Just North of There

As the brothers sat resting, Fat began to sense something out of place. There was in the air a scent that was familiar yet faint and somehow incongruous. Fat being Fat chose not to dwell on the subject, closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair and was lulled to sleep by the rhythmic squeaking of his parent’s four post bed. It was ironic, Fat mused, that while his old man got “oiled” every Sunday that bed never did. Still the odor grew stronger and began to worry at Fat. It came gradually to him that it was wood smoke, not unusual at suppertime or of a fall or winter evening, but not now, at midday in August. And somewhere far off, he could hear a low rumbling like the long slow pull of a freight train climbing or a horse and wagon going slowly along the dirt roads that connected farm to farm. It seemed to be getting louder if almost imperceptibly so and gnawed at him .He furrowed his brow in thought eventually sorting out the implications of what was occurring. The breeze freshened suddenly, stiffening by the second. The low droning rumble had become a crackling cacophony. Light rose from the front of the house, far too low on the horizon to be the sun, too orange and angry to be the sun. “That isn’t haze shading the sun Lenny” Fat said with a degree of gravity that scared them both. “That’s smoke and a hell of a lot of it.” “Fat?” Lenny questioned. At that exact moment Fat felt a wave of heat curl around the porch and smother them both. He rocked his chair forward with an audible thud. His momentum pulled him upright and with his powerful right arm he jerked Lenny from his seat. “Run, damn it, run!” The two took off down the pasture not bothering with the cow pie polka that usually was needed to avoid stepping in “it”. Instinctively they both realized they were already up to their necks in “it.” “Faster Lenny boy, faster” Fat goaded, hoping Lenny’s shorter stride would not be their undoing. Ash and smoke accompanied a sudden dryness in Fat’s mouth and he had trouble getting his wind.