Chapter 2: Flyboys

The afternoon was as pleasant as one might ask for in Northern Wisconsin. Wispy clouds in the sky softened the warm summer rays, making sunscreen an afterthought. Bug repellant on the other hand was most decidedly not an afterthought in this part of the state. The Nicolet National Forest and its endless trees (each of them fifty feet high but just as round as a person) was an ideal breeding ground for mosquitos, horseflies, gnats, and ticks. Anyone who was used to the area knew to wear long pants and long thick shirts on even the warmest days- or to resign oneself to the bugs. Just don't complain about them because no one up here had any sympathy for it.

The boys in the truck did not wear sunscreen, use bug repellant, or wear particularly shady clothes. It didn't really matter what they would have put on though because by this point in the afternoon they knew just exactly how covered in mud they would be. Caked in was probably a better description- later that night, they would need to run files under their nails, and to pick at the very deepest of their noses to get the last smudges of dirt from their bodies. This was the way it was when your group went mudding though. The more you can cover your truck (and the people in it) the better the outing.

Martin Higgs was driving the truck that afternoon. His massive red beard, the easiest way for people to pick him out from afar, had seemingly turned dark brown from the afternoon. He ran his fingers through it from time to time to squeeze the mud out of it and fling it out the window. Next to him, Paul Wayne was not bothering to clean the mud off of his own face. He didn't typically care much how he looked, always wearing the same dozen or so tshirts that were ripped and faded (and many did not fully cover up his ample belly). Paul was shouting along to the country station booming through the truck speakers that Martin had installed. Each of the guys in the group had a very similar truck, with similarly outsized wheels, and a similarly impressive and deafening speaker system. It was more fun to pack everyone in to one truck though rather than each person sit alone in their own, so the four of them took turns with who would drive each weekend.

In the bed of the truck, John Arrynd sat next to Matthew Fischer. John and Matthew were both a year younger than the guys in the front of the truck, and more often than not, they were delegated to this position. While Matthew didn't really mind getting teased and forgotten and being kicked out of the shotgun seat, John had never really felt comfortable with his fate. His favorite Saturday's where when their group went out on his truck, taking his trails, and listening to his music.

As it was impossible to talk in the truck bed when whipping around the curvy single lane roads of the backwoods, John and Matthew leaned against the back window of the cab and watched the forest race behind them. Occasionally overhead they would witness a hawk or other large birds of prey soaring between the gaps in the trees.

They were driving down a particularly steep hill, heading towards their next pull off road, when John saw something incredible.

"Holy Mother!" he said, pointing to the trees to the left of them, "did you see that! Did you guys see that?"

"See what?" Matthew said. He leaned forward onto his knees so he could get a view to the other side of the road. "Where am I supposed to look?"

But it was too late, what John thought he saw, it couldn't be though, well, if it was them, no one would believe him, and more importantly, at the speed that those guys were traveling, they would be long gone by now.

"What happened?" Matthew repeated. He had seen the shock and disbelief on John's face, and he was now buzzing with excitement. "Was it an eagle or something? A meteor? What did you see?"

John opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself, it was crazy, there was no way he saw what his brain was telling him he saw…

"Come on man," Matthew said again, "What happened? Are you messing with me or-"

But before he could finish that sentence, John saw them again. Both of the boys did this time.

Three young men, from just above the tree line, flew over the highway. They were wearing robes the color of the sky- and almost blended in, except for their laughing faces, and their bare feet hanging below the broomsticks that they were seated on.

Broomsticks! Teenagers flying between the trees, right over their heads on sticks of wood!

"Holy Mother!" John repeated.

"I can't believe it!" Matthew said.

Martin, seeing the same spectacle in the rearview mirror, yelled, "What in the hell?"

He was not watching the road, and a car driving towards them must not have been either, because moments later the two vehicles collided in a rather nasty fashion.