Chapter 1

The Pellet Factory

His name was Thomas. He was sixty-three years of age, just the time in life when people consider you old. He didn’t mind as much as he thought he would. When his father turned sixty he remembered him having a very hard time with it. To Thomas, it just wasn’t that big of a deal. He didn’t fear death so to him it was just the next chapter in his normal life. 

He worked at a plastic pellet manufacturer. They made the pellets that would then be melted down to make toys and other plastic products. It wasn’t his passion, it was just the only thing available. Before that he worked as a manager at a boat manufacturer. He loved that job but corporate taxation and an unruly union took down the company and all the jobs with it. He was forced to look for any job he could get in a broken economy. That's how he found himself at the pellet factory.

It was Friday. Quitting time. Normally he doesn’t have much to look forward to on the upcoming weekend, but not today. He was very excited. It was deer season.

He went to his cubby in the back right of the factory to grab his jacket and wallet. He slowly made his way to the exit and then to Lot C where he always parked his car. He loved walking past all the employees going in for the night shift. He would think back to when he was first going in for the day, then would excitedly remember that he was done and could go home. A feeling he always felt was a bit evil. 

He struggled and twisted to fit his larger-than-average body into his smaller-than-average car. He turned on his headlights and took off for the road. This time on his way home he was able to count six total closing businesses. A little more than average. These companies, like the rest, went broke. Before they lost everything, the owners usually took the money they had and laid off all their employees, and shut down their company. Why would the owners wait and lose everything? You can’t really “eat the rich” and “feed the poor” if the rich were the ones who could leave for Europe and the poor were now stuck with no job. If a company was smart though they would leave completely and rebuild somewhere across the ocean, far away from the extreme corporate taxation, which is what most of them did. Either way, they both end with no jobs and a tanked economy.

Thomas didn’t let himself get too concerned about it. He was never much of a political man. If he tried to talk about controversial subjects it generally ended in uncomfortable confrontation, something Thomas didn’t like. As he drove down the road he remembered how different his father was about talking politics. He loved it. Thomas didn’t remember much but he knew his father’s opinions were very uncommon for the time. He would talk about it with just about anyone. He never got angry with the people and never said anything to hurt anyone's feelings. Despite this, one time a bunch of people at the school he worked at (he was vice-principal) caught wind of his beliefs and he was fired on the spot. His father loved working at the school and being fired destroyed him. 

Thomas arrived at the salary crediting station. He was once told it stood where a rundown park used to be. He knew the place very well. Everyone living by him did. Every Friday he went down to receive his weekly paycheck. The amount was determined by how much the government could afford to give him. Supposedly sometimes you get more and sometimes you get less. You never get more. Any benefits, bonuses, or extra pay given from the employer is illegal unless it is provided to everyone, otherwise, the equity and equality that the salary crediting stations were made to provide would be useless. Therefore Thomas’ only means of income were from that building. He was like a dog eating from its owner's hand. That was a thought Thomas never considered. 

He collected his check, only a few thousand dollars less than last Friday. He might not be able to buy a pack of gum this week, he thought, no big deal. On his way out of the building, he noticed a rat crawl into a crack in the building. At that moment he realized how run down the place was. Despite all the money he gives they can’t keep the place in shape?

Thomas once again squeezed himself back in his car. He drove home quickly and grabbed his bag that he packed the night before. There was no time to wait. He had to get to the country as soon as possible so he is ready and well slept for the morning. Within five minutes he was back in his car and on the road. 

He was headed to his ranch for opening day of deer season.

Chapter 2

The Drive

Tradition wasn’t something Thomas really knew well. His family was close but they didn’t do things like all wear matching pj’s on Christmas or drink apple cider on New Year. But one tradition they did have was him, his brother, and his father hunting on opening day. All of their most fond memories were in deer blinds talking to each other through walkie-talkies. The bliss while hunting helped him through his mother’s sickness and all the other challenges he faced in his youth. Thomas’ first deer was a doe. He was so excited that he saw something he didn’t even care that it didn’t have antlers. His shot was bad, so bad that it was good. He just barely hit the doe shooting it in the spine, instantly killing it. He would go on to successfully kill many other deer with much larger bodies and dramatic antlers.

He was a very grateful person, but there was one thing he felt great sorrow in failing to achieve. Shooting a deer he considered the “the perfect buck”. He didn’t have an exact picture but he had an idea of what it would look like. He would have a large chest sticking out from the rest of his body. Bulging muscles covered every inch of him. And best of all a large, no a giant, rack of antlers, with a minimum of 10 points. Points, if you didn’t know, were the individual spikes sticking out of a deer’s antler. His hunt for the perfect deer was ongoing. It seemed unachievable, but Thomas came to peace with it because he appreciated the thrill in the adventure.

The memories he made in the woods and the lessons his father taught would stay with him for the rest of his life. Today Thomas was continuing that tradition and while he may just be going by himself as he has for the past eleven years, it was still something special.

As he drove down the road Thomas noticed the moon was on its last quarter. Perfect. His brother always joked about how much he hated the moon. It was so bright that it diffused the brilliance of the stars. There were no better stars in the world than at the ranch. They were so bright and so defined you could burn the milky way into your eyes. It reminded him of something you might see in a movie or documentary about space. Since the moon was in its last quarter that would mean there would only be stars in the sky for Thomas’ trip.

Thomas didn’t have many luxuries in his life but he did have his ranch. It was passed down from his father and from his father before that. On it, there was an old log cabin, a barn with a tractor inside, and a total of three blinds to hunt in. 

The ranch was in the family for three generations yet it didn’t have a name. Ideas came and went but never really stuck. Originally it would be called cedar mountain because it was filled with cedar trees and located across a mountain. Sadly this name would come to an end because within the outdoor community cedar trees are held with little respect because of their invasive nature and inability to be used as firewood. So it was gotten rid of because in his grandfather's words “it would be like calling the ranch trash mountain”. Another name that was used for quite a while was nighthawk ranch. On thanksgiving day Thomas’ family all got the pleasure of watching nighthawks hunt mosquitoes while the sun set which would go on to inspire the name.  Night hawks are a type of bird, brownish in color, that stalk above the treeline in flight looking for a meal. When they see their target they dive down, grab their dinner, and flex their wings out just in time to not hit the ground. After about a year of being the unofficial name though the family came to the realization that they were yet to see nighthawks again so the name didn’t seem appropriate. Other ideas came and went but it never seemed natural and the names were never really used. The place just became known as The Ranch. 

After thinking about the ranch’s history of names for a while Thomas became rather bored so he flipped on the radio. The commentator started talking about the latest national emergency. There were so many of them that Thomas didn’t even know what the most recent one was. The government would announce a new world-threatening emergency usually every week and they wouldn’t ever be solved, just replaced by something more pressing. Like always the announcer said to deal with the issue more power and higher taxation would be required to be given to the government. Also like always the emergency seemed silly, but Thomas didn’t dare to question it. If he did he would be charged with misinformation and treason. 

Thomas turned off the radio and decided to just drive in silence.

Thomas didn’t feel like drifting off in thought as he found himself doing a lot. He tried to focus on the road. He noticed the brilliance of the fast-food signs in the pitch-black night. During the day the signs blended in but at night nothing could be so clear. They contrasted like a highlighter on a page. He then noticed the roads. They were in quite bad shape. Potholes and cracks littered the road like letters in a book. Thomas couldn’t help but chuckle. Did he not just pay a three-year-long tax increase for the newest infrastructure plan? Maybe the radicals were right that the money didn’t go where you think. 

Thomas tried to observe other things passing by him in the road but he just couldn’t. Once again Thomas was forced to listen to nothing but his own thoughts. He started to think about the northern winds. 

He remembered when he was around fourteen years old, while at the ranch, Thomas and his dad were going on a hike talking about nature. Then out of nowhere in the middle of his speech, Thomas’ dad went quiet. He pointed into the sky and said “hear that”. Thomas was unsure of what was going on and his dad could see it. “Listen very closely”. Thomas really concentrated, and he began to hear it. It almost was like the noise of a plane far off in the distance. “That Thomas, is the northern winds”. They both just stood there and listened. They listened for 20 minutes, and then just like that it faded away. It was a magical moment that Thomas would never forget.  They never heard the winds again. 

Oh what Thomas would give to share that moment once more.

Thomas could always tell that he was getting close to the ranch when he could count more cows than buildings. The smell got a little more fresh and the skies got a little less grey. Then out of nowhere, almost to the point of missing it, he saw the entrance to the association road. He turned down the dirt road and started his rough drive down the mountain to where the log cabin was. Humorously the road was more tolerable than the paved road. After a ten-minute drive, he arrived at the main clearing where the barn and house were. He shut off his car, opened the door, and took a strong sniff of the air. And in that one second, more memories than you could remember in a lifetime flew through his head.

Chapter 3

The Perfect Buck

Thomas grabbed his bag from the back seat and made his way towards the cabin. He made sure to tread lightly. When it’s so dark out it would be impossible to see a rattlesnake unless he looked very carefully. He walked up the porch grabbing the side rail for balance. When he got to the front door he looked under the welcome mat to grab the front key. Silly. That was the first place anyone would look if they wanted to break in. Then again in the country, you could leave the key in the lock and no one would mess with it.  A strong contrast from the city. Most people don’t even use their pockets anymore since pickpocketing had become so common. And even if you were caught there wasn’t much that could be done. Since it was a misdemeanor it was no longer a crime that could be prosecuted. The law counselors simply didn’t have the power to prosecute every petty crime. When Thomas was a kid his mom told him about law counselors with more power and they prosecuted people for every little thing. She said she heard rumors they were oppressive and violent. His dad disagreed. So did the radicals.

Thomas opened up the door and chucked his bag on the couch against the far wall. He felt like a child. When you open the door to your left there is a small kitchen with a table against the back of the wall across from it. Across from the door is a large couch on the back wall. To the right of the entrance, there is a wall with a door. Through the door are two sets of bunk beds for sleeping. The light was provided by two light bulbs dangling from a wire in the middle of the two rooms. The cabin was old but in good condition. It was cozy.

Thomas quickly changed into his pajamas and went to bed. He laid awake for a while thinking about how he needed to go to sleep but he just couldn’t. Something was on his mind yet he wasn’t quite sure what it was. Finally, though, he drifted off.

•••

It’s five in the morning. Thomas gets up and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He walks over to the kitchen where he begins to boil water for his coffee. While he waits he puts on his camo clothes and straps his fanny pack around his waist. It contains some toilet paper, granola bars, first aid, and a walkie-talkie just in case of an emergency. By the time he was done the water had come to a boil. He then filters the coffee in via a french press, which involves forcing the water through coffee beans with a plunger. It all happens inside a compact metal pitcher-like cup. It tastes horrible but it will get him through. He pours the coffee into a thermos and slides it through three interlocking cup loops connected to his fanny pack. Now he must get his gun.

It must have been sometime around his dad's 50th birthday when they officially put the gun ban into action. His dad and grandfather were in no way giving their weapons away. Luckily they had a way around it. See, all the guns they used were very very old. In fact, some were used in the Taiwan War. Therefore they weren't in the government's records, so as long as they kept them at the ranch there was no way they would ever be taken. He walked to the back of the room to an old rusty gun safe sitting next to the couch. He put in the code and grabbed the second gun  from the right. It was a very simple-looking gun. Wood where you held it and metal where you didn’t. He took out the clip and slid a couple of bullets in. Shouldn’t need that many. Thomas was a clean shot, and while none of them would admit it he was clearly the best shot in his family. He slung his gun over his shoulder and made for the door. He stepped outside and took a deep breath. Thomas loved watching his breath frantically escape his mouth to then dissipate into the air. He walked down a trail to the left of the cabin that would take him to his blind. He made sure to walk carefully since his blind was up a rocky mountain and it was still pitch black. A fun game he played while he walked was he would look at the silhouettes of the plant life and try to guess what it was. It got easier as time went by and his eyes got more adjusted. After about a ten-minute hike he arrived at his destination. He walked around to the back, unlocked the door, and sat down inside. 

The blind, like the log cabin, was old but in good shape. It was built well with a strong base and a sturdy roof. It clearly didn’t have very good insulation qualities though. Thomas was freezing his butt off. All part of the experience his father would say. 

Watching the sunrise over the mountain range was a beautiful thing, but it never felt the same to Thomas without knowing that he was sharing the woods with his dad and brother. He was alone and no amount of beauty could get around that. 

He waited very patiently to see something. While he waited he decided to pray. Not for anything in particular. He just prayed. Tried to find peace. Some time had passed. His eyes were closed but he knew it was getting to be time to leave. It was past the deer’s regular feeding time. But to Thomas’ shock when he opened his eyes he was greeted by a buck. But not just any buck. It was the perfect buck.

•••

It was everything his childhood self could have imagined it would be. Muscles on about every part of him. A strong, sturdy, and prideful stance, almost like how a lion would stand on a rocky cliff. Best of all though he had antlers that looked like they could go on for a mile if stretched out. At first glance probably ten points coming on twelve. 

Thomas was automatic. By the time he could even comprehend what was happening he had his gun up and his crosshairs on the buck’s vitals. He watched the beast for a second, then a couple more. Thomas was hesitating and he himself knew it. Something about this deer slowed him down. He started thinking about how his ranch didn’t have a name. How he left the key under the mat. How he couldn’t sleep last night. How much he hated his job. How much he loved his dad. He thought about his mother’s death. And then he thought about the northern winds. 

Thomas finally found the Buck he had wanted for so long. He was able to get his gun up without scaring off the deer. All he had to do was pull the trigger. He knew he wouldn’t miss. Thomas never did. His adventure would end in a second. The perfect buck was as good as his. He put the gun back on safety and laid it back up against the wall of the blind. He watched the perfect buck eat some corn he laid out earlier. He watched it sniff around. And he watched as it blissfully trotted back off into the woods.

After waiting a couple more minutes Thomas decided it was time to leave. The sun had begun to rise. He slowly made his way through the woods, not with regret but with peace.

Chapter 4

The Strange Object In The Corner Of The Barn

By the time Thomas had returned to camp, the sun had completely risen. He made his way across the field to the cabin so he could set down his stuff and change into lighter clothes now that the sun was heating him up. He had chores to be done.

The ranch required a lot of maintenance. Since it would be left vacant for weeks at a time, generally when you return there were various small upkeep chores to attend to. These chores weren’t nearly as prevalent when there had been a recent trip though. This created an interesting dynamic within his family. There were work trips and fun trips. Work trips, while enjoyable, had a lot of chores that had to be done. Fun trips on the other hand were completely work-free. Thomas’ father always tried to shine a better light on work trips. He would call the chores “just fun work” and would say “we should be happy to do these”. This would annoy Thomas. As he grew though and learned what real work was he understood what his father was saying. Filling deer feeders with corn really wasn’t that bad knowing that they are bringing in the animals that you would get to shoot and eat. 

You always felt satisfied by the work done at the ranch. You would work and immediately see the fruits of your labor. It wasn’t like packaging plastic pellets and shipping them off never to be seen again. These were projects you CHOOSE to do and WANTED to do. You would set your own independent goal and pursue it. This was very different from work in the city. 

First things first Thomas had to replace the PVC pipe that supplied the sink with water. Last trip Thomas noticed it was cracked towards its base. He figured it was most likely caused by the cold. Nevertheless, in about an hour’s time, it was replaced and the sink was working. Seems like a while, but time goes fast in the woods. The chore was easy and the pipe only cost seventeen thousand dollars, so it was a perfect project.

Thomas continued to do more chores until he found himself looking at the last thing on his list. Replace the lightbulb in the bunkroom of the cabin. The extra bulbs were in the barn so he made his way there. When he found himself looking at the undoubtedly old yet grand-looking barn doors he grabbed its keys from his pocket. He unlocked the barn and walked inside to be welcomed by the gas smell that had become so common despite its initial shock. He made his way over to the shelves in the corner of the barn. To his dismay, there were no bulbs in their regular location. He tried to stay calm and figured his best move was to look around a little and try to find some. He rummaged through boxes and bins but found nothing. At first, going through everything was quite fun and nostalgic for Thomas, but now he was getting frustrated. Thomas took a second to step back and look around the room. On a workbench by the door was a stack of boxes he had yet to look through. He walked over to them. Just by looking through the top slot, he knew there was nothing but a few books in the first box. He picked it up and moved it aside. That is when a streak of red caught his eye that he hadn’t noticed when he first looked through the crack. He grabbed the box and decided to open it. The red was from under the books. He took them out. Revealed to him was a triangular piece of cloth. Or at least a piece of cloth folded into a triangle. Like any man, he was determined to understand what this was. As he unraveled it he observed what looked like two different stripes, red and white, crossing the strange object vertically. It was rectangular. In the top corner, there was a blue box filled with white stars. This was definitely a flag, although one he had never seen. It was different from the ones seen at the workplace, salary crediting stations, and transportation units. In fact, it’s about to be the forty-year anniversary that houses became mandated to fly the flag. The term anniversary is used because supposedly this mandate should be considered a celebration. One of the last things Thomas’ dad ever said to him before he disappeared is to never fly that flag at the cabin. He told him this over a phone line. 

Thomas spread the strange red, white, and blue flag out across the back of the tractor and stepped back to look at it. It intrigued him. The flag reminded him of something. It was familiar. Without knowing anything about it though, he knew it wasn’t good. It was against the rules. The flag wasn’t something other people should know he had. He could get in trouble. He grabbed the flag anyway and made his way back to the cabin. There he stood at the base of an old flag pole. It was originally put there to hang the revolutionary flag but was instead left bare to respect his father’s wishes. Thomas was no rebel. He wasn’t one to stand out from the crowd. Hanging the flag could result in some serious consequences. Despite this Thomas had a feeling in his chest that he couldn’t ignore. He was going to hang this flag. As he slowly raised the flag he thought about what he was doing. The only thing he knew about the flag was that it was bad news, yet he couldn’t help but display it. Every part of his being told him to crumple the flag up and put it back in the box, or maybe even burn it. But he wasn’t able to tell his hands to stop hoisting it up. The flag will fly and there is no reason or excuse that would stop that. He knotted the rope to the cleat and slowly removed his hands to make sure the flag wouldn’t come flying back to the ground. It was secure. He took exactly ten steps back until he turned around to observe his work. Almost immediately he knew what it was. It came to him. This was the flag wielded by the radicals.

Chapter 5

The Radicals

As a child, Thomas was always made fun of for being a little old-fashioned. It was never his fault. For example, his father once picked him up from school with a cross on his necklace. All his friends laughed at him and accused him of being a racist and a traditionalist. Even his teacher said it was a bit barbaric of his dad to still wear stuff like that. Another time, after Thomas was strangely touched by someone in a public bathroom at a restaurant, and his dad was complaining to management, he decided to bring up that he thought stuff like this happens because there aren't separate bathrooms based on gender. The whole restaurant went quiet. There were many other incidents like this, all tracing back to his dad, but Thomas never got mad. With one exception. At school, the teacher discussed a very recent event that had the school a buzz. There was a protest put on by the radicals that ended in the imprisonment of many and the shooting of a few. The teacher explained that free speech was very important so long as what you were saying wasn’t hurting other people's feelings. She then went on to explain to us what hate speech was. This was required of all third-grade teachers. One of the smarter kids in the class, his name was Tommy Buchanon, asked “who determines what is hate speech and what is tolerated speech”. He was suspended immediately. Thomas came home and told his dad all the horrible things he had learned about the radicals today and what horrible things they say. Thomas explained that he hopes to one day kill a bunch of radicals to rid the world of their evil. His dad simply responded by saying “maybe they aren’t that bad”. This was it for Thomas. How could he say that! All his life he has been warned of the vileness of the radicals and now his dad was defending them! Thomas blew up at his dad and accused him of participating in hate speech. His dad simply patted him on the head and said “you’re right” and sent Thomas away. Their argument never came up again, until closer to when he disappeared. He told Thomas that he meant what he said about the radicals not being that bad. This too was over a phone call.

As an older man, Thomas felt much regret for the argument. Other than that one conflict they had a perfect relationship. And now look. Thomas was raising the flag of the radicals, something his dad would NEVER do. How could Thomas possibly be mad at him?

Thomas always felt his personality was the worst combination possible. He was a very smart and curious person, but he also didn’t like to get involved. This usually resulted in him being in a constant state of wonder. He could ask intelligent questions, but never get the answers. He got really good at painting his butt white and running with the antelope, as his grandfather would say. He was a bit of a redneck if you can’t tell. Thomas appreciated that.

Thomas started thinking about what the future of the flag was. Was he going to keep it there for the rest of the trip? Would he dare keep it there even after he left? Then he stopped and thought about what his dad would do... the flag would stay.

Chapter 6

Freedom

Thomas noticed it was getting dark. He really had to get out to the blind. A real hunter would have been hunting for around an hour now. He quickly put on the extra layers that he had left strewn across the top bunk from the morning hunt. He decided to leave his gun. If he passed on the perfect buck I doubt there is anything out there he would shoot. He purposely walked slowly to stretch out the trek. He reached his blind in about half an hour. This had to have been the latest he had ever started hunting. In only an hour it would already be too dark to hunt. Nevertheless, he still enjoyed himself. He didn’t see any bucks but he did get the pleasure of watching a doe and fawn walk over to the feeder and enjoy corn together. He also saw a porcupine and a couple of squirrels. Nature is a wonderful thing. It can not be created or cloned. It is its own entity. You can’t control it. Humans can in no way decide how it reacts and that is why it enamors us.

Like Thomas predicted, in about an hour he was on his way back to the cabin. Shooting after dark was not only dangerous but impossible. If you can’t see a deer obviously you can’t shoot it. You also might want a gun to shoot a deer which Thomas elected not to bring. Since it was dark he hurried back. He was very hungry so he checked the pantry. To his delight, his favorite camp food was there. Hickory Spam. He knew Spam was nasty, but he liked it so that is generously what he ate while hunting. Plus it was very cheap which is a big plus. He cooked it on a pan and then put some tortillas on the pan afterward to give them a crisp. With these two ingredients, he was able to make a sort of spam taco. Delicious but salty. He followed his meal with a whole bottle of water, down in about thirty seconds. He felt satisfied. Since he wasn’t quite ready to sleep he decided to read. He picked up the book “1984 by George Orwell”. It was in the back of the bookshelf by the couch. He had tried reading it before but he always got bored reading it. This try was more of the same. It just wasn't that interesting. It seemed like the normal life of Winston. How could this have been a story? 

Instead, to pass the time Thomas decided to sit out on the front porch. There was a creaky wooden rocking chair to rest on. It was very old. In fact probably older than the cabin itself. But it was sound so Thomas felt comfortable rocking in it. He usually tried to fight the trap that was his own mind, but not today. He let himself slip into a sea of thought. 

His older family members always had so many stories to tell to Thomas almost to the point of boredom, and he always wondered how. Now he understood. When you live for so many years, even the plainness of men wouldn't be able to stop the accumulation of knowledge and history. The question is whether you will tell what you have learned. Thomas admitted that he has not. No wife, no kids, and no family left except his brother that he hasn’t talked to since their father disappeared. This was depressing, but not catastrophic. Thomas only observed and thought about what he saw, never making any interjections. This was similar to most people in the new world. He’s not sure if there's much advice he or his peers could give to a younger generation other than shut up and fall in line. 

Shut up and fall in line. 

That sounded horrible to Thomas. Yet that is what his and so many others' lives had become. Depressing. His car was too small, he hated his job, had no money or possessions, and he never looked forward to a new day. He had no family, his mother died and his father disappeared, and he had no relationship with his brother. Over and over his sorrows pounded against his head like a battering ram against the gates of a medieval castle. Over and over and over again. Then Thomas closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stopped. Stopped thinking about his sorrows, and came to a realization. 

Why go back? 

There was no reason to return to the city. There were no kids or some dream job that needed him. The only time he was ever happy was at the ranch. Of course he should stay. His mind was at ease. For the first time in all his life, Thomas’ thoughts were clear. He could rest. 

Then he heard it. It was like a distant airplane. A single memory came to him and nothing else. Him and his dad, quiet as can be, listening to the sky. It was the northern winds. Thomas’ eyes were already closed but he felt as though he closed them more. There was nothing in his world but him and the northern winds. He grasped on to that feeling and swore to never let it go. The winds blew for hours stronger at times and weaker at others, but always there. Thomas felt something he had never felt in his life, something he never knew the true existence of. Something his father before him fought tirelessly to find. Thomas felt freedom. 

He drifted to sleep rocking on the old wooden chair.

                                                                                                         Al Felix