Karma
Mitch Morgan didn't believe in karma, or fate, or in some supreme being watching over them and controlling the events in the everyday lives of several billion people, but at that moment he was tempted to change his mind. For all his vast knowledge and intelligence, he was at a loss to explain just how he had ended up in a tree with half a dozen wild boars circling below.
He glanced at the man on a neighboring branch and amended his previous thought.
Jackson Oz met Mitch's sour look with a sheepish grin, shrugging one shoulder.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you say the fence would keep the boars away?" Mitch asked flatly.
"And it did," Jackson replied. "It just didn't keep away the ones already on this side of the property."
Mitch rolled his eyes. Of his entire team, only Jackson could find trouble in a quick drive to an abandoned farm. Even hunting for wolves with Abe hadn't been this much trouble.
Well, not at first.
"And that helps us now how?" Mitch demanded.
Jackson waved a dismissive hand. His level of casual indifference only served to ratchet Mitch's own concern even higher. "It's fine. I've got this."
Mitch's eyebrows shot high on his forehead. "Excuse me? We are currently stranded in a tree by six angry boars that want nothing more than to gore us open, and the closest member of our team is several hundred miles away by plane! How exactly do you 'got this'?"
"You still have the needle, right?" Jackson asked, ignoring Mitch's rant with unsettling ease.
Mitch's eyes flickered to the hand gripping the branch over his head for balance, the needle squashed between both.
Jackson nodded. "We came here to track a boar for samples; it's just our luck that we don't have to hunt one down. Here's the plan: I'm going to try and knock one out. Then I'll jump down and lead the rest of the boars away."
Mitch stared at Jackson, stunned speechless.
"When it's clear, you jump down and get the sample," Jackson continued. "Then take off for the truck."
Mitch closed his eyes and lowered his head slightly, bemoaning the reality of being trapped alone with someone clearly suicidal.
"I'll backtrack and meet you at the truck," Jackson's voice droned on. A pause followed. "Mitch? Hey, are you even listening?"
"Yes," Mitch ground out around clenched teeth. "It just takes me a while to process so much stupid all at once."
The silence that met his bald statement forced Mitch's eyes open. To his surprise, a wounded look had worked its way onto Jackson's face, out of place in an expression usually brimming with boundless optimism. A teeny pang of regret stabbed at Mitch's heart.
"Well, if you've got a better idea, I'm all ears," Jackson replied. "I'm not exactly in the mood to be poked full of holes."
Mitch glanced down at the boars, then back at Jackson. As foolhardy as the plan was, he knew it was their best chance for survival.
Huffing in frustration, he nodded. "Fine. What the hell."
Jackson nodded. Glancing around, he reached out and grasped a nearby branch. Bending it back and forth several times, he managed to wrench it free. Drawing it close, Jackson quickly stripped it of any extraneous limbs and leaves.
Now armed with his crude club, Jackson carefully lowered himself to another branch below Mitch. Mitch took advantage of Jackson's proximity to reach out and grab the younger man's arm. Jackson paused, quizzical eyes turning to Mitch.
Words tangled in Mitch's throat; wishes for luck, cautions for safety, all twisted together into a jumbled mess.
Understanding shifted in Jackson's eyes and he nodded wordlessly at Mitch. Mitch lightly squeezed the arm under his hand, then let go.
Jackson moved down to the lowest branch and carefully arranged himself lengthwise, stretched out on his stomach. As soon as he found his balance, he brought his club down and began jabbing forcefully at the boars within his reach.
Squealing joined the growling from below, the sound setting Mitch's teeth on edge. He leaned over cautiously to get a better look at Jackson's progress. He quickly noted that, despite the rather forceful jabs, all Jackson was doing was pissing the boars off even more.
A couple of boars began snapping at the club. Realization flashed white hot in Mitch's brain at what was about to happen. "Jackson!"
It was too late. One of the boars latched onto the club with its mouth and tugged. Off balance, Jackson was pulled from the tree with a startled yelp.
"Jackson!" Mitch rose to his feet, his brain whirring as it sought the best way to rescue the zoologist.
Somehow, miraculously, Jackson had managed to land on top of the boar that had yanked him out of the tree without impaling himself on its tusks. The boar was no match for the falling force of a fully grown man landing on top of it and was sprawled out on the ground, out cold. Jackson had rolled to his feet and had darted around the tree, dodging slashing tusks. Mitch couldn't tell if he had managed to injure himself, but he was on his feet and beginning to run away. That was good enough for now.
Once the last boar had finally joined the others in chasing the lunatic zoologist, Mitch swung quickly down to the ground and crouched by the downed boar. Jabbing the needle into its neck, he drew enough blood for testing, then packed the needle carefully in its pouch and stowed the pouch safely in his pocket. Rising to his feet, he scanned the area for any sign of Jackson. Despite the rational part of his brain screaming at him for not seeking safety, he felt surprisingly reluctant to just leave Jackson to fend for himself.
Mitch's eyes landed on a small copse of trees on the other end of the fenced in field just as Jackson emerged from behind it, still being chased by the boars. Jackson began waving his arm at Mitch and shouting. Mitch couldn't make out the words but had no problem discerning their meaning, and he turned and ran as fast as he could for the truck.
Diving into the driver's seat, Mitch started the engine and instantly peeled forward, heading straight for Jackson. When he had closed most of the distance between them, Mitch spun the steering wheel in a tight turn, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt. Leaning out of the window, he turned his head towards Jackson. "Come on!"
Sweat poured down Jackson, his face red with exertion. Several tears in his clothes and patches of fresh blood told Mitch that he wasn't coming out of his excursion unscathed. To his credit, Jackson put on a burst of speed and leapt up into the bed of the truck, collapsing onto his side and rolling towards the cab. "Go!"
Mitch was already stomping on the accelerator, the tires squealing as the truck sped across the field and away from the boars. Blood pounded in Mitch's ears as he steered the truck out of the field and back onto the paved road.
"Jackson?" he finally called when they were on their way towards town. "You doing okay back there?"
He glanced in the rearview mirror for some sign of the younger man, but Jackson didn't appear.
"Did you . . . get the sample?" came a weary voice.
Mitch's hands tightened on the steering wheel as he wrestled with a sudden surge of frustration. "Yeah, I got it."
"Then . . . I'm great," Jackson answered.
Mitch shook his head and gritted his teeth to hold back the sharp retort that wanted to escape.
"Although . . ."
Mitch's entire body tensed.
"I wouldn't . . . say no to a cold beer . . . with a Vicodin chaser."
Mitch pressed harder on the accelerator, keeping his voice even as he retorted, "Don't be ridiculous. Vicodin pairs better with vodka."
An exhausted chuckle floated towards Mitch before Jackson fell silent.
No, there wasn't enough empirical evidence to convince Mitch that there was such a thing as karma. However, his experiences with his tame, and Jackson in particular, since the animal epidemic had begun were enough to convince Mitch that something had definitely lojacked the zoologist for trouble to find. No one could possibly be that unlucky.
END