Next World Series (Vol. 3): Families First [Second Wind]

by Ewing, Lance K.

  He looked at her and said, “I’m in love with you, Sarah,” losing his grip on the chains and disappearing underground.

  “No!” she screamed, echoing off of the mountain. “No Mac! No.” Her love was gone, swept away to the depths of the earth.

  Cory doubled over, holding his stomach, wishing he had been only a little closer. Bo ran this way and that, barking frantically, with Samuel saying a prayer for both Mac and Sarah.

  Seconds turned into a minute, then two, as the three were frozen. Sarah collapsed on to the ground, praying for some sort of miracle.

  All was silent, with the exception of the tangled fish slapping its tail on top of the water and Bo’s barks getting further away.

  “He’s tracking him,” Cory pointed to the dog, nose to the ground and headed towards the other end of the siphon.

  “I hear something,” said Samuel, looking to where his daughter had been fishing at the end of the underground lair.

  “It sounds like coughing!” replied Cory, with all three running towards the sound, following Bo’s lead.

  “It’s him! It’s him!” cried Sarah, seeing a figure balled up and clinging to the ladder at her fishing spot.

  Mac’s coughing was hoarse and deep.

  Cory called a few of the security team to “bring a truck on the double!” It took all three witnesses to bring a half-conscious Mac up the ladder and back on to the road.

  Sarah turned his head to the right side. He was conscious and breathing but did not speak. He was only staring straight ahead without expression.

  “Let’s get him to the hospital now,” commanded Sarah to the men who brought the waiting truck.

  Samuel drove, with Sarah and Mac in the bed. “Hold on, my strong man. I love you, too.”

  Cory had a slew of questions about the happenings from the security team dropping off the truck.

  “He’s in good hands now, and we will discuss this later,” is all he said.

  Hanging back, Cory worked on a surprise for Mac, hoping he was going to recover.

  Sarah radioed the other doctors at the hospital to be ready for an incoming.

  “This one is a VIP to me,” she called over the radio, realizing immediately how that may sound. She thought about toning it down and continued, following a self-pep talk. “F-it,” she told herself. “This man is mine!”

  “All hands on deck in five,” she called out with confidence, getting a smile out of a still concerned Samuel.

  Just over five minutes later, they sped into the hospital parking lot. Sarah, with the other two physicians, unloaded a groggy patient.

  “Let’s get him in quickly, and everyone else out,” she commanded, with an apologetic look towards her father.

  Samuel nodded his head, signifying a respectful agreement of her terms.

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Saddle Ranch ~ Loveland, Colorado

  Cory, feeling helpless and completely out of his element as the man who always has the answer, vowed to catch Mac’s fish.

  Using Sarah’s pole that she had left at the canal, he hooked the fish in the mouth after several tries. Rigging his open pocketknife to a long skinny tree branch, he carefully maneuvered it to cut the old line, freeing the fish from the initial snag but remaining captive on the new pole.

  Mac was right. This fish was a monster, once raised over the top ledge and on to the hard ground.

  “It’s Lance’s fish’s children’s, children’s, children!” he said aloud.

  He radioed Sarah for an update, but none came.

  * * * *

  “I need your help, Rico,” said Cory, relaying the story of Mac and the fish. “Mac trusts you to keep things confidential—correct?”

  “Absolutely,” replied the chef, floating on a budding-relationship high.

  “Can we keep him on ice for a day or two, and then serve him up to Mac? Assuming he is all better, of course.”

  “We can do just that, and I know he will be back soon. He’s as tough as well-done steak.”

  * * * *

  Sarah stabilized her patient and vowed not to leave his side for the night. Confirming his vitals were OK, she let him sleep, switching off with the other doctors for 24-hour surveillance. She slept for short intervals but would not leave his side.

  The morning offered renewed hope, with Mac talking and asking what happened yesterday. Sarah told him small pieces at first.

  “I remember putting my pole in the water and catching a fish,” Mac said, “while you threw rocks in on your side.”

  “Is that so?” she asked, relieved to have him talking. “Have you seen those fishing shows where they chum for shark?”

  “Yes, I have,” Mac replied.

  “Well, then you know the way to catch a shark is to give them a small taste of what they want—right?” Sarah continued.

  “Yes, that sounds right,” he responded.

  “I basically chum the water in the summer months with their natural food source—grasshoppers. After a few of those, these fish will immediately hit anything that touches the surface of the water.”

  “So, you were about to smoke me in the last half of the competition?” Mac questioned her.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “But from now on, I will only fish with you.”

  Samuel stopped by early and was relieved to see Mac talking and alive. Pulling Sarah aside, he told her he needed an update for John and Bill on the recovery.

  “He has some temporary memory loss about what happened, but it’s probably PTSD.”

  “Is it serious?” Samuel asked.

  “It can be,” she replied. “Think of it like a soldier returning from active duty in a war zone or hostile environment. They may end up with several, or even dozens, of situations such as Mac has gone through, and their PTSD can last months or years, and can also be permanent. Mac’s should be temporary as his mind deals with what happened; he will likely recall everything in the next few days.”

  “That’s good to hear. Are you going to ask for a rematch? You do love to fish, Sarah.”

  “No, father. I like to fish. Mac loves to fish, and that’s what matters to me, so I’ll only be fishing with him from now on. Plus, I already told him my secret,” she added.

  Samuel relayed the good news to Bill and Cory, standing just outside the hospital. John was there as well, surprising Samuel. Still in his wheelchair, John was walking more unassisted each day.

  “You didn’t have to come down here,” Samuel told John.

  “I know, but I wanted to check on Mac and get out of the house for some fresh air.”

  “Would you like to join me for breakfast, old friend?” asked Samuel. “Patty makes a mean omelet. Plus, I have some things to discuss.”

  “Sounds great,” replied John, asking Bill and Cory if they could return later to pick him up.

  * * * *

  The West’s kitchen and eating facilities were much smaller than the Ranch’s.

  John was introduced to Patty, who was working the morning shift, and Samuel asked if she could please make them each The Special. “Please 86 the shrooms on John’s, though.”

  “Yes, sir, two Specials coming up,” she replied, with a smile, disappearing back into the kitchen.

  “What’s ‘The Special’?” asked John, “and is the number 86 something I should know about?”

  “I’ll let Patty tell you what’s in The Special, but 86 just means to cut something out. In your case, it’s the mushrooms, since I know you don’t like them,” replied Samuel.

  “Back in the 1930s, it’s said that bars would use 86 as a code to get rid of a drunk or someone getting rowdy. It spilled over into restaurant lingo and is still used today, only now it’s to cut an item or signify when the restaurant is out of something.”

  “Patty is the one with the boy and that Ralph guy as the ex, right?” asked John.

  “Yes, she is, and she is thriving now. I had no idea she was a highly rated chef when
I asked her if she wanted to stay, but I’m not complaining about it either. That leads me to the first topic I wanted to discuss with you,” Samuel added. “It seems our two chefs have started somewhat of a crossover relationship, like we saw with our Sarah and your Mac. I suppose it won’t be the last, now that our groups are intermingling more.”

  “Do you mean Rico?” asked John. “I thought he was gay!”

  “I don’t think so,” Samuel replied. “I mean, they seem to like each other is what I hear from Sarah.”

  “I’ll talk with Rico,” said John, “and see what his intentions are.”

  “I’m glad we have known each other for so long,” said Samuel. “If it were anyone else leading your group, I might be concerned about them trying to lure key members away from our side. We will just need to take each one as they come and make sure it’s not distracting from our work. Few things are worse than a hard breakup in these tight quarters, except maybe for infidelity that may require our direct intervention, should it come up.”

  “Two Specials, gentlemen,” said Patty, smiling.

  “Wow!” stated John. “That omelet looks incredible! What’s in it?”

  “I call it my City Slicker Cowboy Smothered Omelet. Inside three extra-large, free-range, no-antibiotics eggs sits six ounces of grass-fed (also free-range) porterhouse steak, cooked medium and diced. Hand-churned butter and homemade cheese sits on the innermost layer, surrounded by sautéed onions and bell peppers—organically grown, of course. The entire gutbuster comes obnoxiously smothered with a killer chunky ranchero sauce recipe, passed around Northern California gypsy camps in the early to mid-1970s.”

  “I’m not sure if you’re joking,” said John, “or just poking some fun at the fancy Starbucks crowd of days gone by. But I, for one, think it sounds great!”

  Looking at the huge omelet in front of him, covered in thick sauce, he thought it must all be true.

  “You’ve had one of these before?” he asked Samuel.

  “Yes, this will be my third. But I’m going to limit myself to one per week, just so I have a better chance of staving off a massive coronary.”

  “I would say that’s a good idea,” John replied, thanking Patty.

  John took a sip of his water and started to tell Samuel he had something to discuss, as he caught a smiling Patty standing right where she had been.

  “Thank you again,” he said. “I’m sure it’s delicious.”

  Samuel laughed. “I did the same thing the first time, but Patty is not like our other chefs here. She will wait until you try it and give her your honest feedback.”

  “OK,” said John, cutting into his first bite. “No mushrooms, right?”

  “No, sir, not on yours.”

  John paused after taking a bite, carefully considering each flavor.

  “Hmm,” he finally said. “You say you have had this before, right?” looking at Samuel.

  “Yes, a couple of times, to be exact,” Samuel replied. “Do you not like it?”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m only wondering how I have never had something this good for breakfast before!”

  Patty smiled as John thanked her for the best breakfast he had ever had, pre- or post-Apocalypse.

  “I’m telling you, her cooking is going to send me to an early grave,” Samuel replied, chuckling.

  They spent the next hour discussing what John had learned from Lance about the Topeka group and how close they may come to the Valley.

  “Either way, they will be permanently residing less than 15 miles from this very spot soon, and eventually it could be a problem,” John added.

  Mac was talking more each hour and remembering his ordeal much more clearly now. Sarah made a hospital exception and allowed Bo inside for just a few minutes to check on his dad.

  Mac petted Bo, thanking him for sticking close all these years.

  “Where’s my pole?” he asked abruptly. “I let it go when I grabbed the other chain.”

  “I’m not sure,” she replied. “I’ll have Cory take a look downstream and see if it popped out.”

  “They’re right,” said Mac. “They’re right.”

  “Who’s right and about what?” asked Sarah.

  “The kids always said there were huge blades at the very bottom of the siphon to cut large chunks of ice. The blades are real. I saw them, or maybe I felt them. I don’t know for sure, but I remember wedging between two of them, hoping to pop out on the other side, and that’s just what happened. There are other things underground I was caught up in, like fishing line, sheets of plastic, and wet clothes or something like it. I’m guessing I know what it’s like to be buried alive. Do you think I’ll have nightmares about it, Sarah?”

  “You may at first, but if so, they will be fewer with each passing day.”

  “It was pretty scary under there,” he continued. “I thought about getting back to you some way, any way. I fought hard and held my breath until near the end. My throat burned like fire, and I swallowed some water right before my head popped up on the other side. Then you were there waiting for me, like some kind of Angel in a red dress. Who wears a sexy red dress fishing, anyway?”

  “I do, and apparently it distracted you more than it should have. It was Bo who told us where to look. He followed you all the way through the siphon.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Saddle Ranch ~ Loveland, Colorado

  “How are you feeling, honey?” he asked. “I mean with your…well, uh, your...”

  “Morning sickness? It continues,” Sarah said, answering her own question.

  “Samuel is going to be upset at me if it’s true, since we have only known each other for a short amount of time,” Mac said.

  “Don’t worry about that. I’m a grown woman, and he’s had a few girlfriends over the years as well, but that’s between us… Now get some rest, and I’ll check back on you in just a bit. With any luck, you will be out of here by tonight,” she said, kissing him on the forehead.

  “I bet you do that to all your patients,” he quipped.

  “Only the real cowboys!” she stated, walking out the door.

  * * * *

  Mac got hold of Cory on the radio to check on things.

  “You find my lucky pole yet, Cory?”

  “Not yet, but we’re looking. Are you sure it’s lucky?”

  “Well, I’m not dead,” replied Mac. “So, I would say yes!”

  “I’m surprised the doc let you get on the radio so soon,” Cory said.

  “Oh, she doesn’t know, but in my defense, she never said I couldn’t! Anyway, it looks like I’ll get out of here by tonight. We still need to do a midnight recon of our new team, but it will probably be a few days out, at least for me.”

  “Sure, Mac, whenever you’re ready. Just let me know.”

  “What happened to that monster fish I had, caught up in the chains? It probably died there eventually.”

  “Let me check on that, Mac,” said Cory, already of course knowing the answer but not actually lying.

  “That’s a lie by omission,” his deceased wife used to say. He smiled at the memory and spoke to the sky.

  “I miss you, honey, every day, and so does Cameron. We’re in a different place, but I’m taking great care of our boy, just like I promised you I would. Don’t worry about us down here; we’ll be up to see you in good time.”

  * * * *

  Cory grabbed a few security members and had them check up to 500 yards downstream for any sign of Mac’s pole.

  After nearly two hours, the search was called off without a find.

  Cory went to tell his new friend the bad news in person, meeting Samuel outside the front of the hospital.

  “Any word?” asked Samuel.

  “Yes, sir. I talked to him on the radio a couple of hours ago, and he wanted us to find his lucky pole. Anyway, it’s gone for good, and I wanted to deliver the news to him in person.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, son,” replied Samuel. “A lucky pole
means a lot to a fisherman, and I know that firsthand. Please tell him hello from me, and I’ll talk to him later.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”

  Cory was eager to get inside, since taking to Samuel was like talking to a President or high-level politician. Basically, anyone who made you think about every word you uttered or where your hands were placed, or even if your socks matched.