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Antler Dust
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Mark Steven's Antler DustAntler Dust: Chapter One - conclusion

     Bear was hitched to a nearby tree. Coil went up to him and began tightening his cinch and breast collar. The long haul back from this spot in the wilderness meant it would be difficult to reach home before nightfall. She would probably end up riding in the dark, which made her wary, because the air smelled like it was gaining weight. Snow for sure. Blizzards and horse rides in the darkness were something that never concerned her when she lived where the mountains were brick, the open plains were asphalt, and she traveled in birds made of fragile steel. "The question is, how did a woman like you end up here?" asked Vic, as he sliced off a chunk of tenderloin.
     "Why is that the question?"
     "Okay, it's one question."
     He cut the steak free and bound the rest with twine. Vic reminded Coil of an old college girlfriend whose blunt questions were delivered with earnest eyes that demanded sincere answers, whether the subject was the meaning of life or missing socks.
     "The answer is that I needed a break from the world of big machines, big highways, big buildings, and big news."
     "In other words, all the intensity," Vic stated.
     "Yeah, I suppose. I used to be in your line of work, as a matter of fact."
     "No kidding?"
     "Griffin & Good," she said, knowing it would prompt a response.
     "One of the biggest agencies there is."
     "They thought I knew what made for great slogans. Toothpaste, amusement parks, grocery store chains, toilet paper. Tag lines were my thing, little words trying to mean a lot."
     "You're a long way from that world. What happened? Did you run out of steam?"
     He was sitting cross-legged on the ground, no longer working, just alking to her. His brown eyes bore through her, but his questions did not feel invasive.
     "I needed to touch things again, real things."
     No, that wasn't it. Besides, it sounded corny. Everything is real. The answer had something to do with stoplights. Or voice mail. Or email. Or $20 hotel breakfasts.
     "It seemed like I was part of the clutter-TV, billboards, radio, whatever," she said, after a pause.
     "Tangible, but not real?" he asked.
     Somewhere amid her ramble she had stopped, and now found herself sitting next to him on the cool ground. The tenderloin rested on a piece of tin foil at her feet. It was raw, red, supple, and looked very much alive. As she gazed at the meat, Vic put an arm around her.
     "Can you hang out tonight?" he asked.
     "Nope, I'm due back," she said.
     "Are you, may I ask, involved with someone right now?"
     The thought of a quiet, groping roll in a tent, a loving siesta, a one-night stand on a mountaintop, had its appealing aspects. But Coil knew it wouldn't work.
     "Yes, you can ask and the answer is sort of-well, yeah," she said. "And that goes with one of the other things I don't miss. Big confusion. Out here, it seems the only things that go haywire, get messed up, are the things you want to go wrong. The rules are your own."
     "I can respect that." His hand moved gently away.
     "Thanks," she said. "Not that you don't seem to be a complete sweetheart. Truly."
     She thought she heard him smile.
     The moment passed.
     She went back to being a professional guide. She packed up Bear and her giant, black mule, Eli. Vic and his buddies started building a fire and discussed meal preparations. Coil mounted her horse and turned to survey the camp one more time before heading Bear toward home. Vic held up his hand in a way that she saw as a combination of wave and smile that might communicate "maybe another time." It was a little signal trying to mean a lot.
     Coil pointed Bear straight up through the scrub oak and the main trail that would take her down to Ripplecreek.

...............................................

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Mark Stevens Crime Writer
Mark Stevens Writer
Mark Stevens Writer