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| This one is cheating! Ducks are
later, but I love that photo of Jan! |
House by the Stream. Author Gordon Channer
Page 3 |
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| Extract Three Working Max, the big excavator on a tall, sheer face. Gordon drove Max carefully forward, watching for any sign. He knew only too well what to look for. Small stones rolled down almost continuously in a random pattern, singly or in little rivers of stone. These were merely a distraction, but not to be ignored. He dare not ignore them least they contain the code, the signal he needed yet feared! The vital indication occurred when two such small streams tumbled simultaneously from widely-spaced points in the face. Such a phenomenon required an immediate response. If he was slow to react, death would be swift. He knew that too! As he drove forward, the top of the heap disappeared, towering above him, no longer visible through the tall cab window. The danger increased. In this zone he might miss the sign! Gordon hurried forward now, loading bucket nosing into the recess, undercutting that overhang yet more deeply, digging a cave as it scooped up material, still trying to induce the working face to fall. He wanted it to fall, needed it to fall; but please, not just at this instant. |
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| This one is cheating! Ducks are
later, but I love that photo of Jan! |
| While
filling the bucket he cast a glance upwards; to the hidden precipice above,or to heaven in
a silent prayer? There was no time to think, the machine hurried back, not stopping until
it stood a goodly distance off. Tipping loaded bucket into waiting trailer, he lined up to
move forward again, as on countless times over the past months. Hesitating at first,
watching the occasional falling stones carefully, he moved slowly closer, then reaching
decision point, forced a foot down on the accelerator to hurry forward. A great jolt shot through his body. Energy, adrenaline, fear - who knows? He had seen it! A small trickle of stone fell to the right; from the corner of his left eye, movement! He didn’t turn to look, for a split second could do nothing, petrified, statue-like; then as if stung, spun into action! Stamping on the brake, he thrust the gear into reverse, let the clutch out, and applied full power! Above the roar of the excavator’s great engine he could hear, or feel, his own heart pounding. The stone face started to recede, then for some inexplicable reason he was travelling towards it again. No! The face was coming to him! Coming to get him; hundreds, thousands of tons, leaping at him with fantastic speed. Foot pressed to the boards, he could go no faster as boulders and rubble began to break and bounce. "Come on!" He mentally urged the machine. John Wayne might have said, "Let’s get to hell out of here!" The sentiment was identical! Riveted eyes saw no sky above, no distant tree through a side window, only the crashing turbulent mass of rock dead ahead. Reaching desperately, blindly, for the lever, feeling for the knob, unable to detach his gaze, he raised the bucket in a vain, futile attempt to keep the avalanche at bay. Ten feet! Seven feet! Five; a bouncing rock smashed against the metalwork sending a shudder through the steering column. And suddenly, it was over; the face receding again, or appeared to be as excavator and driver continued to rush madly backwards, eyes still glued to the front. A huge dust-cloud was rising over the scene. Gordon drew a deep lung-full of air, slowed, and stopped. He was not sure, but believed he forgot to breathe during the crisis. Shaken but elated, a pulse literally hammered through his body; he could feel it pounding at his temple, up his arms and somewhere within the chest cavity. Leaning against the front bucket, which still sat in the defensive position four feet off the ground, he watched the dust spreading, heavier particles already settling. One or two rocks rolled down the new surface; a sloping jumble of stone and crumbled slate that now extended perhaps forty or fifty feet in front of the previous working face. Full power of Max’s great engine was never normally applied, never necessary under ordinary conditions; but this was that old self-preservation reflex in action. Maybe it stretched the imagination a little, but Gordon always felt Max agreed with him at these moments. The whole episode lasted six, maybe seven terrifying seconds; short as a flash, yet so very long while it happened. He watched the falling dust. Loading would be safer for a while now - until the next time. Another risk would come soon enough, he knew that too; but for those few seconds he had really been alive, tinglingly alive! -Extract ends- |
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is the 2nd book House by the Stream
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