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Chapter 8 from Flight from Big Tangle

The following is a sample chapter from Flight from Big Tangle, by Sault Ste. Marie's Anita Daher. An Orca Young Reader, the paperback costs $6.95 and is available at Dunns Authors and the Bushplane Museum.
BigTangle

The following is a sample chapter from Flight from Big Tangle, by Sault Ste. Marie's Anita Daher.

An Orca Young Reader, the paperback costs $6.95 and is available at Dunns Authors and the Bushplane Museum.

It's also expected to be available soon at Coles.

This material is copyright and appears on SooToday.com by permission of the author.

****************************************************************** Kaylee spun around, pushing her way back through shoulder-high fireweed the way she had come. She paused at the edge of the bush, gasping, her chest heaving, and stared at the outlines of what had once been two separate paths. Both were almost closed in with foxtail. She could not tell from which she had just come. Turning, she checked the sky over the clearing. The smoke-cloud was still there, but not as big as before, she thought. Or was it? A breeze bent the fireweed, bringing another whiff of smoke. It smelled like camping.

One of the paths was a little less clogged with under-brush, and had a wild rose bush to the side. Had she seen that before? Betting that she had, she plunged back into the forest.

The forest ceiling was too tangled to see much of what was happening above, but the drone of water bombers was constant. Thwap-thwap went a chopper, maybe two, in the distance.

"Oomph!" Her right foot twisted under a raised poplar root, and she landed flat-out on the path.

Winded, she pressed her right cheek into the dirt, heart pounding, mind racing. As her lungs filled with air, and her pulse slowed, a new thought scratched through. The fire-fighting base for their entire region was right here in Misto. She had been hearing aircraft for a while...maybe the fire was almost out.

Spitting out sand and pine needles, she climbed to her feet, gingerly testing her ankle. Twisted. Too bad she had dropped her walking stick. She thought of her dad, a painful lump forming in her throat. What would he do? He would go back and pick up the walking stick.

"Come on, Kaylee," she muttered. "You’re loony to walk without a stick!" His words gave her a small burst of comfort. She would go on. Her ankle was only twisted. She could walk it out. Okay, she had taken a wrong turn somewhere. She needed to calm down and figure things out. The fire was under control – of course it was! Running was silly, dangerous even. She knew these woods like the back of her hand. Well, most of the woods, anyway. Those dumb old mushroom pickers had left way too many paths. Spotting a crushed pop can jammed against a gnarl of a black spruce, she stopped. Who had been using these woods lately? She pressed her hand against the scaly, grey bark beside it, deciding not to move it. It would make a good marker. Why hadn’t she seen it earlier? Running too fast, she supposed. Her cheek where she had been slapped by the sapling felt bruised. I’ll walk a little farther, she thought. If it’s not the right way I can always turn back.

Was her mom fighting this fire, or had she gone to the other one out west? Probably this one. If her mom had gone west, she would have been called back. She would be worried about her daughter. She had probably asked Jack to check on her. Kaylee stopped. Hug a tree. That’s what the kids in school were taught to do if they got lost, hug a tree until they were found. Jack would know she was in the woods. After all, she went hiking pretty much every day. He would come looking for her. He kept a key to their house, just in case. He would let himself in and check the map for her feather. She needed to do what she had been taught. Wait. But she had pinned the feather on Red Sector. Something snapped in the woods to her left. Probably just a fox, most likely. In town, old Mr. Frank always had pelts hanging behind the trading counter of his general store. Mostly fox, but sometimes he had lynx, and would let her gently stroke the pelt. It was the softest thing she had ever felt, softer than a baby’s hair. Lynx were rare, hard to trap, and mean when cornered. A poacher would be mean too. It was probably just a fox. All she could see of the sky were scattered puzzle-pieces of light. The bombers sounded louder now. She swallowed. The inside of her mouth had a flat, rusty sort of taste, and her eyes stung a little. She stared hard into the brush around her. It didn’t look smoky. Still...what if the fire wasn’t almost out? Needing more air she opened her mouth, sucking deeper. What if Jack couldn’t find her? Another blackfly bit. She slapped her neck, hard.

No. She was not going to just stand there making like lunch for blackflies, and fresh bait for poachers, waiting for the forest to burn down around her.

Stepping lightly, she started a slow jog along the path, keeping the weight off her injured ankle. Once she got back to her hill she would see what was happening. If the fire was almost out, then she would hug a tree and wait for Jack to find her. That was pretty close to home, and if he was calling her, she could shout back.

Really, she thought, she didn’t even need Jack. She had taken a dumb turn before because she wasn’t thinking straight. She wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

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David Helwig

About the Author: David Helwig

David Helwig's journalism career spans seven decades beginning in the 1960s. His work has been recognized with national and international awards.
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