Burning

August 3rd 2006 11:48 am.

Brett Lindock had followed them for almost two hours, he was starting to wonder if the extra gas cans were full, he neglected to check before leaving. The morning sun warmed the desert quickly. It was at this time of year that he generally avoided trips out in the brush, as the snakes were shedding their skins. They would strike first, and slither later.

He absolutely hated rattlesnakes, and in his twenty years in this dried up dust bowl he had seen more of them than he ever wanted to. He himself slithered in the desert frequently, he didn't care one bit to cross paths with the black-eyed demons.

Brett was looking forward to going back to Vermont. But the exact details of his retirement were not worked out just yet. He found himself walking a tight rope between two sides. He was in the middle and had to choose which side, which proposition would be the best. One side would provide him with a comfortable retirement, while the other would mean a life of looking over his shoulder. But he was not the most important consideration in this decision, it was very complex and he was loosing sleep wrangling with which way to go. The only thing that he took comfort in now was because of what he had done by design eighteen years ago, after he had hooked up with Alex Page. Now he was eternally grateful that he stood his ground for those early years, or he would have been embalmed on the next table over from Alex.

So here he was, following Alex's kids into the 87-degree sage covered hills. Many things had changed for Brett in twenty years, mostly his heart had softened, and he had become wiser, cagier, and not as solider-like. His change of heart is the fact that he could not escape. That alone represented the reason he now considered a life that would be much less secure. When he could retire to a comfortable existence back home in Vermont.

Kids seem to be tied into information too well these days, and more information was available to them online each year. The Internet was a monster, created with the best of intentions, but ultimately turning on its creators. Information found there had killed many in the historically short time it had been 'on-line'. Brett had seen men, women, whole families die for ink on paper, a scrap of tape, or a photo. Most famously just up north at the well known Ruby Ridge, what a bloody mess that had been.

A bit of seemingly unrelated data floating around the world could act as a key to things that must never be opened. Now simple e-mail could summon assassins. And floppies, hard drives, flash cards in a wallet or purse, as well as those damned data sharing programs had made his profession almost impossible. Napster, the beginning of the end!

Brett wished he didn't know these things, he believed heart and soul in the secrecy of these things. Ignorance is bliss especially where the public was concerned. Not the 'politically correct' crowd, I guess they called themselves crusaders these days. Not the radical left or right, not the activists, but the plane John and Jane Doe could suddenly be in possession of lethal substances. Yes John and Jane could dwarf the green crowd, or the animal rights people, the gays, any of them in a digital second. He had the convictions of a patriot, and a tortured soul that kept him awake on countless nights. Arguing with himself, rationalizing that he was right, and that his life's work was just.

Brett knew that they had seen him, yet they had not doubled back to talk with him. They wanted to get to their destination on time. It is a difficult thing to stay low key picking a pathway in a dune buggy in the middle of rolling hills, low rocky plateau's, and sagebrush. But his presents would raise no undue suspicions as he was digging around in the brush on a bike or in a jeep every few weeks anyway. The dirt bikes they rode undoubtedly drown out the sound of his late bosses dune buggy, but the desert environment made the vehicle visible for miles. Brett knew full well why they had come, they wanted to see for themselves. Not just buy into the descriptions found on the Internet or the nightly news clips. It seemed the curiosity won out over the fear, and the fear was formidable. Their father's teachings had definitely taken hold, and this was a dangerous thing.

Brett was also curious; he wanted to watch the operations even more than the boys if the truth of the matter was known. He also would keep them from doing something stupid. Brett had no intention of dying the horrid death going on in the hospitals of Idaho, Nevada, and Utah.

Tony was the eldest son of Alex Page, from his first wife. Brett watched the boys, they were the only remaining blood of Alex Page. Tony was the oldest and was either fearless or lacking in common sense. Brett kept changing his opinion of Tony, and he was not easily categorized. But as the fearless one, he would be prone to charge ahead and into harms way with out a thought about the possible repercussions. He was stubborn and single minded. Fear was not a factor today even though he had suffered the horrid truth first hand, just as close as you get. Brett admired the way Tony could cope with his wife's death, her passing was truly tragic. Tragic stories followed Brett like a faithful dog.

Sam his half brother, the son from Alex Page's second wife, was much slower to take risks; even now he followed a respectable distance behind Tony. Sam was eight years younger than Tony. Sam was more than happy to spend his days locked away at 72 degrees investigating computer systems and delving into program strings or hardware, or just plain gaming when he had the time. Sam's compu-tenacity had that renegade style of an 80's vintage programmer he just didn't have the brains to pull the illusion off. No matter, his friends bought into his persona and flocked to him for help with their systems, or for the latest downloads and shares

Tony got to a ridge and stopped. He checked the GPS on the instrument cluster on the Yamaha, he was at the way point coordinates about 34 miles Southeast of Kuna. He was where and when the fireops web site schedule said to be, he was either being taken for a ride, literally, or he may just get cooked. Who cared? He didn't! it would probably a bust anyway, following information on the breadcrumb hacker sites was often a wrong turn on the diss-information super highway, a highway notorious for bum road signs.

Tony and his brother, not to mention their tag along watchdog in the dune buggy, had made good time and were in a good place for the show, if there was one. Sam stopped his bike next to him, and Brett figured he might as well do the same, and routed his way to their vantage point.

On the ridge, as the motor of the Dune Buggy whined as it stopped, Tony said to Brett through his paper mask and helmet, "Checking up on me?" Blair nodded his head and said yea, you know I know you don't want to hear this; you're on your own now and responsible for your own decisions. Then Brett said, "You have no business being here, your father wouldn't have liked it and neither would Shanna." Tony shrugged it off, he did as he pleased, Especially since his fathers passing five months ago. He did note the reference to Shanna and it hurt. He didn't care if he followed her fate, he did care for his brother Sam, but as for Brett it was their choice to follow him today. So in his own words, "he had no business being out there". Blair was just as responsible for his own actions, thought Tony.

For a time nothing was said. Just the whisper of the light warm wind was heard. Then Sam asked Brett if he thought the National Guard would run them off. Brett answered that they weren't fool enough to be out there, they would be stupid to be out there! Nothing was out here! Sam suddenly wished that he were not out here. Sam felt an acid dump begin in his stomach.

They did call out the National Guard to clear the burn areas near cities after the family of seven died north of Snowville Utah, north of there actually in Stone Idaho, a survivalist family that had no use for the radio or the TV, and no ties to anyone in the area. The Air Force had missed identified their shacks as abandoned in the preparation for the burn. Later when they burned close to Malta, Sublet, Albian, Roseworth, and especially the Twin Falls area the National Guard went house to house, farm to farm, and looked in every single shack.

They burned west of I-86, and until a few days ago east of State Route 51. Panic was spreading as fast as the fires; everyone one wondered where it would stop. Federal aid from FEMA was compensating those who lost property, crops, and livestock.

Brett felt it was his duty, his job to watch after the boys, but he was very uncomfortable being there, his skin crawled and it took discipline not to want to scratch at the many itches his mind told him he was experiencing. The paper mask under the helmet was out of place and he was not going to get used to the feeling. The burn was the least of his worries.

It was just after noon, and this sight would not have been that odd except that all three men spoke through paper masks with their helmets closed despite the hot sun, even more noticeable was the masking tape wrapped around their gloves and up the sleeves of their jerseys, as well as around their pant legs. Topping this were the black balaclavas worn under their helmets, which were soaked with perspiration. They reeked of Deet but the smell was a comfort anymore. They only looked odd to themselves; no one was within miles of here. No one in their right mind was anywhere in the desert, among the sagebrush south of Boise all the way to the Great Salt Lake, not a sole anywhere. The boys were there because of their recent losses, morbid curiosity and a fatalistic "I don't Give a Damn' attitude.

Sam could have just as well stayed in the shop enjoying the newly installed air-conditioning unit and the comfort of knowing a premium Hepa Filter and cans of Raid were protecting him against what the outside air might bring in. Brett knew exactly what the new systems were protecting them from; he was likely one of the few in the State of Idaho who knew what they looked like and how they worked. The veterinarians and the doctors were still fumbling for answers. The CDC knew, and now so did the military this whole thing was to stop the magic little genie that had escaped them. Everyone one else was just theorizing, just guessing. The Media was doing it's usual best at keeping people entertained. But the dammed Internet was a problem. It was the reason Brett stood here, now.

The silence was abruptly broken, a hum then the roaring as the mighty C-17 Transports were a sudden appearance when flying just above 500 feet. Even when you knew exactly when they were scheduled to appear on the scene, they scared you. They obviously needed no fly by or look at the target area. The drogue was trailing 50 feet out of the cargo door. As it rapidly approached the target area, from the little plateau they could see the brown foggy mist appear out of the towed drogues, almost like a 'smoke on call' at an air show. Four C-17's muddied the air.

Like crop dusters they watched for over ten minuets as the aircraft sewed its light brown liquid out the drogues. You could see the stuff expand and clump together even as it fell feather-like the short distance to the waiting sagebrush below.

Just past the plateau, and to the east the landscape was blacked from the burns, not an uncommon summer sight, lightning often sparked fires out here. What was uncommon was the fact that it was entirely blacked, not one plant survived. The heat of the fires let only ash, flat to the ground, no skeletal remains of the brush stood above the ground more than three inches.

The C-17's departed as abruptly as they had appeared, climbing just slightly as they departed the area. Back to Boise or Mountain Home for a refill or on to the next target area. Tony's information from the 'fireops' site didn't give that much detail on the operations.

Tony's bike roared to life and immediately Brett hand shot out to the top of his shoulder. He had not wanted to mention this, He knew Tony was hurting and he didn't want to hear his wife's name, but Brett could not allow Tony to go in for a closer look. Tony said nothing, just turned his bike back off, Brett was glad he didn't have to say anything more. He glanced at his watch it read 12:22.

They sat in silence a moment, then Brett walked to the buggy and pulled out a set of top of the line military field glasses, the new electronic all in one's. 2500.00 a pair, Sam was impressed by the quality but they were overkill.

Brett didn't look long then fell into the familiar role of mentor to the boys, passing the field glasses first to Sam then to Tony, pointing out the light tan clumps that swelled like spray on insulation across the frail foliage of the sage and the sparse scrub oak and few junipers. He said look for the metallic glint, what do you think, aluminum? Magnesium? Titanium?

A motion caught Tony's eye as he looked through the binoculars, black and white with the brown metallic flecked foam covering much of it. It was a bird, a Magpie. The bird had been sprayed as well, it flopped helplessly unable to fly, the news said when part one reacted to the oxygen in the air it expanded and hardened it could reach 120 degrees. The Magpie was being gradually cooked. Anything living out there was or soon would be cooked. Tony hunted, but this made him sick, it was a waste, even if he did hate Mag Pies and Rattlesnakes.

Sam said, "The stuff has to have a metal in it, is that why it burns so hot?" Brett nodded silently. It was exactly 12:32 and the other C-17's appeared just as abruptly, eight this time. They flew in at about 1000 feet, duplicated the run of their predecessors. Their mission was not needed to be nearly as precise. But the pilots and crews knew only precision. And that is how they flew today. They were gone in mot much over 5 minutes, they left with the engines whining, sucking in the hot desert air, anxious to be far away. They had sprayed part two it wouldn't be long now. Brett was becoming soaked in sweat, but he wasn't leaving now. Not without seeing what they drove there to see.

Even 500 to 600 yards away they could here the crackling sound, like rice crisp's in the morning. It struck Tony as odd that he had not heard the Magpie cries, but he could hear the rice crispies from hell. Brett turned and said, Boys it's time to clear the area. Sam turned immediately, obediently, but Tony stood fast.

Exasperated Brett said, "Your as pig headed a fool as your father, a comment Tony would not have endured from many, still he didn't turn he didn't move. Brett considered invoking the name of Tony's late wife Shanna yet again, and then simply said, "Suit your self we'll watch from the next ridge back. I will see you are buried next to your wife Tony." This time Tony turned, and for the first time in his life looked at looked at Brett with different eyes. It was a moment of adulthood a moment of truth and Tony found it uncomfortable.

It was too late anyway, flames erupted almost instantaneously over the whole treated area. A rush of dusty air was pulled along the ground towards the field of fire, moments later the intense heat could be felt, and Tony decided Blair was right, and he retreated all the way back to the next ridge. He wondered what it would be like to whiteness a fuel air explosive. Today he felt the heat, the radiation from the chemically induced flash fire. They would have slightly burned faces where the balaclavas opened up around their eyes to remind him of the burn for about the next week. The redness was the only visible sign that they had been in a forbidden place at a forbidden time.

They watched it burn in a tower of swirling wind blown fire for almost an hour. Reddish flames with a light blue cast, filled with mental images of demonic dancers destroying the desert. Soon it was just ash and little whips of smoke, some dwindling side fires. Tony was glad he was not the Magpie, he no longer felt the urge to watch another burn.

They were completely soaked by perspiration, Tony had felt little rivulets of sweat trickle down his legs into his boots. They annoyed him and made him want to scratch, but he refused to do that, everyone avoided scratching. A person observed doing a little scratching might be cause for alarm. They all wanted to strip to the waist. Instead as if on queue, they started engines and began the miserable trek home.