Read Online Black Helicopters by Blythe Woolston - Free Book Online
Authors: Blythe Woolston
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is rocks and ruts. It’s a constant fight to keep stuff from sliding forward. I get one thing stuck tight and then something else comes at me. Another thing I know now is that the windshield wiper on the driver’s side doesn’t work, so when I have a chance I have to climb up on the heater beside the driver’s seat and reach out through the window to push away the snow so Bo can see. I’m wet and cold to the shoulder, but that’s nothing compared to what Bo has to handle. He needs to shift with his right hand, and that hurts. I can tell by the way he seizes a deep breath before he reaches out to do it.
Here on out, it’s pavement, slick pavement, and traffic — and the highway patrol. We are lucky, though. It is getting dark and the road is bad enough that most people aren’t on the road. As for the troopers, we see lights blue and red glittering through the ice and wet on the windshield, but they are in a hurry going the other direction. As long as we stay on the road and other people wreck, we’ve got cover, because the authorities have more pressing concerns.
I believe we have come to the right place. We followed Da’s directions every turn and mile marker. I believe we are at the right place, but Captain Nichols doesn’t have the welcome mat out. That’s OK. That’s normal. That’s smart. But most people just need barbwire and signs about how willing they are to shoot you to make their point. What I see in the beams of the bus headlights when we pull onto his road kicks everything up a notch. The rusty gate is eight feet tall and sixteen feet wide and filled top-to-bottom, side-to-side with a direct message: KEEP OUT. A barricade like a fortress wall stretches as far as I can see into the night on either side of the gate. If he ever does let us in, we will be deeply protected. That is why Da sent us here. This is the safest place for us now.
Bo turns off the bus. It’s the middle of the night. We have come as far as we can without invitation. Now we wait.
Something is hitting on the bus door. It’s still dark. “Hey,” I say. “Hey, Bo.” But Bo is already reaching for the door lever with his good hand. He pushes it open.
All we can really see is the shotgun barrel.
“I’m Bo White, Dalton White’s boy,” says Bo. “He said we should come.”
“Dalton White is dead.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’re his boy?”
“I’m Dalton’s boy. And this is my sister, Valley,” Bo says. Then he adds, “We didn’t know. Not for sure. You know for sure he’s dead?”
“I’ll open the gate. You pull on in. We’ll talk, but yeah, he’s pretty for sure dead.”
Captain Nichols’s computer is big, like a TV in a motel. His house smells like dirt, and not the good kind. But it is warm, and he gives us cups of coffee before he calls us over to stand beside him while he sits in front of the screen. He types in “Willow Gulch fire” and then we can read.
Firefighters battled flames and smoke — as well as explosions — at a remote cabin on Willow Gulch Road. An area resident reported plumes of black smoke at 11:30 a.m. Arriving fire crews found a frame cabin fully engulfed. Shortly afterward, several explosions rocked the home.
Two firefighters near the structure were knocked to the ground by the blasts. They were treated for cuts and bruises but were not seriously injured.
Two water tender trucks shuttled water from nearby Little Willow Creek. Suppressive action kept the fire from spreading to other outbuildings or the surrounding forest. Deputies trained at the national fire academy remained on the scene Friday, continuing the investigation into the cause.
There was a picture. It didn’t show the hillside or trucks or Them in yellow slickers. It was like looking into the stove.
“You know computers?” asks Captain Nichols, looking at me.
“Yeah, we both know,” I say.
“But he ain’t much use. Can’t bang on the keyboard with that.” The Captain points at the blunt wad of
Here on out, it’s pavement, slick pavement, and traffic — and the highway patrol. We are lucky, though. It is getting dark and the road is bad enough that most people aren’t on the road. As for the troopers, we see lights blue and red glittering through the ice and wet on the windshield, but they are in a hurry going the other direction. As long as we stay on the road and other people wreck, we’ve got cover, because the authorities have more pressing concerns.
I believe we have come to the right place. We followed Da’s directions every turn and mile marker. I believe we are at the right place, but Captain Nichols doesn’t have the welcome mat out. That’s OK. That’s normal. That’s smart. But most people just need barbwire and signs about how willing they are to shoot you to make their point. What I see in the beams of the bus headlights when we pull onto his road kicks everything up a notch. The rusty gate is eight feet tall and sixteen feet wide and filled top-to-bottom, side-to-side with a direct message: KEEP OUT. A barricade like a fortress wall stretches as far as I can see into the night on either side of the gate. If he ever does let us in, we will be deeply protected. That is why Da sent us here. This is the safest place for us now.
Bo turns off the bus. It’s the middle of the night. We have come as far as we can without invitation. Now we wait.
Something is hitting on the bus door. It’s still dark. “Hey,” I say. “Hey, Bo.” But Bo is already reaching for the door lever with his good hand. He pushes it open.
All we can really see is the shotgun barrel.
“I’m Bo White, Dalton White’s boy,” says Bo. “He said we should come.”
“Dalton White is dead.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’re his boy?”
“I’m Dalton’s boy. And this is my sister, Valley,” Bo says. Then he adds, “We didn’t know. Not for sure. You know for sure he’s dead?”
“I’ll open the gate. You pull on in. We’ll talk, but yeah, he’s pretty for sure dead.”
Captain Nichols’s computer is big, like a TV in a motel. His house smells like dirt, and not the good kind. But it is warm, and he gives us cups of coffee before he calls us over to stand beside him while he sits in front of the screen. He types in “Willow Gulch fire” and then we can read.
Firefighters battled flames and smoke — as well as explosions — at a remote cabin on Willow Gulch Road. An area resident reported plumes of black smoke at 11:30 a.m. Arriving fire crews found a frame cabin fully engulfed. Shortly afterward, several explosions rocked the home.
Two firefighters near the structure were knocked to the ground by the blasts. They were treated for cuts and bruises but were not seriously injured.
Two water tender trucks shuttled water from nearby Little Willow Creek. Suppressive action kept the fire from spreading to other outbuildings or the surrounding forest. Deputies trained at the national fire academy remained on the scene Friday, continuing the investigation into the cause.
There was a picture. It didn’t show the hillside or trucks or Them in yellow slickers. It was like looking into the stove.
“You know computers?” asks Captain Nichols, looking at me.
“Yeah, we both know,” I say.
“But he ain’t much use. Can’t bang on the keyboard with that.” The Captain points at the blunt wad of
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