Devin spent most of the time playing on a virtual reality game that made him look very comical – he stood in the middle of the room waving his arms around and talking to a school friend playing the same game at his house.  Technology is amazing! 

23 Dec 2017 (Sat) – Joan & Peter had a pre-Christmas Eve party at their place.  It was fun.  Paul hung more ornaments around the overhead light fixture.  It’s very festive.  

 22 Dec 2017 (Fri) – We drove to Lowe’s where Paul was able to pick up tea lights to put in dog food containers (like luminaires).  He later spread them around the RV.  It looks pretty cool.  He also took Christmas lights and made a semblance of a Christmas tree in back of the camper.  It faces the road where people come through the gate.  That also looks pretty cool.

     The repair guy examined the slide this morning and found that there is a gap in the extension rod.  He is going on vacation so he made an appointment to return after the new year.

     We drove to Joan & Pete’s.  After admiring all the changes they have made to their condo, we drove to the store to do some Christmas shopping.  Afterward, we went to Mimi’s Café for dinner.  They gave us two free muffins as first-timers to their restaurant. The food was good.

 21 Dec 2017 (Thu) – We went to Lowe’s to get some ribbon so Paul could hang more ornaments from the light over the island.  They didn’t have any hooks.

      We hurried back to the campground so we would be there when the repair guy showed up.  When he wasn’t here by 3:30 p.m., I texted him to see if he was going to have enough time to evaluate the problem before sunset.  He agreed it was late and rescheduled for tomorrow morning.

      Paul took his collection of patches (as I buy Christmas ornaments as souvenirs, Paul buys patches), and selected dozens to put under the dining table. He will pick up a temporary putty to seal the edges.

     We met Paul’s sister and husband, Joan & Peter, and their grandson, Devin, at the Las Vegas Speedway.  There was a fabulous Christmas light display at the speedway.  Joan, Devin, and I rode in back of the pick-up truck while Paul drove and Pete rode shot gun.  It took almost a half hour to drive through all the displays.

     After the light display, we drove to Cracker Barrel for dinner.  It was good.

 20 Dec 2017 (Wed) – We left Boulder City at 10:30 a.m. and drove an hour to Nellis Air Force base in Las Vegas.  We drove along the route in the Lake Mead National Recreation Area. The scenery made the drive so very pleasant.  

     After set up, we did the laundry.  A strong wind storm blew in with gusts up to 60 mph.  Luckily, there are no big trees or other items that could fall on the RV.  The storm blew out a few hours later and the temperatures dropped into the 30s. Brrrrrrr.

     Paul brought out the Christmas tree and we hung our ornaments on it. It is really cool.  The tree is like a display tree used in a store to exhibit ornaments or other items.  Paul had even made more arms to add to the tree so we can display more ornaments. As we travel around the country, we have picked up ornaments as souvenirs.  We now have boxes of ornaments.  We could probably use at least 2 or 3 more trees to display them all.

     The living room slide was making banging noises again.  I called an RV repair company.  The man said he would be over after noon tomorrow.  

 19 Dec 2017 (Tue) – We went to El Dorado for a tour of the Techatticup Mine.  The place was very eclectic.  The property sprawled over several acres and there was junk everywhere.  The tour guide was the daughter of the owners. They bought 56 acres over 25 years ago. The day before they closed, they discovered there was an old gold mine on the property.  It had been closed in 1942 and never reopened because of the high costs to get the minerals out of the ground and process them.  Our guide, Shawna, told us funny stories of how their parents had their three children working to clear out the mine so they could turn it into a tourist attraction.  She said her parents were hoarders and everything we saw around the property had been collected by them over the years.  There was a family of five and us that went into the gold mine.  There were tunnels cut in the mountain and we walked in on some of them.  We saw what a gold vein looks like, marveled at the very high and very low areas that were dug out, and experienced the mine in complete blackness when she turned the lights off.  After the mine tour, we wandered around the property, looking at all the old vehicles, equipment, and other junk lying around the place.

     We drove back to Boulder City and had lunch at the Coffee Cup.  We ate there the other day.  The food was good.  When we were done, we walked across the street to look in the Lake Mead NRA visitor’s center.  There was a sign on the desk saying the clerk was away.  We picked up a few flyers and left.

 18 Dec 2017 (Mon) – We went to the Fisher Space Pen company this morning to look into a tour of the facility.  The man we talked to said we had to speak to Suzanne in HR after she came in at noon.

     We then drove to the post office where I mailed off the last of our Christmas cards.  Paul found a bank and we got some money from the ATM.  We then started out to see if we could visit the solar farm.  I found the site online and called only to be told they do not do any tours of that facility.  A call to Suzanne at Fisher Space Pen got the same result.  No tours.  I then called the El Dorado Gold Mine about taking a mine tour today. They don’t give a tour unless they have four people going.  There was no one else for noon but there were for 2:00 p.m.  We didn’t want to wait that long so I asked about a tour tomorrow. The lady told me there was nothing scheduled for Tuesday.  I asked if I could leave our name and if anyone wanted to go to a 9 a.m., noon, or 2 p.m. tour, please count us in.  She took my name and number and promised to call back if that happened.

     We returned to the RV and had lunch then grabbed Bonnie and drove out to the Lake Mead National Recreation Area (NRA).  We drove almost an hour to the other end of the park to what used to be St. Thomas.  Mormons settled the town then left and others came and went over time.  When the Hoover Dam was built and created Lake Mead, the occupants of the town were forcibly removed.  The town wound up 60’ under water.  These past seven years have had severe drought.  As a result, the water level at Lake Mead is so far down that the town has been uncovered.   We hiked a 2.5 mile loop down into the ghost town. There were old foundations, fence lines, and former wells in the desert.  A lot of brush has grown up in the area.  It was like walking through a mini forest.  Our walk took about an hour and a half.  

     On the way back to Boulder City, I got a call from the lady at the gold mine.  Someone wanted a tour tomorrow morning at 9 a.m.  Did we want to go then?  I said yes. Guess we’re getting up early.

 17 Dec 2017 (Sun) – We drove to the Nevada Railway this morning. As we walked up, a security guard was telling everyone to be sure they had their prepaid tickets with them.  We didn’t have any and the train ride was sold out.  It turned out it was only a 20 minute train ride down the canyon and back.  Not as grand as we thought it would be.  We walked along the static displays and got to go into two railcars – a caboose and a postal car.  The day was very cool and we both had to wear coats.

     We then drove to the Clark County Museum.  That was quite interesting.  It started with a review of southern Nevada and its early peoples. Then it covered the growth of the area, all the mines and towns that sprang up, and finally landed on Reno and Las Vegas.  The displays talked about how Reno became known as the divorce place for famous personalities, but then Vegas became more famous as a destination.  We learned about how the town grew and became the entertainment capital for the world.  There was a significant section devoted to telling about the state’s involvement in World War I and World War II.  Outside, there were several old buildings that had been moved from other towns in the area.  There was also an area where they had moved the crosses from the Vegas shooting in October. There were 58 crosses, each with the name and picture of the person who died.  

     We then drove down the road to Nelson, a former mining town.  There were many rundown buildings and junk cars laying around.  Past that was an area recommended for its views.  They were magnificent.  The road drove right up to the Colorado River.  We parked and walked to the river’s edge then hiked up onto the rocks. The surrounding scenery was so raw. Prehistoric dinosaurs and ancient peoples once walked the area.  Wild animals and reptiles wandered the countryside, hunting for food and water. How long has the Colorado River been following its path, cutting the deep canyon pathways in its passage to the Gulf of Mexico?  We stood on the rocks overlooking the river and just stood in awe of the power and history of the river and surrounding mountains.  

    Later, we walked over to a barbecue place for dinner (it was just two blocks from the campground).  I had ribs and Paul had brisket.  The food was delicious.

16 Dec 2017 (Sat) – We went into Las Vegas and met Joan & Pete, and Adam and Devon at the movie theater (inside a casino).  We arrived about a half hour early so we played the slots and both lost.  The movie was “Star Wars: The Last Jedi.”  Afterwards, Paul and I returned to the RV.  We had intended to go to a museum to check it out but it was too late.  The movie was almost three hours long and it was almost an hour’s drive from here to there.

 15 Dec 2017 (Fri) – It was a busy day today.  We drove to the Boulder Dam Hotel Museum but it wasn’t open. We then drove to the Hoover Dam. The water level was so low!  One of the employees told us that the water levels are so low that the rooftops of houses that had been covered by the water when the reservoir was created are showing.  We had a snack in the café, picked up a souvenir in the gift shop, and toured the visitor’s center.  Unfortunately, the elevator was broken so we were not allowed to tour the turbines. We watched an introductory video then went to another room where a man gave a slide show and talk on the dam.  

     After leaving the dam, we drove to the Lake Mead RV Village campground. It is right on the lake.  We drove around the campsites then stopped in the office to talk to the clerk.  The short stay sites are lined in a row right on the lake with the most gorgeous views imaginable.  The blue lake fronts a mighty mountain range.  This would definitely be a special experience for our caravan.

     We then drove into Boulder City historic downtown to see how far away it is from the campground.  It is just five minutes away.  This would be a good campground to stay at.

     We returned to the Boulder Dam Hotel to see the museum there.  It was small but packed with information about the dam as viewed through the eyes of the men who built it and the women who supported them and their families.

      We met Paul’s sister and husband, Joan & Pete, and her son, wife, and grandson – Adam, Diane & Devon – at Milo’s Cellar for dinner.  It was a very pleasant evening.  After dinner, we all came back to the camper so we could show it off.  Bonnie pretty much behaved herself with Devon although she gave me a slight scare at one point by running at Devon.  But everything went OK.

 14 Dec 2017 (Thu) – Paul spent the morning calling around to RV repair places trying to find the part to replace the gear drive on our slide out.  I spent yesterday and today addressing and stuffing Christmas cards to family and friends.

     We drove into historic downtown for lunch at the Coffee Cup.  It was a very eclectic restaurant with license plates and other paraphernalia stuck on the walls and ceiling.  My huevos rancheros were too spicy.  Paul thought his meal was OK.  

     After lunch, we drove to the Canyon RV Park.  This is one of the RV campgrounds that we are thinking of bringing the caravan to in 2019.  It was a pleasant park – paved roads, gravel sites, with pull-through and back-in options. The pool was small and the meeting room doesn’t look big enough to hold our entire group.  Since we are not having a dinner there and not everyone has to attend a travel meeting, we could fit half of us in there.  We could also meet outside.  The weather will be pleasant enough.  We talked to the clerk and got some documents.

     Next stop was at the visitors center.  The lady there used to be a concierge for a Hugh Hefner complex.  She was extremely helpful and pointed out some things we didn’t know about.  We will explore those options tomorrow.

     We drove into Henderson to pick up the gear part for the RV.  When we got back, Paul put the part on.  We have to find out why the gear wore unevenly to start with.  It probably means the slide itself is not properly aligned.  I will contact Vanleigh to discuss the issue.

     We went into the lodge for dinner.  They were offering Tacos and other Mexican fare.  They were also holding their Queen of Hearts drawing. You buy tickets, drop them in a bowl, then someone picks one of the tickets out.  The person who’s ticket is drawn gets to turn over one card from a group of downturned cards.  The pot for the Queen of Hearts if over $7,200.  The guy who won turned up a nine of diamonds.  He won $25 and the prize pot went up.

 13 Dec 2017 (Wed) – We left Lake Havasu, AZ, at 9:30 a.m. the drive was three hours to Boulder City, NV.  We stopped about half way through the trip at service station just over the border into Nevada to use the restroom.  A sign on the door said bathrooms were only for use by paying customers so we didn’t go in.  We also didn’t bother buying anything there either.  That attitude sucks.  Especially after driving for an hour and a half without anywhere to stop.  There turned out to be a rest stop and visitors center two miles down the road.

     We pulled into the Elks Lodge at 12:30.  There were only two open sites.  We pulled into one and went to pay but the camp host was out.  We went into the bar but they didn’t want to collect the money and told us to wait for the camp host.

     When we opened the slide outs at our last stop, there was a banging noise on the living room slide.  When we pulled in the slides to move, that banging noise was there again.  After we got here, I slowly opened the slide while Paul crawled under the RV to see what was causing the noise.  He found that the gear teeth on the driver were worn on one side. He pulled the part off and will look for a replacement.  It is a warranty issue since our RV is only six months old.

     We drove to the Southwest Diner for dinner.  Although it said it was a diner, it was nothing like a diner as we know it.  It was simply a sandwich shop with a few additional items on the menu.  The food was so-so.  Afterward, we drove through the historic downtown looking at all the pretty Christmas lights on houses.  This is a very lovely and historic town.  Boulder City is here only because of the dam.

[wanderlust-journal]

Down East #1

Mid-summer in Maine and the campground is empty but for three other sites, although the tall fat fella in the white van with a hound dog drove out this morning. Perhaps he’s moving on? Another couple in the big sand colored tent drove by shortly after and it’s not even 8.30. Maybe I’m alone then? Is anyone else around? Time to explore, well, after the morning coffee on the rocks. Rocks on the coast, solid sit-upon boulders, smooth under bum, and slippery under paws (Harold’s).

I’ve been up for hours, the light wakes us around 5am, the lobster trawlers thunder by, deep and low in the water as I sit on those rocks with a plain coffee. The fog is so thick this morning that the boats are invisible even though voices talk back and forth over the rumble of engine and waves, tides and eddies.

McClellan Park campground is a little known hideaway right on the ocean with ten sites for campers and tents. The road down is winding and narrow through dense woodland but easy on the vehicle, just tight, there’d be no room for anything bigger than a Sprinter. We pull off to let a sedan pass on the way up, and the couple tells me to claim number twelve.

“It’s open, a nice little bit of meadow, and just the other side of the trees is the shore.” She’s missing a tooth up front in that cheery smile of hers, and her husband says something unintelligable. They wave me off. My new neighbors.

We camped in number twelve as directed with a hundred feet of mown grass, a ring of birch trees and the sound of the incoming tides on the rocks. The fire kept us warm although the wood Dennis, the caretaker, sold ended up being damp and green. That couple I’d mentioned though, they brought me some dry wood one morning.

“I was worried you’d be cold, that other stuff doesn’t put out much heat, does it? Here you go, your cat came by this morning. I saw him in the trees, shy isn’t he? Yes, I told Jerry we needed to bring you some wood, get you warm. It’s chilly today. They say it’ll rain tonight so cover up your stuff, won’t you?”

She’s in striped loose pajama pants, a pink checkered long sleeved shirt, and another purple layer over her shoulders, quite a colorful thick-set woman in her sixites. Her frizzled hair is held back by bright red plastic clips. Jerry wears work boots, pressed blue jeans, and a sweatshirt with Vietnam Veteran in bold white letters. His front teeth are missing, his tongue swallows his words, and his grin is like a ten-yer-old boys, all mischief and innocence. He’s about the same size too, wiry, compact, small as a pre-teen.

“You have to visit Jonesport, it’s pretty. My sister lives in Millbridge, that’s why we come here. We only live an hour away but love camping here each summer. Columbia Falls too, that’s a stop if you’re heading to Eastport. South of here, go see the ferris wheels on the beach. Jerry here was on stage for July 4th. He’s an Elvis impersonator.”

Millbridge is an odd little town in US 1, with very little by way of tourism, just a couple of stores, a diner and a mexican take-out, just what we want on the ocean, mexican food, right? I don’t find anywhere to get clam chowder, a sudden craving on these grey days. There’s a laundromat, library, bank, and a couple of churches, but no cafes or brew pubs that I can see. Bummer. I’ll not be staying here too long then. The supermarket undercharges me for the beer and I say nothing but feel guilty for a moment, and again as I write this. Oh well. I have worse regrets.

The shore is rough with a deep sudden drop from brown-stained rocks into swilling waves below. My brain imagines Harold slipping in and that fear that comes, knowing I’d jump in to save him. Probably kill us both. But I’d have to. It’s Harold. Fuck. “Get away from there!” I startle us both, he slips but not into the Atlantic.

We walk in the mornings, early, mid, late. We walk in the afternoons, every hour or so I jump up from book or laptop, “let’s go, guys.” All three pets bounce up, two dogs and a cat, and off through the trees we go, over the rocks, I sit on the grass to the east of this path and lean back. I can spend hours staring out over the ocean. This calm rejuvinates me, brings me back to myself, and reminds me of the Gower Coast in Wales. The grey skies with occassional bursts of sunshine. The salt on my skin. The damp air curling my hair. I wish there was a way to live on the coast like this, wake up each morning to stare out over the horizon and daydream in the cool breeze off the ocean. Can I? Make this a goal of mine? Why not? Or perhaps just drive along coastlines for the rest of my life? I could do that.

My brain ticks over, the lists, the stressors, all that needs to be taken care of in the next few weeks. Instead of tackling any of this increasing number of projects and the relevant details, I make another cuppa. This is the week before I move in finally to a rental apartment in Montpelier, start work, and then college. This is problably the last break for a while. It’s time to explore then, isn’t it? So we do. We do. Gratefully.

Mosquitos follow my everywhere but the DEET works well, not that I’d want to live with it on me year in, year out. But who cares about a few weeks here and there? Toxic crap I know but it works. When I go pee though, that was a problem.

McClellan campground costs only ten dollars per site and another five for a generous bundle of (green) firewood. There’s a shower, potable water, trash cans, and a friendly host who lives near by. Yes, come here. Yes, stay a while. Millbridge is within reach of a bunch of interesting smaller villages, one’s you wouldn’t normally come across on you trip across US 1. The camping has been here since 1946, Dennis tells me, but the State only just realized it, so came a knocking over winter, demanding a licence fee, a few changes, and less sites. Dennis just took down a couple of numbers but left the picnic tables and still mows the grass in those numberless places.

“There, done.” He grins, his eyes wrinkle in mischief, “And they left. Not so bad after all. It might help that the Chief of Police runs this place and threatened the guy, but what do I care? Oh, if this fog eases up, tonight we’re meant to be able to see the Northern Lights!”

The fog only thickened though so I went to bed by nine, curled up in the camper with Harold on the front seat, Rosie in her crate (door open) and Stevie the cat at my feet, looking out the sliding window, gazing upon squirrels. We sleep deeply.

Such utter calm and peace here, looking out over the Altlantic, I’m dreaming of a retreat, a time in a cabin on the waterfront, a deck, some shade, a place to swim, to walk the dogs, and days of peace to read, write, and create more. Yes. I’ll get right on it. Right after I finish my three years of the MFA.

Next though, it’s Down East/ Up North. Time to find the eastern most town on the United State’s coastline. There’s a brewery there.

Maine: Down East #1 Down East #1 Mid-summer in Maine and the campground is empty but for three other sites, although the tall fat fella in the white van with a hound dog drove out this morning.