Blaze knew there was a river, he’d seen it through the trees, but to see it so glassy and blue and white as it tumbled over the rocks before smoothing out and feeding into a lake was just about the last thing he expected to see.
“This is Half Moon Lake,” said Gabe. “Isn’t it pretty?”
They all nodded because, yes, the lake was pretty, like a painting. Surrounded by tall pine trees, it almost looked fake.
“And that is Guipago Ridge,” said Gabe. He pointed to the long, sky-edged hem of stone that cut across the blue, high above the foothills to the west. “It’s named after the last principal chief of the Kiowa tribe, who probably passed through here, years ago, on their way south to Colorado.”
Gabe’s words sounded like something Blaze might have memorized for his GED test, a goal which he’d left behind him, long before his release from prison. But something about Gabe’s pleasure in this bit of history sparked something inside of Blaze, because maybe he’d have a chance this summer to get that certificate. Or maybe he was just crazy, wishing for what he could never have.
“And this here—” Gabe led them to a dump truck, behind which huddled a long machine, covered by a tarp. Gabe pulled away the tarp to reveal a clunky machine.
“This is the wood chipper we’re borrowing from the BLM. It’s got 170 horsepower, enough to tear through a tree trunk or to rip a man’s arm off. The truck will help to haul away woodchips. This here,” Gabe pointed to the red bars along the opening and the orange and white stripes beneath that. “This is the feed intake. You don’t ever want to stand in front of the feed while pushing trees and logs and branches in there or they could snag you and pull you in and you’ll disappear without a yelp. Do you understand me?”
He turned to look at them each in turn, a hard, steady look.
“If I catch any one of you messing around this machine, or any of the other tools you’ll be using, you are off my team. You won’t get another chance. Whether that means you’ll get kicked out of the program will be up to Mr. Tate, and he is not one to suffer fools gladly.”
“Yes, sir,” they each said, and then they all amended that to, “Yes, Gabe.”
“Now, this morning, you only need to wear gloves, as we’ll be picking up branches and chunks of wood from this area that the BLM already cut for us. This afternoon, we’ll get a delivery of chainsaws and axes. We’ll get started on doing our own clearing then. I’m also getting a map of the area so we can see how this project will progress over the summer. If you have any questions, just ask. If you get hurt, then stop working and let me know and we’ll take you to the first aid hut. Got it?”
“Got it,” they all said.
Blaze was glad for the slow way the day was starting. On a chain gang, or so rumor had it, you were handed a pickaxe or a shovel or whatever and were told to produce a certain amount of crushed rock or spread gravel or whatever, and by golly, you’d better produce or they’d come down hard on you.
Gabe put them to work, gathering branches and logs and strands of bark. Tidying up to make the place look nice and for no reason other than that.
The work might have been straightforward, but it was more physical work than Blaze had done in a while, his whole life, even. Bending over and straightening up, over and over again, to pick up branches and sticks, and then hauling them to the clearing made him sweat more than he ever thought he could.
It was nice, though, to look up and see the lake, or to look at the clouds rolling along, white and puffy and innocent, over the steel-gray ridge. Blaze was not an outdoor guy, but this was pretty, all things considered.
What was also nice, and totally unexpected, was that Gabe was working right alongside them. He didn’t stand off to one side barking orders or finding fault. No, he was bent over, sweating beneath his armpits, just like they were.
He was in real shape, too, not muscle bound gym and weights shape, but real shape. Like he did hard labor every day, and he probably did. Blaze did his best not to stare, which was very hard, as the pull of muscle along Gabe’s back, the strength in his thighs inside of his blue jeans, was very eye-catching indeed.
At one point, when mid-morning started warming up, Gabe took off his flannel shirt. Standing there in a clean white t-shirt that showed off his biceps and strong neck, he slathered himself with sunscreen, then handed the tube around so they could all join in. Then, without a word, got back to work. Making Blaze feel, unexpectedly, like he was part of a working unit, and not actually on parole.
He threw himself into the work, and did his best to keep up with Gabe, but it was hard because he wasn’t good at it. They were all struggling with trying to keep up, looking at each other with wide eyes behind Gabe’s back as if to ask,Is this guy for real?And as if to say,This guy is a machine!
Every hour, Gabe would stop and make them drink some water. The first time this happened, Blaze took a sip, not sure if he was thirsty or not, and then recapped his water bottle.
“Take a little more, Blaze,” said Gabe. “Don’t gulp it, but drink enough to stay hydrated.”
Blaze did as he was told, and if that wasn’t the nicest, sweetest swallow of water he’d ever had, Blaze didn’t know what was. And he had no idea why Gabe was fussing over him more than the others.
At a point where it seemed the morning had hardly begun, they heard the bell clanging into the relative quiet.
“Let’s go get some lunch,” Gabe said, making it sound more like a suggestion than an order. “We can wash up first.”
Together, like a team, they headed to use the facilities and then washed up, all in a row, like kids at boarding school, which made Blaze laugh because going to a boarding school would have been a kind of fantasy life for him.
Lunch was BLT sandwiches and potato salad with iced brownies to finish up with. When Del asked what everyone wanted to drink, Kurt, sounding like he was joking, asked for a glass of milk. Only thing was, he got the milk, and finished it in two gulps. Del brought him another serving, and Kurt drank that too, in record time, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
“What?” he asked as they stared at him. “I like milk and the milk in the joint tastes like old cow jizz.”
Blaze couldn’t fault Kurt for being greedy about what he had missed in prison because everybody missed something on the inside. Blaze missed hot showers, and he missed a whole bunch of things he probably never even knew he’d been missing. One of which was the ability to sit around after eating a meal without feeling like they had to rush off. Certainly, Gabe wasn’t in a hurry, having a second iced brownie and a cup of sweet, creamy coffee.
He looked up at Blaze as if he’d realized Blaze had been staring at him. Which perhaps he had been, though he needed to stop that shit right now.
