Tentacle Breeding Ground
©2012 Raminar Dixon
This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences only. All characters represented within are eighteen years of age or older and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This work is property of Raminar Dixon, please do not reproduce illegally.
Myra and I were wandering along, exploring the back trails and slowly lengthening late summertime shadows in the quiet wilderness of the Foxberry National Park when something caught my eye. Just through the lush green foliage of the oak trees and bushes that formed a barrier between us and the much deeper interior forest, I spied the faintest glint of metal reflecting in the waning afternoon sun.
“Hey, whatcha looking at, girlie?” Myra asked me. Her ponytailed, bleached blonde hair wavered in a stray incoming gust of high mountain wind and she held the straps of her backpack under both thumbs.
“I don’t know,” I answered back, with my eyes scanning through the leaves and my neck craning this way and that for a better view. “I thought I saw a reflection through the trees.”
“Probably just some off-trail campers, like us,” she guessed, and directed my attention to the sky, pointing out a thick stream of smoke that rose out and above the tree tops. “That’s a big fire, though. If the park ranger sees that, somebody’s gonna be in big trouble.”
The distant echo of men’s voices crept through the trees and I could hear the rumble and back-up beeps of heavy equipment. It sounded like more than just some ordinary campers.
“Do you hear that?” I asked, and pulled on Myra’s pack as she began to walk away.