The Northland Chronicles: A Stranger North by Henry J. Olsen

Author:Henry J. Olsen
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Unbound Adventure Press
Published: 2013-05-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Hours later, John rested on his unzipped sleeping bag, staring up at the glowing ceiling of his tent, illuminated by the stars and the moon. Not wanting to impose upon Cynthia, he’d set up camp in the woods on the outskirts of Frontier View. Moreover, the thick walls of a cabin dulled the senses and offered a false sense of security — through the thin nylon tent, he could detect any oncoming danger early and act accordingly.

With his right hand, he massaged the lumpy scar tissue around his left shoulder. It still felt strange to his fingertips, like someone had branded him, separating his arm from the rest of his body. Was the arm a gift? A curse? What was its immense power intended for? Whoever gave it to him probably didn’t think he’d be using it to sucker punch wild game in the wilderness.

John took a deep breath through his nose — strange, there was something in the air …

Smoke.

He poked his head out of the tent. Voices shouted in the distance. With haste, he clothed himself and stepped out to look.

The shadowy trees loomed over him as he passed through the underbrush, towards the village. Thorns clawed at his jeans and low hanging branches slapped at his eyes. As he approached Frontier View, the voices became clearer. “Fire!” he heard. “Pierre’s chicken coop is on fire!”

Well, pull my trigger, John thought. He steeled himself and picked up his pace, lurching over the roots and downed logs in the darkness, like a blind man dancing through an obstacle course. A jagged piece of bark clipped his shoulder, claiming a shred of his flannel shirt. He leapt over a final bush and fell to one knee, catching his breath as he tried to determine the location of the fire.

The smell of smoke was unmistakable now. An aura of flame danced in the distance. Out of the woods and into the firepit, he thought, standing up and dashing toward the light. Every building he passed was constructed of wood. If the fire got out of hand, it would quickly ravage the entire village.

As he approached, he saw men, women, and children — many half-clothed or in pajamas — scurrying across the village with buckets full of water, like panicked ants defending their hill. Pierre was among them, clearly straining his old body to keep up.

Embers and ashes flitted through the air, carried by drafts of hot air. Through a gap between the houses, John saw the source of the flames — a chicken coop nestled against the rear of Pierre’s home. He drew himself closer, watching as a villager braved the sweltering heat and tossed water on the fire. Even standing ten feet back, the blaze seared John’s skin.

“What are you standing around for? Grab a bucket and get to work!” a young man shouted over the crackling of the fire. Sweat dripped from his dark mop of hair as he ran up and thrust a bucket at John.

No, more

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