Rusty’s mouth tasted like charcoal briquettes, but that didn’t stop him from kissing the beach once he and Clarence reached the south side of Moose Island. The steady breeze that hit them in the face provided copious amounts of fresh air—much needed after they were previously engulfed in a forest blaze.
Even the colony of beavers made it beachside. And Rusty being Rusty, shouted over to them, “Let’s Never Do That Again!”
The chief beaver—the same one that had bashed Rusty’s face with a Bruce Lee karate kick—stopped short before entering the lake. Slowly he turned. There was a directness in his eyes. Unmistakable. Angry. Glaring. Then he deliberately lifted his middle claw.
The motion was not herky-jerky. It was rather slow and purposeful. There was thought being given by the beaver. He was playing this scenario out—much as could be—with his intuitive beaver brain.
Then he clicked his four imposing incisors in rapid succession—and the sound matched the paw motion—quite possibly saying, “You had that coming, Flathers.”
He continued marching his troops in single file and then skedaddled once all fours were in the lake. After that, gaining neutral buoyancy, he raised his gihugic tail toward the heavens and came crashing down sending a tropical wall of rain directly into Rusty’s face.
“Must still be sore about me cannonballing on top of him, back in the pond,” Rusty muttered, blinking lake water from his eyes.
With hands on hips—Clarence gave him the glare, “You just had a damn beaver flip you off, Feathers. Is this where we’re at!”
“I get it—I get it… But Northwest Ontario has been kicking my butt all week.”
“That, and this forest fire that I presume YOU were responsible for?” added Clarence. “Any truth to that, Feathers?”
“I don’t feel as though we need to get into particulars right now, Clarence. The who dids… The what ifs… The better question is, how do we get off this island? Because it appears as though the boat I’d left here earlier is missing.”
“Just like the HUMOR in what’s been going on the last two days. Working for you hasn’t exactly been a picnic, Rustoleum.”
“Positivity breeds enthusiasm, Clarence. It breeds it!”
“And I’m positively sure I’m going to punch you in the face, Feathers, if you so much as utter another word. Now let’s keep moving down the beach and figure out a way to get off this hell-torched island.”
It was more than a love tap. It was more like someone walking away from a barbell station in a weight room—heading to a nearby bench to do some arm curls—maybe showing off a bit—carrying more than they could handle—and along the way they accidentally dropped one of the weights to the hardwood floor. KERRRRR—BANG!
That was the sound of Sally’s right wingtip dropping down on Biggy THE BOAT Pescatore’s runaway vessel. If he doubted for a second the seriousness of her actions, it was now crystal clear she was on a mission to destroy his path to escape.
Have you (YES, YOU THE READER) ever been to the Pike Place Fish Market in Seattle? Well… Long story short… As upper Midwesterners like to say… There is a business there that developed a FISH! Philosophy, and our fearless leader Sally Squatsnfishes was a huge fan.
With her left active-engine propelling her forward and her right stalled-engine resting on Biggy’s transom—Sally quickly checked the appropriate boxes for the FISH! Philosophy.
Choose Your Attitude: “I’m going to kick this dude’s ass twice-to-Tuesday. That’s how I’m taking responsibility for what life is currently throwing at me, and it’s also how I’m going to help my team.”
Be There: “I’m certain that I am emotionally present, based on Biggy’s response to me after I mouthed the words, You Are a Dead Man.”
Play: “Oh this is my favorite… I can be creative and fun… Drive the curious mind… Let’s see how many times I can rock his world from port to starboard putting him within inches of capsizing his boat!”
Make Their Day: “As I recall—I’m supposed to serve or delight people in a meaningful and memorable way—How’s this!!”
Now Sally may or may not have been spot on with the four rules of the FISH! Philosophy, but when she raised her wingtip off the transom for a split second—shot forward to the captain’s chair and then BONKED down on Biggy’s head while he was looking forward, wrestling the steering wheel—then we could say she was CLOSE ENOUGH!!
Sally took her best shot and now the plane, less the power of the right wing engine, began to yaw. There was no lift remaining. Plus, the left engine was propelling her forward as the rudder was no longer sufficient to hold a straight line. The Canadair CL-415 Super Scooper was out of control and about to roll.
Link… Still riding shotgun in the co-pilot’s seat… turned to Sally with a final whimper, “Brace for impact.”
The rapid spin and crash tore the left wing off first, and with all the momentum generated, they barreled sideways, rolling continuously across the surface of Lac des Bois. There was no time for recovery. The plane was instantly going to the bottom of the lake.
From two hundred yards away, Tawny and her posse witnessed the entire scene. Sally’s ability to drop down on the transom of Biggy’s boat. Her countermoves that rocked the vessel uncontrollably. And then the final BONK—where she lifted that plane just long enough to launch forward and clip Biggy’s melon. Then the roll. Then the crash.
Tawny cut the throttle on her Yamaha tiller and reached for the marine band radio. “Celine, this is Eagle-Four, DO YOU COPY!”
Radio silence…
“FSFO—Celine—Do you read me! Sally just crashed the water bomber. We need HELP. I need you to….”
Static over the airway. Someone was trying to break into the message.
“Tawny—Taw is that you? Who’s Eagle-Four? I want to be an eagle.” It was Celine. She was in the kitchen with the squirrel stew and overheard mumblings on the camp’s marine band radio. This was also in-between verses of Anne Murray’s “You Needed Me” spinning on her 45RPM Pioneer Turntable.
“Celine, radio Raker’s Marine, tell…”
“Is Sally doing water bombers? Those are so cool. Just think how fast she could water my garden here on the island. Is Link…”
“CELINE! The plane is going DOWN. Sally and…”
More static on the marine band. Then silence.
“Tawn—should I still be prepping this squirrel soup?”
Tawny held the mic by the cord, swung it into the air and smashed it into a million pieces. Then she gunned the throttle and headed to where the plane had disappeared below the surface.
Biggy’s vessel was stuck at half throttle, constantly circling like the big hand on a clock, with no boat captain at the wheel. Rusty heard what sounded like the rumble of thunder.
Sally kicked desperately at the pilot’s door with Link treading water by her side. Both pilot and co-pilot gasped their last breaths with faces pressed to the ceiling of the cockpit. Their remaining inch of air disappeared without giving notice.
Looking at Link—then throughout the flooded flight deck—she dove.
–To Be Continued—
Rusty Flathers 