A YEAR UNDERFOOT – entry #51

A Year Underfoot

September 8th, 2033

When I decided to hit the base I set in motion a chain of events I hadn’t expected. Namely, Bagman’s setting off for the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and the end of our brief partnership.

I suppose it was inevitable. My focus has always been on revenge, while Bagman’s has been on survival.

“I’ve seen it coming ever since you came back from the rock quarry.” He said.

“You did?” I replied.

“Oh yeah,” he chuckled, “once you struck gold with them explosives, there wasn’t anything left to do but use ‘em. And, sabotage is a young man’s game. I’m seventy years old. I may be able to get around some, but I ain’t running. Nor, do I care to, thank you very much.”

“But, what about you?” I asked.

He stretched out his arms wide as he answered, “I’ve been doing this a long time, remember? I’ll be just fine.”

I stood there, gazing out at the darkness. A chill had come to the air and I knew it wouldn’t be long until the weather began to change in earnest. Life was about to become much harder.

“Sit down and eat.” He called out and once I got a whiff of the stew he’d whipped up I remembered just how hungry I was.

“Vegetable and squirrel stew, the breakfast of champions!” He laughed, handing me a bowl and standing in front of me until I had swallowed a healthy spoonful.

“Good squirrel”, I managed, which set him off on another jag of laughter.

Only after he had settled into his stew and did he speak again. Raising his bowl as he did so.

“Only the best for a saboteur on the eve of a mission.”

“Thanks, Bagman.” I said, returning the gesture.

“I’ll take the rest of the C-4 and the dynamite and bury it at the base of the large oak bordering camp,” he said, “it’ll be there when you need it.”

I didn’t answer. I nodded my acknowledgment and he continued.

“I’ll need a day, or two to clear the area.”

“I don’t have to do this right away,” I said, “I don’t mean to run you off.”

“You ain’t running me off,” he replied, “you’ve got work to do. I can see it.”

He nodded his head and mumbled something into his stew and started laughing all over again.

I’m going to miss that old coot, I hope to see him again some day.



About paul nevins

Fiction writer, reader and baseball fan.
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