Season THREE – Episode 12 – “Hard Day’s Night”

Inside the shelter of the cottage the foursome was bite free. The tiny pests had cut into their skin, piercing it—causing intense irritation with visible long-lasting welts on the uncovered portions of their bodies.

Moments turned to hours post sunset. The captain and first mate were not responding to calls and or text messages from Sally’s burner phone. It had become a “Hard Day’s Night”. Her first of what she assumed would be many, during The Kraken tour in Australia.

She stood peering into the darkness toward the harbor while the balance of her team slept uncomfortably at the kitchen table. Other than the floor, the cabin had zero bedding and furniture on which to lounge. It was simply a meeting place. One that had clearly not been inhabited for years.

Reaching the Blackfin Phantom was becoming more difficult than anticipated. This elite offshore submarine was the ladies’ proverbial ticket to successfully seeking out The Kraken. An obstacle continuously blocked by Too-Tall and Shorty-Short—who now made their way down the mangrove trail toward the hideout!

Meanwhile, Sally quickly made her way around the table in the darkness of the kitchen touching each of her teammates to a calm awakening. As anticipated—by keeping the lights inside the cabin doused after dark—her natural night vision was allowed to view the harbor and trail announcing any arrivals. It was impossible not to identify the two goons who had been in relentless pursuit of her since arriving on the commercial airliner the same day. Their fourth meeting within 24 hours, to be reverently exact.

     “Shhhhhh…” She whispered in an arc from Ellie to William to Hazel, and then back in the opposite direction ending where she had begun. “We’ve been found out, and it’s not our anticipated captain and first mate.”

     “Who’s out there?” William asked.

     At a lower than low tone Sally responded, “It’s the same two thugs that have been upsetting us since my airport arrival, our meeting place in Woodanilling, the stop at the marina on Sand Point Beach, and now somehow here in the middle of god knows where.”

     “Screw this—let’s end these dudes” replied Ellie. You couldn’t see the Glock Gen5 in her dominant right hand, but you could hear her open the action allowing the first bullet in a seventeen round magazine to enter the chamber.

Click—Click—Click were the next three sounds as Sally, Hazel, and William followed suit. “You three ladies make for the back door of the cabin. Get outside and spread yourselves at an equal distance to the south of the building. I’ll stay here at the main entrance to draw any potential fire while you three make your way toward the exit of the harbor” instructed William.

     “How’s that going to get you out of this house?” asked Sally. “With us circling to the harbor, Too-Tall and Shorty-Short in between, and you are exposed alone, how does that play out?”

     “I’ll be fine, just have the bow of the boat pointed toward the direction of the sea and be ready to cast off the moment I arrive.”

Back at the window Sally could see the approaching men now within sixty-five yards of the shelter. “No more safe houses after this,” she thought to herself.

     “EagleTwo, EagleThree let’s go,” Sally instructed. “William we’ll be waiting—good luck.” And with that, the three women existed the back door of the cottage, returned to the blessed greeting of the no-see-ums, and made their way silently cutting a wide swath to the south as instructed.

The Caye was overgrown with brambles and bushes alike, allowing for little variance from harbor trail to house. This kept Too-Tall and Shorty-Short within plain view for William. This also kept Sally—Ellie—Hazel blindly entangled in treefall, swarthy vegetation, and relentless uneven terrain in their attempt to escape unnoticed.

Neither of the three complained an audible beep while navigating the dark. The biting insects in heavy foliage were so overwhelming that you dare not open your eyes or ultimately open your mouth.

Hazel found herself holding her breath much of the way. Ellie used her length of blonde hair as a filtering mechanism to cover her nose in-between inhales and exhales. Sally brought up the rear being forcibly beaten by ricocheting branches—exhaust clouds of pissed off no-see-ums—and then there were gunshots!

Not in the women’s direction. The reports were coming from the north and traveling west. Trail to cottage. Too-Tall and Shorty-Short firing on William. Two on one—in the dead of night.

Creating her own orders, Sally broke rank and double-timed it back to the south side of the cabin. She could both see and hear William now responding with deafening shots of his own.

The foliage between her present position on the Caye, and the distance to the main trail was so intense that only brightness brought on by muzzle blasts would highlight the location of the two aggressors. She needed to get closer—quickly—the agonizing wail of a man shredded by bullets had just exuded from the cottage. William was no longer returning volleys of gunfire.

 The warmth from the barrel stove—saltine cracker crispy crappie fillets—day one of a one-hundred sixty-eight-day season. Tiredness from the cold night of spring and their thorough rain drenched soaking day was now wrapped in a heated wave around both Rusty and Cos.

          “Day one Cos” Rusted spoke in a fashion that requested a response.

          “Yep… And I firmly believe that’s how we’re going to have to have them, Rusty. One at a time.”

          And then he continued, “This is new territory for both you and me. A marathon—not a sprint. A new start—not the same ol’ same ol’. We are stepping away from the day to the day trivia of the world and forging a future on fishing. And maybe that’s what draws anglers to the far ends of the world. It’s fishing—it’s a chance to step back in time—and we’ll be here too—greeting them.”

          “Hey Cos…Aren’t you worried about not being able to get the daily report of the news, based on where we’re now living?”

          “Not so much Rusty. Maybe it’s my age—but I assume if something super important happens—someone will tell us.”

          “Sounds like a plan.” And with that—Rusty rose to stoke the fire just as the generator skipped an unannounced beat, sputtered coughingly, and spat out a slow death. The lights in the lodge flickered briefly before total darkness took over, leaving Rusty to trip over Link who had been lying comfortably on the throw rug in front of the barrel stove.

Cos struck a match to his boot heel—aided Rusty to his feet—reviewed the goose egg on his noggin—suggested they retreat to the couches in the lodge for the balance of the evening. “Let’s call it a Hard Day’s Night Rusty. Day two is tomorrow.”

–            To Be Continued –