Cold Temperatures Could Affect Performance

#11 in the Construction Series

By Caillech

caillech2000@yahoo.com

http://www.arkwolf.com/caillechsite/index.html

This is the standard disclaimer. They don't belong to me. This story is not intended to violate any copyrights held by Paramount, UPN, or Pet Fly Productions.

Author’s Notes: Thanks to Spacepixell for the beta. This story contains corporal punishment. Be warned.

~*~*~

As he drove, Jim concentrated on dividing his attention between the winding road and the band of low hanging steel gray clouds looming above the mountaintops. He really didn’t like the look of them; heavy-laden with pockets of moisture which hadn’t been in the forecast when they’d left Cascade. There was also a subtle change in the air pressure, causing an annoying drone in his inner ear. He craned his neck to view the tops of the trees lining the road and squinted through the windshield. The tips of the conifers were bending and swaying in time with the wind that was whipping up through the pass and picking up speed. He could tell the temperature was starting to drop even though the inside of the truck was toasty-warm.

With the seemingly deteriorating weather pattern closing in on them, Jim was beginning to doubt the wisdom of letting Blair talk him into this little excursion. He’d just started debating the merits of turning back when Blair grabbed hold of his sleeve and tugged at the fabric to get his attention.

“Jim! Yo Jim! Jim?” Blair snapped as he continued to pull at Jim with one hand while steadying the book on his lap with the other.

“What?” Jim questioned irritably. He tightened his hold on the steering wheel and flapped his elbow, dislodging Blair’s hand. He gave Blair a quizzical look.

Blair’s hands flew into the air. “Whoa, hey take it easy Jim,” he placated. “That was our turn off,” he explained as he turned his head and pointed over his shoulder, jabbing a finger behind them.

“Huh?” Jim replied, frowning slightly. He stepped on the brake, slowing the truck gradually, and pulled over to the side of the road. He glanced over his shoulder, following Blair’s direction. “Where?”

Blair closed the book he’d been absorbed in since they’d hit the road a few hours earlier. He scooted around so he was facing Jim and then pointed out the back window again.

“Back there, see the sign post?” he said helpfully.

A few hundred yards back there was a dilapidated wooden post, barely visible from within a tangled nest of overgrown bushes and weeds. A rectangular weathered board, announcing the entrance to Peaceful Hollow, hung from the post by one hinge. The block letters were sun-bleached; the paint chipped and cracked. Faded flowers and peace symbols decorated the edges in child-like disarray.

“Some navigator you are,” Jim chided. He checked the rearview mirror and then started backing up. “Next time you co-pilot how about a head’s up before we overshoot the mark?”

“Hey, man, I told you I knew the way. You coulda just let me drive,” Blair began. He quickly changed his tune when Jim pinned him with a fat-chance of that happening glare. “Okay, right, well, it’s not my fault, man, I warned you to slow down a couple miles back and told you we were coming up on it.”

“Kiddo, you’ve been talking non-stop since we hit the road,” Jim answered blithely, and instantly regretted it.

“So that means you haven’t been paying attention? Right?” Blair butted in. He tapped the cover of the book impatiently as he scolded. “This is important stuff. I can’t believe you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said.”

“Oiy,” was Jim’s only response. He ignored Blair’s pitiful attempt to make him feel guilty. He continued to maneuver the truck until they reached the sign and then he turned into the drive and stopped.

Jim looked at the book on Blair’s lap. It hadn’t been an easy find, or an inexpensive one. He’d scoured every bookstore, antique shop and flea market in Cascade searching for it. He’d had every proprietor he’d talked to put feelers out in hopes of locating a copy. He’d even drafted every able-bodied member of Major Crimes to help in the hunt. It’d taken weeks, but a shop in Tacoma had finally tracked it down through a contact out east. And now Blair was the rapturously happy owner of a copy of the rare monograph on sentinels written by the explorer Sir Richard Burton.

Blair had returned the copy he’d had on loan over the summer from the campus library. This was before he’d finally convinced Jim he was a sentinel. When he went to check it out again, he’d been disheartened to learn the book had been procured by the Anthropology department as part of a traveling exhibit that was on a twelve-month tour.

He’d tried to find another definitive source of information on sentinels, but there just didn’t seem to be any.

The book fulfilled the promissory note written on the slip of paper tucked inside Jim’s birthday card to Blair. And the look on Blair’s face when it had arrived made it worth every penny Jim spent…at least for the first five minutes. After that he’d been bombarded constantly with ‘according to Burton this’ and ‘listen to Burton’s theory on that’. The life of a Sentinel and his Companion Dude as expounded by the eccentric old rogue had become the kid’s mantra. The latest and greatest directive Burton apparently had divined to Blair was the need for a sentinel to be sent on a retreat in order to re-connect with nature or his throwback roots or something.

No doubt Blair had been filling Jim in on who knew how many tedious details from the book as they drove. As with many parents, Jim had made the mistake of nodding his head at appropriate intervals and uttering non-committal responses to Blair’s chatter while not really listening to what was being said.

“Look, I,” Jim fumbled as he tried to come up with a suitable excuse for tuning Blair out.

At that moment, Blair jumped out of the truck, saving him the effort. He scrambled around the back of the truck and walked over to the sign. He fiddled with the dangling placard, seeing if he could re-attach it.

Jim rolled down his window and rested his forearm on the open frame. The air was noticeably headed toward frigid. He shivered a little and his breath hit the chill in tiny puffs.

“Aw, man, would you look at that? It’s rusted clean through,” Blair groaned, shaking his head. He held the wood in one hand and traced the artwork with the fingertips of the other. His face split into a broad grin and he looked at Jim. “I did this, see?” he asked as he proudly indicated a daisy chain of curlicues. “I was seven that summer.”

Jim couldn’t help but smile as he pictured a grubby seven-year-old Blair covered with splotches of paint.

“Maybe we can find something up at the camp to fix it,” Jim replied evenly and nodded his head toward the rutted expanse of road in front of the truck. “Open the gate.”

Blair raced to the gate and popped the latch. He placed one foot on the bottom plank and shoved off with the other, riding the gate as it swung open. He waited for Jim to drive through and then pushed off again letting the momentum swing him back. He secured the latch once again and then climbed back into the truck.

“Brrrr,” Blair shivered. He rubbed his hands together briskly. “I’ve never been up here this late in the year.”

“How long’s it been since anyone’s been here?” Jim wondered out loud as he swerved back and forth to avoid the worst of the dips and potholes.

“Froggy said he comes up once or twice a year, just to check up on the place. But no one’s lived up here year round for years,” Blair answered. He leaned against the door and watched the trees slide by as the familiar path wound through the woods.

Blair’s voice was filled with fondness whenever he mentioned Froggy and the times he and Naomi had lived at the former commune. Jim couldn’t help but wonder if the guy’s face matched the image he conjured of an old strung out hippie.

A few more minutes of jostling over the bumpy road and the trees gave way to an open expanse. There were some cabins and several large outbuildings, all in need of repair, scattered across the area. Jim followed the drive as it looped around the compound. Blair stared out the window; his eyes alight with memories.

“Where to Chief?” Jim asked, breaking through Blair’s nostalgia.

Blair shook himself and returned to the present. He sat up straighter and, bouncing a little, his eyes darted around. “Oh, yeah, um, that one,” Blair answered, pointing to a small cabin just ahead.

They pulled up and got out of the truck. Blair led the way up onto the porch and produced a key. He opened the door and went in first, fumbling to his left for the light switch. He flipped it up; the lights flickered and then came on.

The place was rustic, pretty much consisting of one big room. There was a large fireplace on the wall opposite the door. A modest sized kitchenette was off to the left. The furnishings included a narrow trestle table with four chairs, a couch and two easy chairs set unevenly around a coffee table strewn with books, log-hewn bunk beds flanking the fireplace, some bookshelves and a few small chests of drawers.

There was one other door, at the back of the cabin. Jim looked at Blair suspiciously and pointed to it.

“Please tell me that’s an indoor outhouse,” he quipped.

“Yes, Jim,” Blair replied dryly with exaggerated eye rolling.

Jim clapped his hands together and rubbed them, taking charge. “Okay, I wanna get hunkered down and buttoned up a-sap,” he decreed, wanting to be dug in if unpredicted snow arrived.

“What? Hunkered down? Who talks like that?” Blair razzed. “Besides, I wanna explore,” he beefed as he shimmied with excitement.

“Plenty of time for that after we unload the car and check the gear,” Jim persisted. He nodded in the direction of the fireplace. “Not much wood.”

“Hello? We’re in a forest,” Blair responded with a good-natured chuckle. “We can gather branches while we reconnoiter. On the way up you agreed we could---,” he started to go on before being cut off.

“I was thinking more along the lines of logs, nature-boy,” Jim responded with a grin, “something that’ll burn for more than five minutes.”

Blair placed his hands on his hips and started nodding. “Oh, right, sure, um, I’m sure there’s a woodshed. It was off limits to us kids, though, on accounta the saws and axes and stuff.”

“What about a generator?” Jim continued down his mental checklist, “or a radio?”

“I dunno, I guess, probably in one of the sheds,” Blair replied with a shrug. “I didn’t pay much attention to that kinda stuff back then. We can check it out while we explore,” he prompted impatiently as he stepped back onto the porch and indicated Jim should join him with jerky body language.

Jim walked right past Blair, reaching out as he did so to grab Blair’s arm and tug him along to the truck. He started pulling their gear out.

“We get settled in first, Kiddo,” he insisted in his no nonsense tone of voice.

“But Jim,” Blair protested, jiggling with pent-up energy. “I thought we’d---,”

Jim hefted a cooler out of the truck bed and plopped it on the ground in front of Blair, then held his hands up. “Enough,” he said, trying not to let any irritation seep into his voice. “See those clouds?” He pointed up, jabbing his finger in the air. “I think it’s gonna snow---,”

“Snow? The handy-dandy weather guy on channel fourteen didn’t say anything about snow up here,” Blair interjected. He back stepped a few paces, crossed his arms, and leaned against the porch rail, looking at Jim instead of the sky.

“I don’t care what the weather guy said. It looks like snow to me,” Jim responded.

The sun chose that moment to split through the clouds overhead and send several broad shafts of light into the compound, as if trying to invalidate Jim’s claim.

Blair did turn his face upward then and opened his mouth, all set to spout a cocky wisecrack.

Jim shook his head and fought back a grin. “Don’t say it, Junior,” he warned with a good-humored glare. “A few rays of sunshine doesn’t change what I---,”

“Sense!” Blair finished for him triumphantly. His face lit up and his mouth sprung into action.“Whoa, you mean you’re sensing something, right? With your senses, huh? Which ones? Cuz we gotta run some tests Jim,” he pitched enthusiastically.

Jim stepped around the cooler and made a grab for Blair. Blair tried to dodge it, but wasn’t quick enough. Jim pulled him into a headlock and affectionately noogied the top of his head.

“Hold up Chief. Nope, no tests, not until I say so,” Jim answered as he guided Blair to the back of the truck. They both were laughing by this point as Blair wiggled to free himself from Jim’s hold. “One thing at a time, okay? I wanna get hunkered down, just in case, and that means making sure we’re set if we get snowed in before we do anything else,” Jim spelled out clearly, emphasizing ‘hunker down’ for Blair’s benefit. “Got it?”

Blair threw his hands up in an exaggerated sign of surrender. “Okay, okay,” he replied, breathless with laughter. “Leggo already. We’ll hunker.”

Working together, it didn’t take long for Jim and Blair to get their gear unpacked and their food stores stowed away. Jim made a cursory check of the cabin, noting that a bit of surface cleaning wouldn’t hurt, but admitting to himself there was no more dirt than if they’d set up tents and were roughing it in the outdoors.

Jim claimed the bunk nearest the bathroom, stowed his duffel on the top and rolled his sleeping bag out on the bottom, smoothing the edges to his satisfaction. It took him a few minutes to get everything laid out…neat, orderly, and within easy reach. When he turned to see how Blair was doing, he stopped dead in his tracks and sucked in a disapproving lungful of air before he could stop himself.

Blair’d upended his duffel onto the bottom mattress of the bunk he’d been relegated to by default. The contents were scattered in typical unorganized Blair fashion across the entire surface. A few items had spilled onto the floor. His still rolled up sleeping bag had been tossed up top and had come to a rest against the cabin wall. Blair was also on the upper bunk, sitting at the edge, his legs dangling in the airspace between the upper and lower bunks. He was watching Jim, his lips firmly and tightly closed, obviously holding back a snide comment or two about Jim’s fastidiousness.

Jim held back his own remarks, noting to himself that Blair’s room back at the loft was in a similar but much messier state. As long as the kid kept his untidiness within his personal space, Jim had no problem with letting Blair do his own thing. Of course, Blair’s room had a door now. A door, which, by Jim’s decree, was kept shut.

“Let’s try to keep the clutter to a minimum,” Jim suggested. He swept one hand out and took in Blair’s bunk with an amused, dismissive wave.

“Whatever you say Jim,” Blair answered as he hopped down and nonchalantly kicked the stuff on the floor under the bed. “How about I fix some sandwiches while you finish setting up house?”

“Funny,” Jim said dryly. He jerked a thumb, hitchhike fashion, toward the kitchen area. “I don’t want any sprouts or other unidentifiable weeds on mine.”

“No sprouts, no weeds, got it,” Blair replied as he scooted the long way around the cabin to the kitchen in order to avoid any head bopping Jim may have been planning.

A little while later, they were outside checking out the area. At Jim’s insistence they went to the woodshed first, where there was an ample supply of firewood laid in. They hauled several armfuls back to the cabin. Another supply shed housed a generator, and in another they discovered an emergency band radio and other contingency supplies. As Jim took stock, he gave Blair a quick rundown about how everything worked and summed things up with a short, stern safety lecture about not wandering too far a field on his own in unfamiliar territory.

Blair listened, but shrugged most of it off mentally. He’d spent several summers here, and sure it’d been about ten years, and yeah he’d only been seven the last time, but it was hardly unfamiliar territory, so he stuffed Jim’s warning to the back of his mind.

With all precautionary measures taken care of to Jim’s satisfaction, Blair was finally able to release his barely held in check impatience and hauled Jim off to give him a tour of the rest of the compound.

They started off in the immediate vicinity with Blair pointing out about a half dozen additional small cabins like the one they were using, and beyond them, three larger, long, narrow buildings that Blair called the bumphouses.

“The what?” Jim questioned with a sidelong glance.

Blair chuckled. “Well, that’s what I called them. I couldn’t say bunkhouse for some reason. It caught on, and it’s what most of the kids called them. And that’s the mess hall,” he continued, pointing to another building, “where we ate and did crafts and had sing-alongs, stuff like that.” He continued walking as he talked, turning sideway or completely backward every few feet so Jim could get the full effect of the gesticulating that went along with his spiel.

“This is where the gardens were,” Blair said, waving his hands to encompass a large area, now covered over with tall grass and weeds. “Man, you should’ve seen it. Tons of veggies and flowers like you wouldn’t believe, all organic. Everyone’d help, even us little guys. It never seemed like work. And over here?” He pointed with the forefinger of one hand, darting it back and forth, his other hand shading his eyes as he squinted into the sun. His motions indicated an even larger area than the gardens. “This is where they kept the animals. Sheep and goats mostly, a few horses and cows. And chickens! Man, we used to love to chase the chickens. Of course, they roamed pretty much wherever they wanted. And the barn, wow, gee, look what a mess it is.”

Blair skidded to a stop, his monologue along with him, and just stared for a few minutes.

Of all the buildings, the barn was the most weather worn. The little paint that still clung to its sides was faded and cracked. Large, dark gaps between the boards made it appear to have stripes. The roof, dotted with holes, sagged in the middle.

“It’s seen better days,” Jim stated, taking a sentinel-eye view of the structure. He could hear the old floorboards and support beams creaking, and it looked to him as if a good stiff wind would be enough to topple it. “It’s off limits, ok?”

Blair nodded his head absently, more intent on his memories than on Jim’s observation and restriction.

“We had a secret clubhouse in there, about six of us kids, up in one of the hay mows,” Blair reminisced, now shaking his head. “I mean, I’m sure everyone knew about it, but man, it was so different here, we didn’t worry about the other kids bullying us or making fun of our club or barging in on us. Not like some of the places Naomi and I,” he stopped suddenly and didn’t finish the thought.

Jim threw an arm over Blair’s shoulder and patted his upper arm, not making a big deal out of Blair’s abrupt silence. He simply said, “It’s a great place, Junior, I bet you had a great time here,” taking in the entire compound in his assessment.

“Yeah,” Blair choked out, gulping over a lump in his throat.

“They have any organic fishing holes around here?” Jim teased, prodding Blair in the ribs.

Blair’s mood brightened as quickly as it’d slumped. He stepped away from Jim and crossed his arms. He gave Jim a measured look with a crooked grin and stilled completely.

“As a matter of fact, there are. But I’m not gonna tell you where. You…are gonna tell me,” he stated emphatically.

“Oh really?” Jim asked, intentionally rising to the bait. He mimicked Blair’s pose. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

Blair’s toe started tapping; standing stock-still for ten seconds was taxing his limitations. The stubborn set to Jim’s stance was an overt mocking of his own, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep from bursting out laughing.

“Pick a sense, Jim, any sense,” Blair egged, finally. “First test. You wanna fish? The tribe’s depending on you, man. Find a fishing spot. You’ve got fifteen minutes.” Blair uncrossed his arms just enough to look at an imaginary watch on his wrist. “Go.”

Jim’s left eyebrow twitched a bit, he closed his eyes, and made a show of sniffing the air, just once. Then he turned and headed back toward their cabin.

Blair trotted after him, as his gaze darted between a break in the trees where a path led down to the river, and Jim’s retreating figure.

“Um, ah, Jim?” he spluttered, signaling over his shoulder. “Jim?”

Jim kept heading the opposite direction, making Blair begin to worry that the great outdoors was seriously messing with his senses.

Jim reached the truck with Blair hot on his heels. He began pulling the fishing gear out, untangled some lines and hooks, and propped the poles against the side of the truck.

“You don’t really think I don’t already know where to fish, do you Junior?” Jim goaded dryly. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded, crumpled sheet of paper. He thrust it a Blair, along with the tackle box.

Blair juggled the box so he could slip his fingers into the handle and then shook the paper to open it. It was a map of the area surrounding Peaceful Hollow that detailed hiking trails, viewpoints, wildlife habitat…and fishing spots.

“You are such a cheater!” Blair exclaimed. He slapped ineffectually at Jim’s arm with the paper.

“Am not,” Jim retorted smugly. “It was right there on the coffee table. How’s it cheating if I saw it and you didn’t? In fact, I think it’s a darn fine example of me using my extraordinary eyesight.”

Blair badgered Jim all the way down to the river about not getting out of any other tests that easily. Jim just nodded his head and muttered, “Yeah, yeah,” over and over as they wended their way through the trees.

They fished for a while, but nothing was biting. It didn’t matter to Jim; he was content to just cast his line out and reel it in. He was enjoying the solitude and fresh air peppered with Blair’s zestful enthusiasm. As he relaxed, his senses kicked in of their own accord, and once again the foreboding feeling of an impending drastic change in weather set in.

Jim tried to covertly extend his senses, but Blair was much too observant to let anything even remotely sentinel-like slip under his radar.

As they made their way back toward the cabin, Blair started in on questioning Jim about what he was sensing that made him think they were in for snow. When Jim couldn’t put his finger on it, especially since there didn’t seem to be anything overt that supported his feeling, he tried to wave it off.

Blair tried a different tact. “You could be sensing changes miles away. You know how the mountains are. It can be raining, sleeting, snowing, whatever, in one valley or at different elevations, even if its sunshine and roses where you are. But normally we wouldn’t even be aware of it. You, on the other hand, are tuned into that kinda stuff.”

“Yeah, I suppose, maybe,” Jim agreed hesitantly. But he still wriggled his nose and gave in to a body-shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature.

After stowing the fishing gear, Blair persuaded Jim to have a go at a few tests before supper. He kept things simple; the tests amounted to games of hide and seek, with Jim using just one sense at a time to track Blair around the grounds. They both seemed pleased with the results, and afterward, Blair happily referenced the Burton monograph and scribbled away in his notebook as Jim prepared their meal. They discussed Blair’s findings and theories as they ate and talked over their plans for the next few days.

After they’d cleaned up, Jim started a fire and opted to read. He chose a book from one of the shelves and settled into an easy chair with his feet propped up on the table. Blair wisely chose not to point out the house rule Jim was in violation of, since they weren’t at the loft, and Jim deserved to kick back, and Blair would most likely be ignoring the same rule sometime before the end of the day.

Since there were still several hours of daylight left Blair decided to explore his old haunts again and meander around the compound.

“Don’t wander too far, Chief,” Jim suggested in a parental tone of voice making it both a command and a warning. “And get your butt back in here before dark,” he added. “And be careful,” he threw in for good measure.

“Yes, mom,” Blair drawled in his best smart-alecky voice and ducked out the door before Jim could chuck a response, or anything else, at him.

Blair wandered over to the bunkhouses first. He clearly remembered which one he’d stayed in and went up to the door. He tried the handle, but as expected, the building was locked, so he contented himself with peeking in through the windows, trying to visualize what the interior had looked like when it had been filled with kids.

There were some late season flowers still in bloom spreading out from the edges of the garden area, no doubt perennials that survived on their own and continued to multiply unassisted by human hands. Blair picked a few, thinking to stick them in a glass of water back at the cabin.

His wandering finally brought him to the barn. Once again, he stared at it, this time seeing it as he had when he was seven…big, inviting, and sun-worn red, filled with secret hiding places and the high-pitched screeches and breathlessly happy voices of his long ago pals. Not even stopping to consider if it was a good idea, and completely dismissing Jim’s off limits warning, Blair entered the barn through the main doorway. Its sliding door hung half open, having derailed at some point over the years. He stepped inside cautiously, almost reverently, and allowed a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. There was a musty smell of old, mildewed straw and long gone animals. He looked around wistfully, easily calling forth memories.

A broad heavy ladder, leading up to one of the lower haymows, caught his eye. He walked over to it, twisting his neck and upper body to peer up through the rafters. He set the bunch of flowers on the floor and rattled the ladder. Satisfied that it would hold him, he climbed up slowly. Reaching the top rung, he stepped off and carefully put weight on the floor, testing its solidity, and then took another step, and another, until he was transported back ten years.

The kids in his age bracket hadn’t been allowed to venture any higher up, and at the time, they’d felt as if they were at a death-defying height. Blair grinned as he looked around. The far corner is where they’d congregated, behind bales the older kids had used to wall off a private area for them. Blair strolled over and started poking around. He soon uncovered the tattered remains of old cushions and remnants of rugs, long since claimed by mice or other rodents. The walls were covered with shredded bits of paper that had chronicled daily plots and plans, held in place by rusted over tacks. Faded blurs of chalk where they’d drawn treasure maps, castles, and other imaginary places were scattered across most of the walls. Blair ventured nearer, hoping to find an intact piece of paper, or maybe a drawing that had escaped the erosive effects of time and neglect. His next step caused the floor to groan and he felt the boards give under his weight. He slid a little before catching himself, swearing under his breath. It was then he noticed the entire building seemed to be listing slightly in the direction of the corner he was in, and several of the upright support beams were cracked. He started backing away slowly. A weird popping, accompanied by a low, ominous grating noise filled the air around him.

“Oh shit,” he whispered aloud. He stopped for a moment, his arms held out to his sides in a balancing stance. The noise ceased. His eyes flashed back and forth, watching for any sign of impending collapse. When nothing happened, he made a dash for the ladder, scurried down, and hightailed it out of the barn through the nearest door.

He came out on the opposite side of the barn, facing away from the compound. Only a few dozen yards separated the building from the nearby forest. The barn looked a lot different from this side. Blair whistled out a long, slowly exhaled breath when he saw where the lower part of the barn was rotted away in the corner he’d just vacated. He tilted his head sideways, until his ear nearly rested on his shoulder, as he judged the angle of the deterioration.

“Wow,” he mouthed silently. His hands went to his backside, as if shielding it, as he now remembered with startling clarity Jim’s earlier edict that the barn was off limits…an edict he’d just disregarded entirely. “That was close,” he scolded himself, and added with a decisive nod, “I think we’ll just leave this part of the excursion down memory lane off the postcard home.”

Blair looked around to assess the best way to get back to the cabin. The most direct route took him a little too close for comfort around the badly dilapidated corner, so he opted for the long way around. He eyed the barn warily as he ambled along, keeping a healthy distance. The rest of the barn looked to be more stable, and he finally tore his gaze from it when a flash of red caught his eye. A strip of cloth was tied to a low branch at what was about his chest level, marking a trailhead. Not too much further along the trail he could see another strip. His face lit up with a grin once again, as it dawned on him where the path led.

The club had built a fort in the forest. There was a big old solid tree trunk that was rotted from the inside out; creating a hollow that two or three of the littlest kids could fit into at the same time. The older kids had helped them drag large downed branches to the tree, strip off the leaves and twigs, and then prop them up in a V shape against the tree, laying more branches criss-crossed over them, creating what looked to them like an honest to goodness fort. The added space under the V made it big enough for all of the kids to fit, and they often used the fort as an alternate meeting place. The path leading to the fort had been marked with the red strips, to make sure the kids found their way back, even though Blair was sure, as he recalled now, that the fort wasn’t than far in, and there was always at least one of the older kids with them.

He looked up at the overcast sky and judged he still had at least an hour of daylight, so he decided to have a look and find out if the fort was still standing. It was definitely getting colder, so Blair turned his collar up and tucked his hands into his pockets.

The path wound through the trees, down into a shallow gully, and then evened out. Blair could still make out the top of the barn’s roofline. As he walked he tried to reconcile his surroundings with his memories and finally gave up, realizing the time of year would account for the difference in how things looked. The strips of cloth had disappeared, due either to the elements or curious creatures, but Blair was confident he knew the way without their guidance. The path sloped downward again, and a few yards away he spotted the fort. The barn’s roof was no longer in sight, and the quiet that engulfed him was almost deafening, but that had been part of the appeal of the location.

Most of the V had toppled in on itself, leaving only a skeleton of its former glory, but it still looked great to Blair. He pushed a few of the branches out the way, creating an opening big enough for him to fit, dropped to his hands and knees, and crawled in. He wedged himself into the hollow, chuckling as he remembered how huge the space had seemed when he’d shared it with two other kids. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of damp, earthy air and let his mind drift back.

Outside, large, wet snowflakes began to fall.

In the cabin, Jim closed the book he’d been reading for a few hours and stood up to stretch. He shivered, noting a definite decline in temperature, and stoked the fire. Then he walked to door, opened it and looked out across the grounds. There was no sign of Blair. He glanced at the sky. The wind had picked up some and steely-gray clouds were once again rolling into view. The same strange feeling he’d had difficulty describing to Blair set in, and he knew without a shadow of doubt this time that the channel fourteen weather guy’s forecast was out of whack. There was definitely snow on the way.

He cupped his hands around his mouth, ready to shout and call Blair in, but then changed his mind, deciding instead to try his hand at tracking without his companion dude coaching him. With another quick look at the sky, he judged he had some time before the snow started. He went back into the cabin and retrieved his coat, hat and gloves, and they trained his sight on the ground and easily picked out what he was sure were Blair’s freshest set of footprints. As he started following them, he caught Blair’s scent…a mix of his shampoo, his favorite flannel shirt, and the steak sauce he’d slopped on it at supper…and followed the trail to the bunkhouse.

No Blair.

He picked up the trail again and located where Blair stopped to pick flowers, noting the broken stems and scattered petals. Then the tracks led to the barn. He stopped near the spot they’d stopped earlier in the day and frowned. Blair’s footsteps continued on, right up to the barn door. He shook his head in disbelief, wondering if Blair had honestly disregarded his off limits directive. He was about to find out, by going up to the door and listening for Blair, when the barn made an unbelievable screeching noise, causing Jim’s hands to fly to his ears. He winced sharply, and stared, stunned, as the barn shook and shimmied, and then tilted impossibly just before a good third of the right side buckled and caved inward. Some beams and supports must have still been solid because the barn didn’t collapse entirely.

“Holy cow,” he said solemnly, and then snapped back to reality.

Believing Blair to be in the barn, Jim’s heart leapt into his throat, and a sickening dread filled his chest. “Blair!” he shouted over the cacophony of splintering, crashing wood.

A large cloud of dust and straw laden debris swirled outward and upward, caught on the updraft of the incoming winds. His eyes involuntarily charted the spiraling movements, and as his sight reached the pinnacle of the churning mass, snowflakes started falling, swirling, fighting against the current, to find their way downward.

The wind howled, the snow fell one way, and the dust rose the opposite way. The sound of the collapsing wood still echoed in his ears and the absence of Blair’s voice, his breathing, his heartbeat, echoed in his heart.

Jim stood motionless, with a shocked look etched on his face. He shook himself hard and employed some of the tricks Blair had taught him, refusing to allow himself to zone out due to the sensory onslaught. He sprinted to the door and hastily look for any sign of Blair’s footprints that might indicate he’d come this far, but then prudently decided against entering the barn, and set off in a different direction. Seeing no such evidence, he entered the barn.

Snug inside the tree fort, Blair heard the same screeching Jim had heard, startling him from his reverie. The sound continued for a few long moments, reverberating down across the gully, making him jump. His eyes popped open and he blinked a few times, as he adjusted his sight. It had gotten darker, and he blinked a few more times, thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him as he became aware of a flurry of bluish-white movement through the tumble of branches.

“What the hell was that?” he wondered aloud. The noise died down a bit, echoing away through the forest.

He scrambled to leave his cubbyhole, but found the fit was tighter than he’d realized. He shifted his weight, banging his head a few times. He tried a few more contortions, but each twist just crammed him a little more firmly into the hollow.

“Jim’s gonna kill me,” he moaned, as he leaned as best he could out of the tree and craned his neck in order to look up through the falling snow toward the rapidly darkening sky. “Okay, Sandburg, get a grip,” he advised himself in a shaky voice. “Jim had to have heard that too. Plus it’s getting dark. So, he’s probably out looking for you.” Blair tried once more to extricate himself, and gave up with a disgruntled huff. He took a deep breath and started bellowing, “Jim! I’m down here! Jim!” over and over.

Inside the barn, Jim took a moment to let his sight adjust. There was very little light filtering in, and dust hung heavily in the air. He was able to make out a few footprints where Blair had trod, but they faded away after a few feet, obliterated by the outward gusts of air as the corner caved.

“Blair?” Jim called out, making his way toward the corner. “Chief! Answer me. Where are you?”

A spray of flowers lay on the floor, tiny splashes of yellow and orange visible from under the layer of dirt coating everything. Looking past them, Jim surveyed the damage. It didn’t look too bad. Some supports and beams had cracked, but not given way completely, causing the upper floors to cave down and in, but not flatten out totally. Part of the roof had given way, leaving large pieces dangling in the space above.

Jim strained to hear some kind of movement, or Blair’s heartbeat or his breathing, from under the pile of rubble, but the barn was eerily quiet and still. He spent the next half hour frantically trying to clear the debris, calling Blair’s name every few minutes and listening for any sign of life. He managed to clear a large amount of debris, and then used his enhanced sight, boosted by his hearing, to peer into the wreckage. There was no sign of Blair. He didn’t know whether to feel elated…thinking Blair hadn’t been there when everything came down after all, or devastated…fearing the worst. Breathing heavily and wiping sweat, dirt and tears from his face, Jim flopped down onto his backside.

And then he heard it…Blair’s voice, calling his name. Jim sprang to his feet and cocked his head, tilting it in the direction he thought it was coming from. For a moment he thought he’d imagined it, and then he heard it again. He listened harder, sure now that he was hearing it. It was coming from outside the barn…faint, but not too distant. He sprinted to the door and burst through it.

Snow pelted his face, unexpectedly cold and wet. He’d forgotten that it’d started snowing. At least an inch had accumulated already, covering up all the tracks he and Blair had made. He listened again, and looked toward the cabin, assuming that’s where Blair would be. But the shouting was coming from the opposite direction, from somewhere within the forest.

Jim turned and ran toward Blair’s voice. He rounded the barn, noticing off-handedly the damaged area.

It didn’t take Jim long to spot the trail and every sense sprung to full alert as he made his way along it in the waning light, sure-footing it through the slippery, slushy snow.

Blair’s voice sounded hoarse and tired, but it was closer. It tugged him along, and he finally came upon the tumbled mass of logs and branches. The sight brought him up short, making him fear he’d exchanged one messy predicament for another.

“Blair?” he called out hopefully.

“Jim? Jim!” came Blair’s gleeful response. “I’m stuck in here.”

“Are you all right?” Jim asked as he dropped down to his knees, level to Blair’s voice. “What’re you doing in there? How’d you get stuck?” he asked as he peered in.

Not waiting for an answer, he proceeded to pull what was left of the fort apart in order to get to Blair, working his way toward him on his hands and knees.

Blair responded in one long breath. “I’m okay, yeah, just stuck. I musta turned at the wrong angle and sorta wedged my shoulder and then my foot kinda got stuck in a hole or something. I’m freezin’, my butt’s gone numb, and my nose is runny. Can you get me out?”

Reaching Blair a moment later, Jim chuckled, releasing his pent up worry, as he finally was able to see Blair clearly. Blair was smiling crookedly at him.

Jim returned the smile, and tapped Blair’s cheek in a reassuring gesture meant for both of them. “Yeah Junior, I’ll have you outta there in no time,” he assured. He assessed the situation as he slipped his coat off and stuffed it into the crowded space, draping it as best he could over Blair.

True to his word, Jim extricated Blair in short order by sitting down, bracing himself with his arms stretched out behind him, and judiciously applying some force to the weaker side of the opening with his foot. The rotted wood splintered and fell away after a few kicks. Blair slid free and they helped each other up. Jim insisted Blair keep his coat on over his own.

As they hugged, Jim prodded Blair with both words and senses, making sure he wasn’t hurt. Blair kept shaking his head, then nodding it, mumbling incoherently against Jim’s chest. Jim rubbed Blair’s arms and back to assist in restoring warmth to Blair’s shivering body, and started walking them both back up the trail. Snow was still falling, a little heavier, and Jim pulled Blair close in against his side.

Hoping to avoid having to answer for why he was so far from where he should’ve been, in clear violation of Jim’s warnings, Blair made a half-heartedly cheerful comment about Jim being right about the snow, but when Jim didn’t acknowledge it, he let it drop.

Blair paused when they reached the barn and tensed when he saw the damage. He realized, with a sudden lurch in the pit of his stomach, that Jim must have thought he’d been in the barn when it foundered.

He wanted to say a lot of things. He wanted to explain and say he was sorry. He wanted to tell Jim that he had gone in, but it was just a stupid mistake on his part, that he never meant to deliberately disobey him or disregard his warning. But all he managed to whisper was, “That’s what made that noise, huh?”

Jim nodded and his answer was short and almost as cold as the air around them. “Yup.”

Neither of them said anything else as they made their way to the cabin, but Jim retained his solid hold on Blair, and Blair leaned into it.

When they got to the porch, Jim took a few minutes to dust the snow off them both, and gave Blair’s hair a few swipes to shake off the snow that had settled in the unruly mop.

Once in the cabin, Jim calmly steered Blair to his bunk. He picked through the clothes that were strewn about and gathered up a set of sweats, heavy socks, and a towel. He handed them to Blair, who was still shivering, even under the weight of Jim’s coat.

“Take a hot shower, get warmed up, then plant your butt there,” he instructed, pointing to the couch.

Blair stared at the items in his arms, and then searched through his things until he found his shampoo and soap. He shrugged out of Jim’s coat and let it drop to the floor. When he turned back around, ready to apologize until he was blue in the face, Jim was in the kitchen with his back to Blair. Knowing he’d screwed up big time, Blair sighed and trudged to the bathroom.

Jim set about warming soup and hot cocoa. He picked his coat up from the floor and shook it a few times, and then hung it on the bedpost of his bunk. He pulled out a pair of sweats for himself in preparation for his turn in the shower. He tidied things that didn’t need tidying. He added wood to the fire and fussed with it until it blazed. Then he ran his hands across the top of his head and over his face, finally letting his anger give way to relief.

Blair emerged from the bathroom looking bedraggled, wary and repentant. He slunk past Jim, keeping his head down, and sat on the couch. He pulled his legs up and pretzeled them, and then looked at Jim. It wasn’t very often he was at a loss for words, but at the moment he wasn’t sure there were any words he could, or should, say.

Jim walked over, pushed some books to one side to make room, and then sat on the coffee table, facing Blair. He waited until Blair met his gaze, and then spoke. He didn’t sound mad, or upset, or even disappointed. He didn’t sound quite like he’d ever sounded before.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared, so deep down to the core scared, as I was when I watched that barn go down, thinking you were inside. I think I know why you went in there. And I know why you went into the woods. That was one cool fort.”

Jim paused, and smiled, nodding his head knowingly.

Blair pursed his lips nervously and shrunk down a little lower into the cushions.

Jim patted Blair on the knee and jerked his head toward the kitchen as he spoke again, in his normal Jim voice.

“I’m going to get us each a mug of soup and a mug of cocoa. We can talk about all this tomorrow. We can talk about the sentinel stuff too. I think I can give you a little more info about the weather prediction stuff.”

Jim winked and Blair returned a hesitant smile.

Jim went to the kitchen and returned with four mugs, balancing them carefully with his fingers threaded deftly through all the handles. He nudged Blair’s leg with his knee, and Blair uncrossed his legs before taking his mugs. He set the cocoa on the table and started with the soup. Jim sat next to him and also opted for soup first.

“Aren’t you going to, you know? I mean, I, you know,” Blair floundered with a shrug.

The look Jim gave him clearly conveyed he was definitely going to ‘you know’, but he spelled it out for Blair anyway.

“When we’re done with our drinks, I’m going to give you a paddling you’re never going to forget. And then you’re going to bed.”

Blair’s eyes widened, but he acquiesced with a resigned sigh. He sipped his soup slowly, not in a delaying tactic, but because he wanted the warmth to dribble down his throat. He blew across his mug of cocoa, covertly watched Jim do the same, and then drank it down in several deep gulps.

Jim cleared the mugs away and returned with a paddle, an actual paddle.

Blair’s mouth dropped open and he blinked rapidly in disbelief.

“One of the cabinets is full of game stuff,” Jim explained matter-of-factly, “playing cards, board games, dice. I found this,” he swung the ping-pong paddle through the air, “in there.”

Jim took a seat on the couch again, leaving a little space between the two of them and motioned Blair to him, crooking a finger.

“Oh, man, I don’t believe it,” Blair grumbled as he got up. “Only you would find a paddle at a non-violence, peace-lovin’ hippie retreat.”

“Just be glad it’s still snowing, Junior, or we might be making use of the woodshed too,” Jim quipped dryly.

Any other commentary Blair might have felt inclined to offer died on his lips as Jim quickly snagged his arm, tugged him forward and pulled him down across his lap.

“I’m not up to troubleshooting, Chief, and I really don’t think it’s needed do you?” Jim asked rhetorically as he started paddling Blair’s butt.

“No, nuh-huh, no sir,” Blair answered, shaking his head vigorously. He gritted his teeth and scrunched his eyes, already hissing as his bottom began to sting ferociously.

The paddling continued, non-stop and steady, for at least five minutes before Jim decided the best way to deliver on his promise of a paddling that would never be forgotten would be if it was delivered to a bare butt. With little effort, Jim yanked Blair’s sweatpants down past his cheeks, and carried on.

Blair’s physical protest was feeble as he unsuccessfully tried to jerk away from the paddle’s unrelenting tempo, but he did manage to find his voice, and he yipped and howled as his backside was thoroughly warmed.

At last the paddling ceased, and Blair had to admit to himself he’d definitely be surprised if he ever forgot it.

When Jim released his hold, Blair jumped to his feet, pulled his pants back into place and started dancing in place. He massaged his butt, hissing and wincing, but the stinging lingered unabated.

Blair regretted his choice to sleep on the top bunk as he climbed up. His sleeping bag was still rolled, so the added movement to unroll it and spread it out only added to his discomfort. He flopped on to his stomach with a tired yawn, and pillowed his head on his crossed arms. He sniffled pitifully for a bit, wiping his nose and eyes with the back of his hand as he tried to stem his trembling regret. He closed his eyes and starting drifting toward sleep.

Jim smoothed stray strands of hair off Blair’s forehead before giving it a good night kiss. He went to his bunk and picked up the sweats he’d laid out earlier and headed for the bathroom and his turn with a much-needed hot shower.

“Jim?” Blair called out sleepily.

“Yes?” Jim answered in a tired, but not annoyed voice.

“I am sorry, ya know?” Blair admitted sheepishly.

“Yes, I know, Chief,” Jim answered.

“How’d you find me?” Blair asked quietly, wanting very much to hear Jim’s answer, hoping it’d be the answer he wanted.

Jim smiled. “I’m a sentinel, right?” he replied on cue, “and I have a companion dude who’s taught me well.”

“That’s what I thought,” came the whispered reply.

Despite his aching backside, Blair grinned lopsidedly, rolled to his side, and fell asleep a few minutes later.

The next few days Peaceful Hollow lived up to its name.

Jim provided Blair with more details about what he’d felt when the weather front had moved in unexpectedly and they both tried to figure out why it had played hide and seek with Jim’s senses and how to learn from it.

The snow continued for most of the next day, and they used the time stuck indoors to exhaust the supply of board games Jim had found, play every card game Blair could come up with, as well as a few he made up, and do some taste tests on Jim. They also talked about Blair’s disobedience, but thankfully on Blair’s part since he had to sit through it, it was a short lecture.

When the storm passed, and the sun came out again, the snow provided an almost endless source of entertainment for Blair, who, even with a very tender butt, still managed to enjoy sledding down a nearly treeless slope behind the cabin.

With the time of year being finicky, the temperature rose again, and the snow melted, receding to manageable levels, abolishing Jim’s fears of needing to make use of the emergency supply shed and calling for a snow plow to come dig them out.

They tromped down to the fort again, along a trail that was now alternately muddy, then slushy, then icy and slippery. Working together, they reassembled the fort to a reasonable facsimile of what Blair remembered it to be. The whole time Blair regaled Jim with stories of the times he’d spent inside it.

Jim expressed worry over contacting Froggy and giving him the news about the barn, but Blair waved it off with a dismissive ‘pfffffft’ and rapid-fire double talk about how Froggy would just chalk it up to Momma Nature doin’ her thing.

As for the woodshed…Blair managed to stay out of trouble for the rest of their stay, avoiding a trip out to it although Jim still threatened it with a sly grin and evil laugh every now and again.

Overall the retreat was a success. Jim felt energized and relaxed, and, he had to admit, more in tune with his senses, just as that old codger Burton had suggested.

Before they pulled out of the drive, Blair once again hopped onto to the gate and rode it as it swung closed. He looked back over his shoulder with a grin and a happy sigh, already planning their next getaway.

The Peaceful Hollow sign, adorned with fresh splotches of paint, hung straight on new hinges scrounged from the woodshed, swaying lazily on a mountain breeze.