The View from the Helm

My genius brother sat down and dreamed up 170 titles for novels he might write, every one intriguing. I took one of his titles and wrote a short story. Take heart- it’s a REALLY short, short story. The title I chose was THE TRIP WIRE.

THE TRIP WIRE

I never really knew my Dad. By the time I was three he was gone.

 My mother passed away twenty years ago. A few times after it happened she would gather us kids together and show us the wire.

 SUE

I WANT TO GO UP THERE AGAIN   STOP   TELL THE KIDS I’LL BE BACK BY THE WEEKEND   STOP

 I LOVE YOU, SAM   STOP

 My father was an adventurer- what now they call a survivalist. He was an ex – marine, and tough. He loved the deep woods, the silence, the self-reliance. He even loved that these wilderness valleys might present some danger, for lesser men. He left in early November. They found him in the Spring.

Sam got deep into the mountains of West Virginia, where no human had been but a few Shawnee and the odd hillbilly jacking deer. He’d camped three days in lean-tos he hacked out of dry-leaved saplings. Out here there was nothing but the wind in the trees and the bird calls, he was free. He thought about Sue, of course, and the kids, how they all depended on him. He even thought about giving it up―what if something should happen?

 But it wouldn’t. He had his skills, his knife, and the instincts he’d acquired in that truly risky business- war. After combat, if you were good, you just knew. Which was what was bothering him now. He had this creepy feeling, this thought that wouldn’t go away, that he was not alone.

 He looked down, just for an instant, and his boot caught the wire.