Christian Galacar [Galacar - Gilchrist

GILCHRIST

a novel

Christian Galacar

Gilchrist

Copyright 2017 by Christian Galacar

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, or events used in this book are the product of the authors imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, events or locales is completely coincidental.

E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

Print ISBN: 978-1975802028

To the memory of my father.

CONTENTS

Prologue

LAKEMANS LANE (1931)

What the hell are you doing? Hold that goddamn thing steady! Mullins shouted over the sound of the crane.

The entire crew of a dozen men had gathered to watch. It was the biggest tree theyd felled since starting the job. Side bets had been made as to whether or not their equipment could even move the thing.

I got it, John Dennison said, carefully working the cranes controls. Though only in his twenties, he was a skilled operator. He had been doing it since he was a kid. His father had taught John everything he knew, but he didnt want to think about his father right now. The boom lowered slowly, and the massive log it was hoisting inched farther out. After a few feet, the crane started to bow forward and lift the treads off the ground. Dennison reacted, raising the boom again, and the crane squatted back down.

Jesus Christ! Mullins threw his hands in the air.

Its too heavy, Dennison said. It isnt meant for something this big. Why dont we just drop it and push it with the dozer? Its safer.

It aint too heavy. You just dont have a damn clue how to run that thing. Just take it slow, and itll be fine. You dont worry about whats safe. Thats my concern.

Dennison ignored Mullins. The guy didnt know what he was talking about. He started letting the load line out to bring the swinging log down. But before it touched the ground, Mullins was running over.

Just what the hell do you think youre doing? he said, out of breath. He was a fat man with a taste for afternoon gin. His face was the hypertensive shade of a ripe plum.

Dennison worked the controls, eyes focused ahead. I told you its too heavy, and yellin about it isnt gonna change a damn thing. So I plan to set this down, go have myself a smoke, then Im gonna get in the bulldozer and push that log the way we shouldve done from the start. Hows that sound, Will?

You little prick, if I tell you to do something, then you do it. Thats how this works.

That so?

Youre goddamn right.

With the log settled in the dirt, Dennison jumped off the crane and looked at Mullins. He was dog-tired and didnt want to deal with his bullshit right now. Mullins was an okay foremannot an okay guy, though an okay foremanbut he didnt know when to admit when he was wrong, and that was dangerous with this sort of work. To top it off, it had been a long day. Hell, it had been a long summer. The crew had been out there since June, building the road to Lake Argilla. Lakemans Lane was the name Gilchrists town officials had decided upon.

Last I checked, Dennison said, you aint got no one else qualified to run equipment. So what choice do you have?

Mullinss face showed a brief moment of embarrassed shock. Then, considering the crew watching, he pulled it into a hateful scowl. Without further warning, he cocked his arm back and took a swing.

Dennison ducked, then lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Mullinss stout body, driving him back. You gone done it now, you fat shit.

Get that sumbitch, one of the crew said.

Its on now, another yelled.

Others had started to laugh and cheer.

Mullins and Dennison jostled in each others arms for a few seconds, then fell over in an awkward embrace and started swinging in the dirt. Before long, a few of the crew ran over and pulled them apart. Mullins bled from a cut above his eye, and Dennison from his nose.

One of the men tried to put a hand on Dennisons shoulder to calm him down, but Dennison jerked away. Dont touch me, he said, and stormed off into the woods.

Where the hell do you think youre going? Mullins yelled after him.

Without turning around, Dennison yelled back, I told you, Im gonna go have a smoke, and then Im gonna get in that bulldozer and push that goddamn log. Then Im going home.

There was a pause. Then Mullins, in a defeated voice, said, Well, hurry up. Itll be dark soon.

Dennison continued into the woods to find a place to sit. He just wanted a few minutes away from that moron so he could calm down.

Dennison sat on a rock at the shore of Lake Argilla and blew a wad of bloody snot from his nose. The bridge of it throbbed with its own dull heartbeat. He fingered a Lucky Strike from his pack and lit it. The sun was setting over the trees across the water. He was thinking of his father, who had died a few weeks ago of a massive heart attack. Dennison had been the one to find him on the floor in the garage. They used to come out to the woods and go fishing a lot when John was a kid.

Those were good times, werent they, Pop?

He took a drag, then held out his hand and looked at his knuckles. They were nicked and scuffed with dirt. His hand trembled from the adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream. Mullins was lucky they had been pulled apart. He mightve killed the guy.

Moron, he said to himself, and dropped his hand to his lap.

He couldnt wait to be done with this job. Recently, he had been thinking about heading west to see if he could find something else to do with his life. He was a good machine operatordespite what Mullins thought of himand he knew it wouldnt be too hard to find work. He had never been away from Gilchrist before, and he thought it was probably time. There wasnt a whole lot left for him here.

Johnny, is that you? a familiar voice said from behind him.

Dennison wheeled around on the rock. He felt the blood drain out of his face as his skin chilled and broke out in gooseflesh.

Dad? he said, shock washing over him. His Lucky Strike fell in the mud and hissed as the ember went out.

Mullins was climbing over a pile of cut logs when his foot slipped down into a seam and his ankle got pinned. He tried to yank up on it, but a log above him shifted, threatening to roll down on him and crush his leg. He remained still, trying to assess the situation. Hed gotten himself into a fine pickle. The crew was about fifty feet off in the distance, drinking coffee and mulling over the evenings excitement. The last thing he wanted to do was call to them for help, especially after what had happened with Dennison. Hed looked like a fool enough for one day. If he kept at it, he would lose all respect. And without that, the job would never get finished. On the other hand, he didnt want to end up a cripple, either.

He bent down to inspect the situation better. Maybe if he could slip his foot out of his boot, then

The sound of the bulldozers diesel engine grinding to life startled him. He looked up and saw the exhaust pipe cough black smoke. The rain cap bobbed up and down on the muffler. Then he saw Dennison sitting behind the controls, staring at him. Great, he thought. Just the guy he wanted to find him like this.

Mullins hesitated. But after a moment or two, he waved his hands over his head to make sure Dennison could see him. He was thirty feet away, on the other side of the little clearing where they kept the equipment parked. Im stuck! he shouted reluctantly, pointing to his leg.

Dennison continued to stare at him, his face a blank slate. Then he pushed a lever forward, and the dozer began to creep and squeak toward Mullins.