Stormer’s Pass: Aidos Trilogy: Book 1

by Benjamin Laskin

  On Friday of the third week, just after the final bell had rung, one of the boys dashed through the hallway waving a pair of binoculars over his head shouting, “They’re there, they’re there!”

  “Keep low and keep quiet,” were the last orders passed along the ranks as the anxious youths stormed out of the school building. They fell into their respective squadrons and fanned out towards the hillside.

  The race up the hill seemed to take forever. It was much farther and steeper than they anticipated. Half the boys took to walking up. The other half, unaccustomed to such rigorous footwork, suffered a number of slips and spills before finally reaching the summit.

  Chests heaving, their jeans soiled and torn, Max and Alex were the first to arrive. They crouched behind a scrub tree and waited for the others to catch up.

  “Is she still there?” Alex asked, panting.

  “I’d be surprised if she were.”

  “Dang,” Alex said. “Look at my knee. I’m wounded!”

  “Shh. What’s that?”

  “What’s what? Oh man, I wish the others would hurry up and get here. It’s a trap I bet!”

  Max snickered. “Could be,” he said. “I hope you can fight as well as you talk.”

  Alex looked at Max, and gulped. “Maybe-maybe we should fall back until the other guys get here?”

  “Too late,” Max said. “They’d see us for sure then.”

  “Oh crap—look!”

  “Where?”

  “There, something moved…” Alex pointed into the woods.

  “I don’t see… Wait, isn’t that Steve?”

  “Steve?” Alex stood up and shouted, “Steve, over here!”

  Max grabbed Alex by the belt and yanked him back down. “What are you doing?”

  “Huh? I-I don’t know…”

  Just as they were about to peek around the tree again, Steve Hanson came sliding up on his belly, startling Alex to a shriek. His clothes were in tatters and he was huffing like a Madrid bull after its final charge.

  “What a bitch,” he said. “That was harder than football practice.” He rolled over onto his back with a groan. “I’m beat.”

  Max said, “How many of the others have made it?”

  “I don’t know…Mike, Cheeks, Brandon, Sid. Maybe a few others. I told them to wait over there behind that boulder.” He raised his arm over his head and pointed in the general direction.

  Max said, “Why didn’t you wave the bandanna like you were supposed to?”

  “I dropped it,” Steve said sheepishly.

  “You dropped it!” Alex said. “You owe me two bucks.”

  “Shut up,” Steve said. “Look at my clothes.”

  “Look at my knee!” Alex rejoined, as if he deserved a purple heart.

  Max said, “Steve, did you see the girl?”

  “Nah…but I heard things.”

  “Our own guys most likely,” Max said. He got up and walked directly towards the boulder Steve had pointed towards and waved everyone out of their hiding places. A minute later, twelve of the original twenty youths were congregated around the rock. They talked excitedly and compared adventures and damages.

  Max laughed. “What a fine, courageous bunch you are. We’d have been better off hiring the Pinecrest campfire girls. Let’s go.”

  “What about the enemy?” one of the boys said.

  “There is no enemy,” Max said. “Unless we count ourselves.”

  “What, no enemy?” Jake Dempster said. He was very disappointed, demonstrating as much by whacking his left palm with a long, thick stick.

  “Cool,” Alex said. “Where’d you get the stick?”

  “When I slipped down that ravine over there I found it by my head. Nice, huh? I’m going to use it as a walking stick.”

  Alex said, “I want one.”

  “Me too,” the others said, turning their eyes on the surrounding area.

  “Come on,” Max ordered. “Let’s get going.”

  After twenty minutes of marching they found themselves in the thick of the woods, lost. None of them had ever been in those parts before. The only areas they knew were the much frequented public campsites and trails.

  Steve said, “Where do you think she could have gone?”

  “There’s got to be a trail around here somewhere,” Jake said, swinging his stick around as if he were a human compass.

  “Careful with that thing,” Randy said. “You might knock someone’s balls off.”

  “You don’t have any to worry about,” Alex snickered.

  “Hah, hah,” Randy said. He turned to Max. “I say we head east.”

  “Which way is east?” asked Sid Kelpy, a tall, stringy youth with short, curly dark hair and a long nose.

  Jake spun around again with his stick. This time Steve caught the end and jammed it back into Jake’s stomach. Jake winced as the others laughed and applauded.

  “Over there,” Randy said. “I think the highway is over there.”

  “I think you’re right,” Max said.

  The boys marched on, their eyes fixed on the ground to avoid tripping over the forest floor’s gnarled roots and debris. Thirty minutes later they were still marching, the highway nowhere in sight. They were no longer interested in finding the girl, only a path. That would be victory enough. They were tired and thirsty and felt kind of stupid. Every conversation was a preoccupation with their uneasiness and discomfort.

  “Are you sure this is east?”

  “What if it gets dark?”

  “Did anyone bring matches?”

  “This sucks!”

  “What does poison ivy look like?”

  “My mom’s gonna kill me.”

  “Who farted?”

  They wandered into a small clearing and decided to take a short break. Some rested against trees, as others chose to sprawl out on the springy forest floor. They felt dejected and bored. Alex began carving his initials into a tree with a penknife. Jake looked for uses for his walking stick and hit upon unearthing rocks to see what kind of bug-life went on under them. They checked out their scratches and scrapes, fiddled with sticks and clumps of needles—complained, teased and tortured one another.

  Max Stormer stood at the edge of the clearing, his back to the others, his arms folded over a low hanging branch. He stared into the woods and thought about his father who had abandoned his family when he was twelve years old, not long after his twin sisters, Ricki and Samantha, were born. He remembered how his old man used to storm out of the house after an argument with his mother and beat a straight path to the woods which then skirted the small neighborhood in which he lived.

  But that was six years ago. The woods were now a two-mile hike from his house, and the path his father beat led into the lobby of a Best Western motel. His brother, Whitney, left to stake his claim in the big city. Max hadn’t seen either father or brother since. He wore the pants in the family, and although he had to cinch the belt a few extra notches at the beginning, he did so stubbornly.

  He felt sorry for his mother. Try as he might, Max believed he was letting her down. He was a trouble magnet. How many times had his mother been called into the principal’s office? She never scolded or punished him, but simply looked at him with her sad, life-weary eyes and snapped his heart in two. She seemed, however, to blame herself more than him. He believed that if it weren’t for his gifted athletic abilities he’d have been kicked out of school a long time ago. But it was for the twins that he felt the most responsibility. The little girls loved him dearly, and they were the most precious things in his life.

  Max felt trapped. He had a powerfully romantic nature, but felt that his situation condemned him to a life of mediocrity. Begrudgingly, he reconciled himself to it. If he had to spend the rest of his life working in his mother’s small, greasy spoon cafe, he would. Maybe something better would eventually come along. Maybe he could become a foreman in the lumber yard, or one day open his own garage or fix-it shop, but he’d rather not think about it too muc
h because it only depressed him. Except for a few brief thrills on the football field and his sisters’ laughter, little in his life excited him.

  None of the other guys ever suspected his fears and frustrations. They all looked up to Max Stormer. Max was cool. He was also the record-smashing captain and quarterback of the Pinecrest Panthers. He had what it took, and they were certain that he’d make it to the pros one day, and that they could say that they knew him back when.

  Max turned and scanned his friends, a clipped, ironic smile on his face. He wondered where they’d all be in a few years. He saw some of them in college, like Randy and Sid and Cheeks. Others like Brandon and Alex he imagined going into their fathers’ businesses. He pictured big Steve driving a semi or working on an oil rig. Or maybe getting a job as a bouncer or bodyguard. He could see Jake tending bar, or more likely, he chuckled, imprisoned behind them. And the others? Well, who could tell? It’s a screwy world, he thought, and he was their leader. They looked up to him. Oh, brother. What could he tell them? How could he help them? They were just a bunch of kids. What did throwing a football have to do with anything?

  “Come on, guys,” Max said. “Let’s get going.”

  The rest had allowed the youths’ muscles to stiffen and they all groaned getting to their feet.

  Steve said, “So how the hell do we get out of here?”

  “We just keep heading east,” Randy said. “We’ve got to hit the highway sooner or later.”

  “Come on, girls,” Max said. “One foot ahead of the other.”

  They began to move out when Sid Kelpy shouted for them to wait.

  “What is it, Sid?” Max hollered back.

  “She was here!”

  They turned around and walked back.

  “How do you know?” Randy asked.

  Sid grimaced and pointed at his foot.

  The boys busted out laughing. “They were here, all right,” Alex said. “Good tracking, Sid. I knew that nose of yours was good for something.”

  “If he had used his nose,” Randy laughed, “he wouldn’t have stepped in it!”

  “Damn dog,” Sid muttered.

  Jake said, “How fresh is it?”

  “I don’t know,” Sid said. “Taste it and find out!” He snapped his foot and sent the poop sailing at Jake.

  “Hey!” Jake cried, dodging just in time. The others howled with laughter.

  Max said, “She might not be far.”

  “Oh, come on,” Alex groaned. “We’re not gonna still look for them, are we?”

  Max glanced around at the others and saw that the fight had gone out of them. They just wanted to go home.

  “No,” he said. “Forget it.”

  “Did you hear that?” Randy said. “A semi! We must be near the highway.”

  Max was the last to leave the clearing. He looked about, and spotting Sid’s footprint stamped into the dog poop, he shook his head in amusement. He thought about the mystery girl and her big pooch. He thought it a shame that she missed out on the fun of seeing him and his friends make fools of themselves. Max heard the others call to him, took one last glance around, and strolled off to join them.

  From high above the clearing came a fluttering whistle. Seconds later, Beowulf appeared, nose to the ground and tail wagging excitedly. Aidos slipped down the tree she was hiding in and landed so silently that she surprised even him. Beowulf was about to bark but Aidos put her finger to her lips. The dog whimpered and ran up beside her, poking his big head up under her arm.

  Aidos sat crouched, poised like a deer, and then certain that the youths were well out of range, she grabbed Beowulf in a headlock and rolled with him on the carpet of pine needles.

  “Good doggie,” she laughed. Beowulf trotted over to his dump, sniffed, and turned to Aidos. “I know,” she said. “I had to bite my hand to keep from laughing!”

  10

  The Real World

  “They’re here!” Aidos announced.

  “Huh?” Hardy said, looking up from his book. It was the first of May and he and Aidos were sitting outside on the porch swing enjoying the sunny afternoon. “I don’t hear anything. Besides, they’re never early.”

  “Never say never.” Aidos leapt off the swing and tossed her book onto her father’s lap. “Come on!” Without waiting for a reply, she raced around the side of the house.

  “What’s the hurry?” he called out after her, and then mumbled dismally, “They’ll be here all weekend.” Hardy listened intently for the sound of a car. Nothing. Then after another half a minute he heard a faint rumble. “How does she do that?”

  Aidos greeted her aunt and uncle with a fistful of flowers and a bright-eyed smile. Before Nancy could step away from the car, her niece pinned her with a hug.

  “Oh, Ed,” Nancy said. “Look how she’s grown! Soon she’ll be taller than I am!”

  “What did you expect?” Ed Boswell said, slamming the car door. “Little girls are supposed to look bigger every time you see them.” He walked around the car and gave Aidos a hug and a kiss. “Hello, pumpkin. How are you?”

  “Great, Ed. I’m glad you’re here. I have so much planned for us to do.”

  “She’s not a little girl anymore, Ed,” Nancy scolded. She admired Aidos with motherly eyes and proclaimed, “She’s a young lady.”

  Ed said, “Young lady, where’s your old man?”

  “Who you calling old, baldy?” Hardy said, strolling up. He gave his sister a peck on the cheek and shook Ed’s hand.

  Nancy said, “I can’t believe we’re here.”

  “Neither can I,” Hardy said dryly.

  Aidos gave her father a furtive, admonishing pinch.

  “You don’t know what we had to go through for the both of us to get the same weekend off,” she added.

  Ed said, “But you wouldn’t know much about that kind of thing, would you, Thoreson?”

  “Oh, Ed,” Nancy said. “Just open the trunk.”

  He did as ordered and Hardy reached in and yanked out a large leather suitcase. “Ugh, man. Were you afraid someone was going to rob your house while you were away?”

  “My motto,” Ed said, “is be prepared.”

  “Yeah? Well you’re the oldest, fattest, baldest Boy Scout I’ve ever seen.”

  “You just missed lunch,” Aidos said, “but if you’re hungry I can fix you something.”

  “That won’t be necessary, darling,” Nancy said.

  Ed said, “What Nancy means is…” He reached deep into the trunk, and with a heave lugged out a large Coleman ice chest. He flipped open the top revealing a vault of foodstuffs, including frozen hamburger patties, hot dogs, beer, wine, cheese, and a salami. “We came—”

  “I know,” Hardy said. “Prepared. But for what, the Apocalypse?”

  “Well,” Nancy said, “you don’t expect us to suffer through another weekend of beans and rice, do you? Besides, they give Ed gas.”

  Hardy grabbed up the foot-long salami and waved it in the air. “And what does this give him? Besides hardening of the arteries.”

  “I’m on vacation,” Ed said in defense.

  “Come on, everybody,” Aidos shouted from the porch, her arms full of bundles.

  After the Boswells put their things up in Aidos’ room where they would be sleeping, they assembled around the kitchen table. Aidos made tea and Ed sat fixing salami sandwiches for him and Nancy. Aidos watched with amusement the concentration Ed used in building his lunch. Beowulf watched too, licking his chops in hope-filled anticipation.

  “No way, you mongrel,” Ed growled. “Scram.”

  Undaunted, Beowulf snuggled closer and rested his large furry head on Ed’s lap.

  “Oh brother,” Ed groaned.

  Aidos giggled. “Isn’t he cute? I think he likes you, Ed.”

  “Nah, he just knows good chow when he smells it. I bet he doesn’t fawn like this over the slop you people eat.”

  “How’s the writing coming along, Hardy?” his sister asked. “Publish anything re
cently?”

  “A couple of book reviews and some chapters for a textbook,” he answered. He didn’t like to talk about his writing to Ed and Nancy. He knew they didn’t really care and that they considered his efforts a waste of time.

  “Whatever happened to your great American novel?” Ed asked, licking the mustard from his fingers. “You’ve been working on that thing ever since I can remember. When the hell are you going to finish it?”

  “Soon.”

  “You said that last year when we were here. What’s it about again?” He handed his wife a sandwich. “Wait. Don’t tell me. Life, right?”

  Hardy shrugged and sipped his tea.

  “It can’t be very realistic,” Ed said. “I always heard you should write on things you know about.”

  “I’ve read it,” Aidos said. “It seems realistic to me.”

  Nancy chuckled and patted Aidos’ hand. “Well, I can imagine what it must be about. But honestly, honey, you can’t know what is real, really, because you have never lived in the city. You don’t know what it’s like. Just because your father didn’t like it doesn’t mean it’s the rotten place he makes it out to be.”

  Nancy Thoreson-Boswell was forty-five years old, two years older than her brother. She was slim, attractive, and energetic. She wore her dark hair stylishly short, painted her face with discretion, and dressed fashionably—chic but businesslike. She worked for a large advertising agency where she quickly made a name for herself as intelligent, enterprising, and uncomplaining; one for whom no job was too big to tackle. At work her stubbornness was valued as the virtue she always believed it was, which reinforced her opinions of both herself and those she held on the world. She was a demanding woman, but fair-minded. Her boss respected her; her clients loved working with her; and her colleagues envied her .

  Nancy Thoreson met Ed Boswell through a mutual friend. They married two months later. To others it seemed hasty, but to Ed and Nancy simply, decisive. They were not ones to sentimentalize love. Love was something to be earned and made, like money and success. Each enjoyed what the other enjoyed, which they believed gave them more in common than most couples they knew. And just as they theorized, their relationship grew, as did their assets, one of which they considered to be love. Both succeeded in business, and the heat of success bonded them all the more tightly together.