Flash! Fiction 3 by Peter McMillan - HTML preview

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He got another lift. This one uneventful. He got out at a very popu-lar trailhead. This was more like it. A wider trail and plenty of people around. Made it easier to relax and enjoy hiking in the woods.

Jesse walked with purpose and an explorer's curiosity. He covered miles, judging by the time and his pace. By late afternoon, he'd outwalked everyone. When he finally realized how low the sun had sunk and how alone he was, he turned around and set off at a trot, jangling as he went.

Coming around a blind corner, he almost tripped over someone kneeling down to take a picture. No harm done though. Turned out the man, Tony, was a chef and a freelance photo journalist from San Diego.

They joined up, and first thing, Tony insisted that Jesse take off the bells. He didn't want Jesse to scare everything away. On the way back to the road they took a side trail that led to a small waterfall where Tony hoped to photograph more plant life, and with a bit of luck, wildlife.

Across the rolling terrain, scattered with thick underbrush, they marched. Out of the stillness, a thunderous crashing sound came from a small copse ahead. Jesse thought, "BEAR!" Tony took his lens cap off and got ready to shoot. In a split second, a bull moose was running right at them with his rack lowered. They dived — Jesse left, Tony right. The camera was crushed.

Jesse got to wear his bear bells after that. For supper, Tony made his special recipe for scrambled eggs with sunflower seeds and a dash of something that looked like oregano. Whatever it was, it mellowed them out, so when the heavy rains came late in the evening, they didn't freak out but matter-of-factly crawled between a couple of fallen trees and pulled their ponchos over the top. Next 44

morning, Jesse headed back to the public areas, while Tony stayed in the woods compiling his notes.

After making the circuit and taking in the postcard sights, Jesse caught a ride up north. It was red Cadillac convertible with four guys in beards, bandanas, and sunglasses who were smoking pot and blasting Lynyrd Skynyrd into the big, blue sky. On the dash, a hounds-toothed bobblehead bounced mesmerizingly with the curv-ing mountain highway.

First published in Dew on the Kudzu - A Southern Ezine, March 13, 2014.