Depth Finder

by Terry Paul Fisher

  Paul spun 180 degrees, “What the hell—!”

  His words cut off from the sight in front of him. He stood nose to nose with a .357 pistol. Cold eyes stared down the sights at him, unpredictable and menacing. Paul stepped backed, raising his hands as a gesture that he was calm. He still wasn’t sure why the officer was acting this way. Clearly, this man in uniform was a little unhinged and had an alternate agenda other than reporting the crashed Beechcraft.

  “Move,” the officer said, gesturing the gun toward the plane.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to—“

  “Just move your ass.”

  Paul hiked over to the plane; squeaky boots followed with the pistol pushed against ribs. Paul could see the look of confusion on Jack and Eric’s faces, even with their sunglasses donned. They watched quietly for a few moments as the D.E.C. officer marched Paul over at gunpoint.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Jack demanded. As the oldest brother, he always felt it was his responsibility to keep his younger brothers safe, but this was a whole new level of danger, and he felt helpless. Still, he was ready and willing to take a bullet for Paul or Eric if necessary.

  “Officer dumbass didn’t like me taking pictures for some reason,” Paul said. His respect for the man with a gun had sunk with his phone. Paul felt a boot hit him in the middle of his back, knocking him forward and nearly on his face. Paul’s experience on the ice kept him from falling from the blow. He stood straight again, composing himself and restraining his anger with every ounce of energy he had, but he was seething on the inside.

  “All of you,” the Canadian barked, “over here, or I put a bullet through your brother.”

  They were slow to move, unsure if they were doing the right thing. The Canadian put a bullet in the ice next to Paul’s feet. The pistol was louder than he expected but Paul stood unfazed. Ice cracked from the lead bullet’s impact but stayed sturdy. Andy jumped more than anyone. The big man’s feet spun on the ice and then his upper body weight took over as he fell to his knees. He scrambled to get back up and joined the trio of brothers. He hid behind the Martens, like a kid in a classroom that hadn’t finished his homework.

  “What do you want?” Paul asked.

  “There’s something in that plane that belongs to me,” the Canadian said as he removed his ball cap. “And one of you is going to go down there to get it.”

  Chapter 13 / The Trail Less Traveled

  Stacie slowed the car to 28 miles per hour. The lights on the emergency vehicle up the road flashed blue while four road flares burned on the ground. She brought the Subaru to a stop in front of a thin young man flagging traffic on Route 56. The flashing was coming from a blue emergency light mounted on the dash of his truck. He was parked on the wrong side of the road, facing the oncoming traffic. The truck’s intermittent windshield wipers swept right and then back to their original position. A couple of inches of snow had accumulated on the rest of the truck, indicating that it had been parked there for at least an hour.

  Beyond the truck, Stacie could see more lights reflecting off the snowy trees and telephone poles, but the lights themselves were out of sight. These lights were a combination of red, blue, and orange, flashing in rapid succession. They were difficult to see during the daytime, but there was no mistaking them as emergency vehicle lights.

  The young man was talking on a two-way radio. He spoke into the microphone and then listened for a reply. His head nodded up and down a couple of times as if the person on the other end could see him talking. Finally, he snapped the radio to his belt and came to the driver’s side window as it receded into the car door.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” the young first responder greeted her. He was 18 years old with a smile as bright as the road flares. His baseball cap was ripped and torn on the bill, but Stacie decided it was designed to look that way. He had red cheeks from the cold, but only wore a hoodie and a pair of jeans. He was bare-handed and seemed to be content with the outdoor temperature.

  “Ma’am?” Stacie thought to herself.

  “Sorry, Ma’am,” the first responder continued. “The road’s closed up ahead. We have a tractor-trailer jack-knifed on the Letter S up there. Probably going to be a couple of hours before the road opens up again.”

  Stacie knew the Letter S was a dangerous curve that claimed about two vehicles a month in the winter. It was an infamous landmark in Higley that warned drivers to slow down and focus on the mountainous road ahead. She had been one of those victims as a teenager when she lost control of her Uncle Ernie’s truck and dented the rear fender. Luckily, she was only going 15 miles per hour, which was the posted speed limit. Uncle Ernie never fussed over the dent; even said it gave the old truck character. “Besides,” she remembered him saying, “a truck is just a truck. As long as you’re okay, then it’s nothing to get upset about.”

  The young first responder stood straight and waved a large tow truck to go around Stacie. The truck’s diesel engine groaned and the truck swerved around Stacie’s car. The driver behind the wheel stared at the pretty blonde that was forbidden to go forward and then he gave the horn a quick toot as if to say, “Thanks.” The young traffic director bent back down to eye level with Stacie again. “You’ll have to turn around here, ma’am, and wait until the road is clear.”

  “Are you sure it’s going to be a couple of hours?” Stacie questioned. “Can’t that tow truck move it?”

  “Naw. Not by himself,” He answered. His road flare smile beamed as if he thought Stacie’s question was cute. “It’ll take a couple of wreckers to move that sonava…um…that truck,” he said. His cheeks flushed as he corrected his manners.

  “Okay, I’ll just come back after the storm has passed. Thank you.”

  “Drive carefully, ma’am.”

  Stacie did a three-point turn and headed back to town.

  The thought of the Letter S curve and Uncle Ernie gave her the inclination to visit. She could wait at her aunt and uncle’s house while the tow trucks removed the ill-fated truck. While she was there, she could fill them in on her little addition to the family. She couldn’t wait to tell them because they had been encouraging her and Paul to have a baby for years. Every holiday was a chance to drop little hints about how nice it would be to have a ‘little one’ in the house. Stacie dreaded those comments. It made her feel pressured to start a family, but now that there would be a baby at family holidays, she looked forward to them.

  Back in town, she took a right turn at a little church and navigated the slippery back road that was frosted with three inches of snow. The all-wheel-drive car held its course and brought her to a small hobby farm nestled on top of a hill. The yellow house was built after World War II and had several owners over the years. Ernie Bates bought the house 24 years ago after the previous owner passed away.

  From the outside, it wasn’t much to look at, and most people would drive by without a second glance. The roof needed to be re-shingled and the paint was fading. The split-rail fence along the front had fallen in a couple of places, and the barn leaned a little to the left. Behind the house, a beautiful meadow sprawled across 16 acres. The meadow was adorned with wild apple trees and rock piles the size of Stacie’s car. Enormous oak trees that were seedlings when the Pilgrims arrived grew in each corner of the meadow. An electric fence ran the perimeter of the meadow, keeping Ernie’s five horses inside—most of the time.

  She pulled into the driveway, scattering a couple of free-range chickens, and parked the car. Her favorite horse, Canyon, stared at her from behind the electric fence. She admired him for a moment; his dark brown coat was contrasting against the snow and a blaze between his eyes that went all the way to his nose. Canyon seemed to be admiring Stacie right back. He remembered her as one of the most gentle souls to ever ride him. She talked to him for a moment in a nearly inaudible voice, but the horse knew what she was saying without understanding the language.

  Aunt Marie opened the side door and stood framed by its space. She let Stacie
have her moment with Canyon—and let Canyon have his moment with Stacie. She waited at the door wearing an oven-mitt and held their old dog, Alphie, by the collar. The golden colored mutt didn’t bark, but he pulled and squirmed to try and make it out the door to greet Stacie. The 58-year-old woman held firm—her strength against Alphie’s—and she proved to be the victor.

  “Damn, girl. Don’t you have the sense to keep off these roads in weather like this?” Aunt Marie admonished.

  “Guess not. I think Canyon misses me.”

  “We all miss you, honey.”

  Aunt Marie noticed Stacie’s uniform under her jacket. “Ain’t you supposed to be at work?”

  “Naw, no flights the rest of the day, so I left early,” She gave Aunt Marie a peck on the cheek.

  “My good fortune, I guess,” smiled Aunt Marie. “How are you, dear? Why in blazes are you out and about in this storm?”

  “Well, I wanted to go up to Bear Bay to see Paul. But Route 56 is blocked off by a tractor-trailer accident.”

  “Oh, I know all about that. Your Uncle Ernie’s been up there already checking on it. The truck was leaking a little oil off the side of the road, and he had to file a report saying it wasn’t contaminating Cold Brook. He’s in his office now, finishing up the paperwork.”

  Stacie sat in the chair Aunt Marie was gesturing toward and took off her coat. The pellet stove in the kitchen was warm and relaxing as the heat caressed her face. Alphie put his head on Stacie’s lap, and Stacie naturally began scratching behind his velvet ears.

  “Coffee, dear?” Aunt Marie smiled. She held up a carafe that was half full, proving to Stacie that she didn’t have to make a fresh pot.

  “Maybe just a little, thanks.”

  Aunt Marie placed a green coffee cup in front of her brother’s daughter and poured too much coffee. Stacie read the little phrase decorating both sides of the cup, “Never give up on what you love.” Her index finger followed the handwritten font, and she thought about her baby when she traced the last word. She stirred a little cream and a level teaspoon of sugar into the coffee, then she wrapped her hands around the large cup and relished its warmth. With each sip, she thought about the phrase again, “Never give up on what you love.”

  Ernie stepped into the kitchen, “Alphie, go lay down.” The dog obeyed without hesitation. “Damn girl, what are you doing out this way in weather like this?”

  “I asked the same thing,” chided Aunt Marie.

  Uncle Ernie was in his late fifties. He was broad-shouldered from years of hard work on the farm and stronger than anyone she knew. The only thing that slowed Ernie Bates down was arthritis that was developing in his left hip, which was forcing him to retire in the spring, despite his love for his job. He was an officer with the Department of Environmental Conservation. This spring would mark 31 years working for the state, and he’d stay another 31 if he could. But, Aunt Marie wanted him to slow down a little, and since they were empty-nesters, they wanted to do some traveling.

  “I’m going ice fishing, Uncle Ernie,” Stacie smirked. “Wanna go?” She stood up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Ernie joked back, “Last time I went ice fishing, all I caught was hell.” He was pointing at Aunt Marie with his thumb.

  She snapped a dish towel at him playfully. “That’s because you came home at 1:00 in the morning, three-sheets to the wind,” Aunt Marie said. “And you didn’t have any fish.”

  The couple chuckled at each other.

  Stacie laughed at the two of them. This is what she wanted—to grow old with Paul like Ernie and Marie. She wanted their home to be a happy place where they would raise a family and fill it with memories. She realized how lucky she was and that Higley, NY might not be such a bad place to raise a family. The schools were pretty good, and the neighborhood was safe. The entire community took care of each other, and they had a lot of friends here.

  Stacie sat back down at the table. Alphie snuck over and placed his head back on Stacie’s lap. She obliged the old dog and recommenced scratching his ears. Stacie explained to them that Paul was still out of work and not having much luck finding a job. The job search and the bills piling up at home were causing him to be depressed. She told them how she encouraged him to go fishing to take his mind off everything at the house. She explained how she was compelled to leave work early to see him, and then she explained why.

  “Oh my goodness, you’re going to be momma?” Aunt Marie beamed. “You’re going to be such a good mother.” She hugged Stacie around the neck then finally sat at the table across from her niece. “Oh, and that Paul…he’ll be a great dad. He’s such a hard worker and a patient man.”

  Uncle Ernie smiled. “Congratulations, sweetie. ‘Bout time we had some little feet running around the house again.” Ernie looked at the pictures of there grown children on the kitchen hutch. A few memories of the kids surfaced in his mind, and he reflected on how quiet the house had been for the last four years. All four kids resided in different states now with kids of their own.

  “Thanks,” Stacie said. “You two are the first to know. I’ll have to wait until Paul gets home tonight to tell him.”

  “You said he’s at Bear Bay?” Aunt Marie asked. “Ernie could take you up there on the snowmobile, couldn’t you, dear,” It was more of an order than a question, but Ernie had no problem with the request.

  “Sure, I can take you up. The sled’s full of gas and the fresh powder would make for a great ride. Besides, I’d love to see Paul. Can I bring a couple of beers?”

  “No, no…I can’t impose,” Stacie started.

  “I insist. We insist,” interrupted Aunt Marie. “Besides, you shouldn’t be traveling alone today. Haven’t you been watching the news?”

  “Are you talking about the Canadian that killed the man on the Reservation? I heard all about that. I’m sure that’s just some drug deal gone bad, Aunt Marie.”

  “Well, I hope so, dear. But a pretty young thing like you shouldn’t take chances until they catch that bastard.”

  “Don’t worry about her, Marie. She carries a gun.”

  Stacie shook her head at Aunt Marie but spoke to Ernie. “No, Uncle Ernie, I don’t. Just because I’m in security doesn’t mean I get a gun.”

  “We going or not?” Uncle Ernie asked—he was already changing into heavier boots for the cold snowmobile ride. Then he slipped his Carhart bibs over his uniform.

  “Yes, yes, go get your beer,” Stacie laughed.

  The impatient uncle went outdoors to warm up the Yamaha VK 540 snowmobile while Stacie retrieved some warmer clothes from the car. She kept ski pants, mittens, a toque, and boots in a dufflebag because sometimes she met Paul after work to go snowshoeing. She took the bag into the house and layered up for the cool ride ahead. Then she reassured Aunt Marie three times that she would be warm enough. They gave each other another hug and then Stacie jumped on the back of the snowmobile after she argued with Uncle Ernie about who would drive.

  The twosome sped across the horse field, only stopping to open the gate on the wire fence, and then accelerated out of sight. Aunt Marie watched from the doorway, holding Alphie by the collar. Once they entered the cedar trees on the far side of the meadow, she let the dog go and headed back into the house. Alphie wimpered on the back porch, watching as if he’d never see the two humans again.

  ****

  Ernie slowed the Yamaha snowmobile as they traversed the cedar trees. The aroma of cedar oil filled Stacie’s nose, even through her helmet. They snaked through the woods and made their way to an abandoned road populated by a few hunting camps and summer cottages. The Racquet River flowed parallel to their travels, but the water went north as Ernie and Stacie traveled south. Every few miles, they would ride through a small, frozen river bay, and Stacie would have memories of all the things she and Paul would do on the river—kayaking, swimming, camping, water skiing, hiking, and even geo-caching.

  Ernie steered the snowmobile to the left, banked the vehicle off the snow, an
d began up the Gold Mine Trail. The trail was rough and uneven for the first 400 yards as they climbed a steep hill. Once they crested the top, it was smooth and freshly groomed—thanks to the local snowmobile association. The well-groomed trail allowed Ernie to juice the engine some more, and they accelerated to 40 miles per hour. The trail twisted and turned, and as they made their way, they climbed another 400 feet in elevation. The further south they traveled, the lighter the snowfall.

  The Gold Mine Trail led them to a logging road that that brought them back toward the river. Six miles down this road, they finally arrived at the intersection of Garrison Road. Ernie locked on the brakes when they approached the green Jeep parked on the side.

  He killed the engine and removed his helmet. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “What is it?” Stacie asked as her helmet slid off her soft hair.

  “This Jeep…I think it’s the one that came over the BOLO report this morning,” Ernie said. He didn’t need to explain to Stacie that ‘BOLO’ stood for ‘Be On the Look Out’ since she often received the same reports at the airport.

  “Was it related to the Canadian that killed the smuggler on the reservation?”

  “I’m not sure, but it appears so. It was reported as stolen, but without the report, I can’t verify the license plate number.” Ernie stepped off the snowmobile and circled the vehicle, inspecting the tracks in the snow. They were filled in with fresh snow from earlier in the morning, and he decided the vehicle had probably been there all night. Another set of fresh foot prints came out of the woods and went up the road, but Ernie couln’t tell if they were made by the same pair of boots.

  Stacie reached under her snow-pants and into the pocket of her jeans to retrieve her phone. She thought she could call Daryl at the airport and see if he had received a copy of the BOLO. The phone had no signal, but the message light was blinking. She pulled a mitten off with her teeth and thumbed through to the message. It came through 12 minutes ago—while she and Ernie were traveling on the snowmobile. The noisy engine blocked out the sound of the message chiming when it came through. She read Paul’s message and then opened the attached picture.