By SoDak and hinkleyhadavision
The low autumn moon hung just over the ponderosa pines on the ridge, as mist filled the meadow below. Coyotes howled to the moon, to each other, to the world, while three silhouettes moved with skill and grace through the aspens on the meadow’s edge. These shadows knew each other’s thoughts and actions. Their footsteps were in sync. They would stop simultaneously and listen for any signs of danger, before proceeding. The forest was silent, so each step, the breaking of twigs, and their beathing seemed to echo, adding to the nervousness of these friends. They had already trekked many miles and had several more to go before they could head home. The ridges and valleys of this part of the Black Hills were quite foreign, given it was private property, owned by a mining corporation. They had heard of the expansion in resource extraction, going on since the Fall of 2030, that was polluting the streams and tearing down hillsides, so they studied topographic maps of this quadrant, learning the landmarks, roads, creeks, and distances between specific markers.
This forested island, this geological uplift in the Great Plains, had been their home since they were kids. Their stories revolved around adventures exploring the Black Hills. Together they followed the rise and fall of the hills, deepening their friendship and creating tales. Tree sap covered their clothes and ran through their veins. They were distraught by the increasing degradation of the place they loved, so they planned to act on this night.
They climbed the crest following the meadow. Looking back, they saw the lights of the uranium mine on the distant ridge. Wedging their bodies between the cracks in the limestone wall, they started their descent into the larger canyon. In escaping the glare of the hideous lights from the mine, they felt more comfortable. Their night vision returned, increasing their ability to negotiate their moves on the first cliff.
As they paused, looking for the best way down the next drop, Jerry broke the silence, “I can’t believe I let you goddamn hippies talk me into this shit.” He whispered, “My goddamn knees are killing me.” Sarcastically, Mike responded, “What are you now, 60? Shit you’ll be dead by morning. What do your knees matter now?” They snickered softly. Jerry grumbled some inaudible phrase, turned away from the other two and leaped off the cliff, landing on a small ledge below. He then quickly climbed down a precarious crack in the rocks. He was at the bottom of the cliff in seconds.
Brett shook his head, as his heart raced. “That crazy fucker will be dead by the morning if he is not more careful.”
Mike, half laughing, noted, “After all of these years and all his bellyaching about his knees, he is still a crazy bastard. He blows me away. I can’t believe the shit he still does.”
Slowly, Mike and Brett made their descent, helping each other locate foot and hand holds. Facing the cliff, they had better control over their movements and avoided having their backpacks get caught on any rocks. They could see Jerry sitting against the foot of the cliff, pretending that he was taking a nap.
As the two cliff huggers, these human turtles, reached the bottom, Jerry smiled and mockingly asked, “What took you so long? I could have beat off and had a smoke in the time it takes you old men to climb down that small cliff.”
Mike shook his head, smiled, and responded, “You crazy fuck, I love you.”
Brett added, “You scare the hell out of me, but I am always impressed.”
Jerry refrained from his usual comeback, laughed to himself, before commenting, “I think we’re almost outside of the boundary. If you hippies get off your asses, we might actually get out of here.”
In silence, Jerry picked up his backpack and pushed on, skirting the grassy, rock-laden slope at the bottom of the cliff. At the property line, there was a barbed wire fence. Jerry placed a foot on the bottom wire and pulled up on the second line, allowing Mike and Brett to quickly pass through the opening. Brett paused, separating the wires, as Jerry ducked, stepping onto the other side.
Mike commented, “We should have brought wire cutters along.”
Jerry grumbled, “Yeah, but that would have been more weight in our packs. No need for that on a mission like this. I’m already tired and we still have two miles, at least, to go.”
Picking up a branch from the ground, Brett took a swing, sending the sign that read, “Private property of Uranium One/ARMZ. No trespassing,” flying into the brush.
As they approached the creek, they could hear the din of a helicopter. “Damn it,” Jerry muttered, “I was hoping we would be long gone before a copter was sent out.”
Brett noted, “They probably have heat sensors. Let’s see what we can do.”
Together the three of them started into the water, making their way towards the bend in the creek, where the 200-foot cliff wall stood. Brett grabbed some horsetails from the shallows, thinking the hollow bodies of these green straw-like plants would be useful. As he handed Mike and Jerry the horsetail shafts, Jerry shook his head, “Nice idea, nature boy. I’d rather use the tubing from the water pack Mike has.” As Jerry spoke, Mike had already pulled the tubbing out, opened his knife and cut three lengths.
The water was frigid, as they swam for the blackness under the overhang of the cliff. They reached the wall and prepared for the next step. As the thundering in the sky echoed in their ears, they nodded to each other and submerged themselves, breathing through the rubber tubes. Each of them held onto cracks in the cliff just below the surface. With eyes closed, the three human barnacles stayed under water, as their bodies absorbed the coldness of the creek.
Mike was the first to open his eyes. He slowly raised his head from the water. Not seeing spotlights in the sky or lights in the trees across the creek, he reached down and tapped Brett’s arm to let him know it was clear. As he turned towards Jerry, he hesitated, thinking he should put his finger over the hole of the tubing that Jerry was using—just as a joke. Knowing the importance of silence, Mike gently tapped Jerry’s shoulder. With their heads above water, they remained, as ice cubes, floating in silence, waiting, watching the sky and land before them, trying to listen for any noise, to notice any movement, to perceive any search lights in the distance. Despite clenched jaws, their teeth began to chatter. From time to time, each of them would drift off to thoughts of their childhood where their friendships began.
After thirty minutes, there was only a slow pulse in their blue bodies. They no longer heard the helicopter and had not seen any movement among the trees. They decided they better escape these waters and this night, to evade the light of day, when the pigs in the air would be flying in copters, searching for saboteurs in the woods surrounding company land. With trembling hands, they pulled themselves along the cliff wall, until reaching a point where they could climb to land. To no avail, they tried to ring out their clothes while wearing them. Shrugging shoulders, wrapping arms around their own bodies, the three of them moved on, trying not to step on any branches. The next twenty-five minutes were cold and silent. Each replayed the events of the night, relishing the hike into these forbidden properties, moving in the shadows of the beast, and cherishing the work they had done. This was exactly what they wanted and needed to do on this night. They wouldn’t want to be with anyone else at this moment. As they escaped, they cooperated, protecting each other, gliding through the trees. Their movements resembled a revolutionary dance. Their silent steps and breathing became one, as they moved through the grassy meadows. None of them would ever speak of this night. These happenings, these actions, these moments in their lives were simply experiences for their own knowledge. No one else needed to know.
In a small clearing surrounded by spruce and aspen, they briefly rested on a downed tree. There was a hint of light slowly creeping across the cold morning sky. A couple birds started to sing. As Venus rose, a lone coyote call was heard. The three of them pulled the camouflage cover from the old Bronco that was parked in the aspen. Stripping off their wet clothes and wrapping themselves in wool army blankets, the friends climbed into the truck. Jerry rummaged through a toolbox, searching for his lighter and cigarettes. They put on sweatshirts, trying to warm up their torsos. They laughed thinking of stories to tell the highway patrol if they were pulled over. Given that they were half-naked, a love triangle would be the most obvious. Jerry sighed, as he lit the cigarette, started the vehicle, and said, “I love you fuckers.” As the truck moved forward, Brett ejected the New Model Army tape and put in Waylon Jennings. They sang along as Jerry took the dirt roads back to town, avoiding the main highway and check points.
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