Exceptional Bucky's Life Continues to Crumble Don't Stand Here Tonight! Chapter 2 by mossmouse

Chapter 2 Pete took his fire axe and struck the side of the exposed hinges on the right door. It took almost three minutes to buckle and break the hinges. He placed the blade of his axe in the opening and began to pry the outside edge outward, slowly and carefully. One of the more dangerous events that can occur in a building fire is the introduction of free flowing air, new oxygen, to bring it to new life, an all consuming life. Pete took off his helmet, placed the air mask over his face and turned on his oxygen supply, 15 minutes at best, maybe 20 without stress. Without stress, you bet! Pete moved to the right of the loosened door and used the axe head to open the door. He wanted the concrete outer wall to protect him just in case. The door popped out and there was no rush of fire but smoke began to billow out, temporarily enveloping him. "I hope Earl appreciates this", he muttered to himself. Pete stepped inside the smoke filled storage area, snapped on this lantern and proceeded to look for Earl. The time line for the accident was established later and a most remarkable occurrence of simultaneous events was discovered. Billy O' was relieved off the nozzle and headed toward Engine 12 to find his brother. There was so much noise this night with the roar of the pressurized water from the fire hoses, all the idling gas and diesel engines, and exploding cans of food, like gunshots coming from the grocery store. He checked the truck and saw Pete's oxygen tank was gone and instantly knew where his brother was. Billy grabbed another fire axe and headed toward the back of the grocery store. Eye witness accounts of events are mostly un-reliable. When you add trauma and moonlight seasoned with fire and improbability you take reliability to a new low; unless of course it was your eyes that saw. As Bucky stood as close to the tail as possible still screaming out his friends' names, he noticed what seemed to be steam coming out the top of the tail fin. It started to circle and then became a column some 20 feet or so in diameter reaching up 30 or 40 feet into the air. A second later it ignited and became a flaming tornado. Bucky turned to run but his feet would not move and his eyes were locked on the unnatural occurrence. As Bucky watched, he saw eyes and a mouth form on this firestorm and then lean towards him, as if to say, "Hi!" Many onlookers saw a flame coming from the tail of the plane but saw little else, at least that's what the newspapers stated. Bucky was enveloped by a terror that turned him into a pitying mass of tears and nausea. His body shook and his eyes were locked on that face in the fire. His life was being sucked from his very soul and he peered into that enlarging mouth and looked into Hell itself. The sounds emanating from inside that column of fire were unknown to him but he was dying at this moment and he knew it. His knees gave out and Bucky went down and then fell onto his back into the mixture of water and fuel that covered that area in front of the store. His whole body was a wick waiting to be lit. The column of fire leaned closer to him and a laughing roar completed his trip into unconsciousness. A single flaming tear fell from that face in the column of fire and ignited the fuel nesting on top of the water, and began to ripple out towards the now tragic form of Bucky Buchannan. The providence of God was just beginning to arrive. Pete moved carefully through the smoke filled storage area of the store. He could hear the roar of the fire on the other side of the dividing wall and knew time was short. After a few more steps he spotted the mop bucket and wheeled 50 gallon trash can and knew Earl should be nearby. Some 30 feet away on the other side of that wall sat a pallet of charcoal lighter fluid waiting for the night shift to restock the shelves for the weekend. The red and blue paint on the cans of E-Z Lite was just starting to bubble when Pete called for Earl one more time. Pete backtracked and headed towards the other end of the storage area. He felt the heat rising and the smoke continued to thicken and now time was very short. "Earl, where are you man?" hollered Pete. The human ear is an amazing assembly of intricate parts and especially under times of duress it can become particularly sensitive to sounds. Pete knew he heard something plea for help but could not locate the source. The smoke rolled on, thick and gray, suffocating both vision and life. The gauge on his tank was now in the red and the alarm was ringing in his ear, get out; no air. Pete dropped to his knees and began to crawl along the concrete floor looking for the source of that keening sound. Eight feet later Pete saw two very big eyes look back at him. There huddled among a bed of burlap sacks between the coolers was the biggest puppy Pete had ever seen. Pete reached over and picked him up and looked him over and other than being extremely frightened and covered in soot and pieces of ash, he appeared no worse for wear. He stuffed that pup inside of his fire coat and turned to crawl toward that rear door when another figure appeared in the smoke and he saw his brother staring at him. Two white eyes shone from that smut blackened face and he knew at some point in time he was gonna' get a pounding from Billy for this. Pete sucked for more oxygen but swallowed only smoke, swallowed and gagged, gagged and passed out. Many fireman are convinced that a fire, at some point, can take on a life of its own and no matter how well trained in air flow, flammable substances, temperature ignition points and water management they are, they will lose the fire and all it is devouring. We were just a minute or so from the origin of the pup's name. The second wild card had just been dealt. E-Z Lite was a local product and was pretty good but had a big caution on the label. It warned to light the fluid as soon it is placed on the charcoal or wood products to avoid the collection of vapor generated by E-Z Lite as it sat and waited for the flame. Many a good ole' boy thought it was a great dare to count to 10 before tossing the match toward the grill and listen and feel the whoosh of ignition. Unfortunately, several of them were still inside the minimum radius of damage at the time of ignition which resulted in the embarrassing explanation of missing eyebrows, bright red cheeks and sparseness of hair on the crown of their heads. Each pallet of E-Z Lite contained 288 quart cans of starter fluid stacked neatly and bound by canvas bands. The plane burned on while the paint on the cans had bubbled off and the easy spray plastic spouts were beginning to melt. Billy grabbed his brother and pulled him towards the back door. He never saw the pup but he smelled the E-Z Lite. How far was that door? How many foot pounds of pressure could a standard concrete block absorb before shattering? Two cans of E-Z Lite poured their contents out onto the store floor as their plastic spouts finished melting. The vapor cloud only formed for a few seconds before it was ignited by the conflagration inside the Piggly Wiggly. The vapor cloud was hovering over the pallet of starter fluid and within 5 more seconds the entire pallet converted from your favorite charcoal lighter to a most destructive explosion. Billy O' kicked the back door open and all he could smell was charcoal lighter. Looking to his left he saw the rusted dumpster and hoisted his brother up and over the edge and followed him in pulling the lid down behind him. The force of the explosion took out both the interior wall and the rear store wall directly behind the dumpster and the force of the explosion propelled them across the rear parking lot some 80 feet 'till they came to rest up against the Goodwill collection box. Billy O' pushed the lid up and looked around trying to get his bearings then looked down at his brother sitting up in the corner. Both of them were bleeding from numerous small cuts and were having a little trouble hearing at present due to the pressure of the blast. Billy looked at his brother and declared, "Are you crazy!" at which Pete started to laugh uncontrollably. Anger and love sometimes seem to have a thin casing that may break and cause one to flow into the other, diluting both into a sense of an "almost loss" emotion seemingly caused by a perceived foolish act. Billy was there and rolled his hand into a solid ball of a fist and planted into the wide spot between his brother's eyebrows. Pete stopped laughing. Billy climbed over the edge of the dumpster and began to pull his brother out when the pup stuck his head from beneath of Pete's coat and began to howl. Three minutes earlier Earl Pickett had stumbled out of the Alibi Lounge into the noise soaked night. But it wasn't night. Earl was somewhat disoriented between the blow to his head, the tail of a plane sticking out of the Piggly Wiggly and a very high blood alcohol content but even he knew it should be dark and it wasn't. He was looking at flames lighting up the night sky, fire trucks too numerous to count, hoses and firefighters everywhere when he saw his skeet shooting partner laying face up in the water and it slowly dawned on him that the water was on fire and heading towards Bucky. Fools, those that attempt the impossible without regard for logic and reason; where would we be without them? Earl loped through the covering of water; water on fire. "How could that be", thought Earl? Ever since the accident that killed Captain O'Halloran, Earl had become a coward. He was five feet away when the molten metal came down. The worst kind of coward, the kind with no shadow, the kind that no one knew was there, the kind that was consumed with guilt over something that was not their fault. "Bucky, Get Up, Sit Up, Run but do something now!" screamed Earl at his prone buddy. The fire danced on and it looked like its next partner was going to be Bucky. The human voice tends to go up in vocal range as fear and desperation modulate their words. "Bucky you'd better get up; I mean now; Now Bucky!" The fire touched the sole of Bucky's boots and the flame wicked up his legs to his chest, seemingly sitting just above the cloth and leather. Earl hollered the last 10 feet to his friend. Hollered, begged and prayed; prayed an ambling tribute to all the changes he would make if God would help him right now. The promise to stop drinking, to go home and hug his family, to conquer the fear, to resurrect his life, to forgive his sister and to stop crying on the back porch steps from the loneliness of the loss, to not rail at the moon and to not shake his fist in God's face anymore. Earl sloshed through the burning water and picked up his friend and hoisted him up and over his right shoulder, a running man carrying a burning man; a running man screaming for help from anyone who would hear him. Probationary firefighter Ben Willard saw the flaming apparition heading right towards him and calmly picked up the uncharged hose and rolled the brass lever forward and aimed straight and true. The one thing he forgot was the 150 plus pounds of back pressure. His feet were not planted nor was he balanced to receive the recoil. A reporter standing some 50 feet away later recounted these events. It seemed the hose just danced out of the fireman's grip and bowed up and the nozzle swung around and struck him square on the top his helmet, rendering him unconscious. Then the hose seemed to just stand up and spray a path through the flaming water that Earl followed to the edge of the grass by the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly. The hollering man carrying the flaming man threw him on the grass and then threw himself on top of him. Almost at the same time two other firemen arrived and stood over the pair. One of these firemen was carrying a small dog. As Billy and Pete O' arrived, a medic from the Life Flight took over Bucky's care. It seemed his facial skin was cherry red but without blistering. His boots and clothes were smoldering but had not let the fire burn through. Earl had burns on his hands and back of his neck where he had thrown Bucky over his shoulder. Pete looked down at his two friends, over at his brother and realized how close it had all come to ending tonight. He rubbed his forehead, smiled and took the pup from his brother. Bucky was slowly coming to and the medic helped him sit up and gave him some breathes of oxygen and then a cupful of water. Bucky looked at this scene one more time and then the remembrance came stumbling back and broke his heart one more time. The tears streamed down his face cutting troughs in the dust and soot. Pete saw the void in Bucky's eyes, the hollowness of misery and made a quick decision; he handed the pup to Bucky and said, "We all could use a smile right now, so here is yours." "It's a dog" Bucky said incredulously. Pete smiled and said, "Very good Bucky." "I don't need no dog, I don't need nothing," he spoke the words flavored with anger. "Just in case Bucky, just in case you do." Pete chirped back. "What in the world will I call it?" "It is not an it, it is a he and his name is Dumpster", Pete chuckled. Billy stared at his brother in disbelief and then broke out in peals of laughter which spread back to Pete and then Earl, who had no clue to the previous events. Bucky looked at the sodden pup and lay back on the grass and closed his eyes which seemed to be a hint to Dumpster to curl up on his chest and rest his nose right up against his chin. The press lived in that small town for 4 more days, interviewing and snapping pictures and taking up every seat in the Waffle House till a small revolt almost broke out. When their expense accounts dwindled and eye witness accounts seemed to morph into fantasy, they moved on. The front page of the local paper turned back to auto accidents, school board deadlocks and creek pollution. The local Elk's Lodge had a fund raiser for the pilot and co-pilot's families but things slowly returned to normal; except for a life seemingly scarred beyond recovery. Wednesday night, three months later, 3 a.m. found Bucky lying on his couch unable to sleep, not wanting to sleep, not wanting to dream of that column of fire. Dumpster, as usual, was asleep at his feet, a good sleep of contentment, for he knew nothing of the demons that danced inside Bucky's eyes. 3 am is dark; more so by the fact that Bucky had no electricity, no gas and no cable. No money was the root cause of this. No certificate to fly cargo was another cause. No reason to care was the nail in the coffin. There was a noise on the front porch and Dumpster looked up and waited, waited for friend or foe. Waiting for the big lit candle in the coffee can to reveal the face. This night it was Earl, friend and purveyor of hot pizza. Earl opened the screen door and came inside and sat on the wooden coffee table and spoke Bucky's name. Bucky looked over and said, "Don't you have somewhere to be?" "Yes, I do" spoke Earl, "Right here." Dumpster was wagging that fat tail as fast as he could 'cause he knew this fellow had his favorite food, but not the pizza. That special smell that would awake his nose from across the room. Earl set the pizza down and announced "Double Pepperoni with BBQ chicken on the thin crust. Wha'da think?" Bucky groaned and sat up, rubbed his face, trying to re-arrange the skin to fit better. Not eating regularly will loosen it up in a few places. Dumpster got off the couch and sat by Earl's right jacket pocket. He knew it was in there, wagging that tail, blinking those eyes and adding a small growl just to let Earl know he knew, knew where it was. "You are going to kill that dog Earl," snapped Bucky. Then he smiled and broke into a combination snort and laugh, which caused Dumpster to wag his tail even faster. Earl raised the flap on his pocket and took out the tinfoil wrapped delicacy, a bologna sandwich made with hot mustard wrapped in two pieces of sourdough bread plus a slab of Swiss cheese from the market. Dumpster stood up on his back legs and commenced to turn around, like an ice skater spinning, eyes changing direction only once in the 360 degree arc. Earl unwrapped the sandwich and looked up at the ceiling and Dumpster knew the best part was coming and sat down. Earl swung his arm up in slow motion and launched the treat into the air. Measuring time and distance, the dog sat and then took two steps, jumped on the coffee table and then stepped into the air to pluck his sandwich cleanly between his jaws, made a half turn and landed butt down in the broken La-Z-boy, the one that was always extended with the foot rest up. Bucky looked at Earl and asked, "How does he do that?" "Not sure" stated Earl, "but it is impressive." "Do not get crumbs on the floor Dumpster", barked Earl, who then looked at Bucky but he lost it and those two friends laughed till the tears soaked the shirts they wore. And all the while Dumpster scattered crumbs and added to the mustard stains on his favorite chair. Where do all the simple joys in life flee to? "It is 3 days away Bucky, and it is time for you to rejoin the human race, pitiful as it is," spoke Earl softly. "I can't do it Earl, you know I can't. I haven't looked down a barrel of a shotgun in 5 months. Do you understand me?" "I do, but I already paid the fee for you. You are still one of the best in spite of all these events." Earl looked at Bucky and then the dog and then got up and left the room; headed toward the empty bedroom in the back of the house. It was still there, resting in the corner. The only thing in the room, almost like Bucky now, convinced he was the only broken person in the world. Earl walked to that rolled up old wool blanket and picked it up and headed back to the living room. Carefully unrolling that blanket it revealed a soft, thick cotton inner lining with another layer of padding around the tall object. Earl continued to unpack and Bucky stared in dismay at the whole proceeding. Dumpster looked alternately at each of them, both with different expressions on their face. Finally all the wrappings fell off and Earl respectfully held up the shotgun. This was not just any long gun, but a Kreighoff K-80 over and under 12 gauge with a 32" barrel and titanium chokes. The engraving on the metal was flawless and signed and the scene carved in the stock was more like a painting than a carving. Bucky got the gun for payment from a customer who could not pay for the re-building of two Pratt and Whitney engines; a sizeable bill to say the least. Bucky made a couple of phone calls to a gun collector he knew in Virginia and then whistled weakly when he was told the value. He accepted the shotgun as full payment. Bucky took the gun from Earl and remembered all the times it had shot so straight and true, his eye aligned with the sight and the clay targets were without redemption. He set two club records and three in the state for shooting 75 clays without a miss five different times. Singles, doubles and handicap; Oh, how he loved to shoot. But his eyes were still burning from the loss of his two friends, his airplane and the legal woes that followed took everything else quickly. That shotgun was his entire net worth plus Dumpster, of course. "You have got to do this," barked Earl. "You have to get your act together. Living in an empty house without power is not an answer Bucky." "Please Bucky" whispered Earl. "The last few months have tested the mettle of all of us. I stopped drinking every day, got a decent part-time job and stick some money in my mailbox for my wife and little girl every Saturday." "I still am not proud yet but I feel it stirring inside of me." "Bucky, you are the most pitiful human being I know. None of this was your fault but you got runned over just the same. It is time to quit where you are and move on to something else, anything else," "Please Bucky, heck, even Dumpster with one burned ear and crooked tail has moved on from that night. It's time." Bucky looked at his only friend, set the shotgun down and placed his head in his hands and quietly sighed. Dumpster remembered all these times and jumped down, walked over and placed his head on Bucky's knee and then placed his head under Bucky's chin and raised it up. The two stared at each other for a few and then Bucky stood up and went outside and sat in the dark night on the front steps. Earl ate the last two slices of pizza with Dumpster and then they shared the Lazy boy for a while. Finally the screen door opened and Bucky walked in and simply said, "OK, let's do it!" 571 miles away the cavalry has just saddled up. The �??�?�¾ ton extra-cab GMC truck rolled down the Interstate headed to South Georgia. Rolled down from Lexington, Kentucky thru Knoxville, Maryville and Cleveland, Tennessee cruising the right lane, its four halogen lights lighting the road like daytime; the purple pearl paint job looked 3 feet deep to the eyes in the cars it passed and there were many. The �??�?�¾ ton extra cab rolled along in the left lane, seemingly empty of all competing traffic. Rolled along with 460 horsepower being flushed thru the blueprinted and balanced motor; motor work lovingly done just outside of Nashville by a small operation called Nadine's Competition Motor Works. They took your average big block engine and tore it down to the bones and polished and weighed every component and did things to it that the Lord did when he created this great earth of ours. Nadine and her little brother then reassembled it, added a few personal touches, like secret spices from the chef, and bolted it all back up and took it down to the old Ebbet's highway, closed for 10 years since the bridge washed out, and put it through the paces. You heard it coming a mile before you saw it but the sound was a song that just made you break out in a smile; a glory of engineering and workmanship. Top end was not available because there was not a road long enough to run it out, but it was sufficient; well, probably very sufficient. Nadine took it over to her cousin's house about six miles away and asked him to "do his thing". Purple Pearl was the color of choice with a rolled and pleated leather interior accented by a burled wood dash, Roote's guage cluster and ivory toggle switches. A full moon cycle later completed the 40 coats of primer, lacquer, and clear coat laid on the metal and Nadine's phone rang and she heard "it's done." Four days later Nadine drove the truck to Indianapolis and handed the keys to Annabelle. Hugs were exchanged and a meal shared by the friends and then Nadine watched Annabelle head out. "Three days to go," spoke Annabelle to Nadine. "This one is very bad but I believe we can accomplish the task. See you," and Annabelle turned and stepped up into the GMC and fired it up. Somewhere near Waverly, a little north of Chattanooga, State Trooper John Chisolm sat in his patrol car, sat in that special spot the oncoming traffic could not see. It was a hot night and he had the windows rolled down so a little breeze could blow through the car. He looked over his glasses at the radar screen as it rolled up the numbers from vehicles a few hundred yards away. 58, 65, 63, a 72 was very close to seeing the blue lights but he had just written his 5th ticket on this shift. A family heading to a wedding in Chattanooga had topped out a little over 80 so he felt obligated to welcome them to Tennessee. 25 minutes later he returned to his fishing spot and sat in the dark and waited. It was really a good spot because the light from the billboard advertising Mack's Fish Camp let him see the offending cars clearly while hiding him in the shadows. John heard it long before he saw it; at first he thought it was a small plane but then he recognized the sound of a finely tuned big block motor. His calibrated ears perked up and he took out his small notepad and wrote the number 90 in the left column and waited. Two columns, one labeled guess and the other actual and so far this week he was plus or minus 3 MPH on every one. He grinned and waited. Been awhile since a 90. Officer Chisolm watched the LED's on the radar gun. 8...15...10 were the only numbers that appeared, ambient reflections from who knows what. The sound was much closer. It rolled ahead like a coming thunderstorm, pushing everything out of the way. John stepped out and walked under the billboard just as the purple truck rolled by and all he could do was smile...gotchca! Jumping back in the patrol car he stared at the readout in disbelief, 18 MPH. John took his small Mag-lite out and tapped the top of the radar gun just behind the inspected date calibration tag and waited. 18 MPH remained locked on the screen. The purple truck was long gone now and John knew without the LED printout he had no case and didn't feel like chasing someone for 5 miles just to catch up. Besides, there were other fish in this pond. John uttered his favorite profanity and then saw the LED's flip up to a new readout, 133 MPH. The purple truck rolled on. Annabelle shifted in the seat, sipped some coffee and smiled and looked down at the speedometer and tach...131 MPH at 5800 RPM. Thank you, Nadine. Annabelle whispered a prayer, "I'm coming to you Bucky" mouthed Annabelle.

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