The Beaver Patrol
by
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The shadows and the mists of the early morning concealed him as he moved silently through the forest. From tree to tree he would skulk, pausing to listen and watch. A casual hiker would walk right past him even though he was not dressed in the camouflage that other hunters would have worn. Instead of clothing he used the woods for his cover. Only an occasional phlegmy cough betrayed his presence to the inhabitants of this section of the woods. He paused longer than before and leaned his beaten old double barrel shotgun against the first growth oak that he had chosen for cover. He reached into his pocket and pulled a bag of Bulls-eye tobacco and a sheaf of papers. He cursed silently as he tried to sprinkle the loose tobacco into the paper, his tremor spilling more than the paper retained. He licked, then rolled, popping it in his mouth in one motion. He hated rolling his own, but it was better than going without and right now he didn't have the money to buy even the generic brand. He cursed the politicians for their taxes which had driven the price up so high that a man couldn't buy a pack of smokes. He pulled the gunmetal gray lighter from his pocket and flicked it, fire immediately showing. He and that lighter had been through a lot. He wondered how many times he had used it, especially during the war. He remembered the day his old man had given it to him; the day had left for boot camp. It wasn't a warm memory, none of the memories of his old man were. This lighter was the only thing he could ever remember that the bastard had given him other than a beating. He took a deep draw as he put the flame to the end of the crumpled cigarette and watched as the flame burned partway up the white paper. He hadn't rolled it tightly enough and part of the tobacco fell away, but there was enough to suck deep into his lungs. Enough to cause a deeper than normal spasm of coughing. He gagged as he hocked up a wad of sputum from his chest and spit the foul tasting mass to the ground. It was blood streaked like all the rest had been for the past week. He knew that he should go to the doc, but he didn't have the money to see the quacks up here and he didn't feel like driving to the VA in Nashville to sit all day just to have some young piss-ant tell him that he needed to quit smoking. He took another drag, pulling the fire almost half way down the paper this time. The nicotine began to numb the rawness of the cough and his lungs quieted. The exhaled smoke blew back in his face in the light breeze, stinging his already reddened eyes. He needed to sleep, but knew in the state he was in he would dream and right now he didn't want those dreams. He took one more draw and the flame traveled so close he had to drop the butt before it singed his fingers. He placed the toe of his old boot on the smoking ember and ground it out into the leaves, careful that there was no trace of smoke left to start a fire in the autumn piles. He picked up his shotgun and again began to still hunt from tree to tree, a technique that had served him well through the years. He had taken many a squirrel and deer this way over the years, and for a couple years many a man. Today he really didn't care what he took. He just needed to kill something. It wasn't the hunger in his belly that drove him this morning, but the need for power to reassert his manhood. He paused and tried hard to shake the memories of the previous night. He tried hard to scan the tree tops and listen, but the taunts and the laughter from last night kept coming back.
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About the Book
Six older scouts and their two leaders set out on what is supposed to be a day long hike. When the group fails to arrive at the designated pick-up, search parties are unable to find any trace of the lost scouts. It is as if the earth had opened up and swallowed them whole. The frantic parents and searchers cannot imagine in their worst nightmares the magnitude of danger the boys face. In a race against time and terror, the boys must summon all their courage and knowledge to save their leaders, themselves, and The Beaver Patrol.
About the Author
Norman Spencer is a practicing pediatrician and life-long scouter. With his wife and three Eagle Scout sons, he enjoys the hiking, camping, hunting, and fishing that living in rural middle Tennessee provides. An avid writer, his novel The Beaver Patrol ties his love of children, scouting, and the great out-of-doors together in a book you will not want to put down.