The Adventure of Igdryll the Drunken Gnome (Part 7)

          “What the hell happened?” Dave asked.
          The two of them stared at the pickup truck, a few whorls of smoke escaped from underneath the raised hood. The truck wasn’t a total loss. It looked like just the distributor caught fire. The two of them had managed to quickly extinguish it but whatever had caused the explosion had also blown out all of the windows in the cab.
          “I dunno,” Roger said, “lemme call Donna.” Roger walked up to the top of a nearby dirt mound to get a better signal. “Hey, honey. All right, I guess. Yeah sure. Hey listen, can you give me and Dave a ride back to town? It won’t start. Uh huh. Not sure. Yeah, an hour’s fine. Kay. Love you, too. Bye.”
          Roger walked back to the truck. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and banged one out. Lighting it, he inhaled deeply and exhaled.
          “Thought you quit,” Dave said.
          “Eh.”
          “Gimme one, would ya?”
          Dave pulled a cigarette from the pack that Roger extended. He lit it off of the other lit cigarette. They stood for a moment in the crisp air, their fogged breath mingling with the smoke.
          “You know, I’m beginning to think this place is cursed or haunted or somethin’,” Dave said. “That thing yesterday and now this. My luck ain’t great but it’s never been this bad.”
          “Donna be here in about an hour. Let’s see if we can get the dozer started again and finish that back cut. The ground’s s’posed to freeze later this week.”
          “All right.”
          They walked across the clearing to the bulldozer. Dave climbed up into the cab, turned the key and it started. The machine rumbled and as he put it into gear and tried to move the machine forward, the sound of twisting metal shrieked through the valley. The bulldozer lurched and stalled.
          “Shit,” Roger exclaimed. He walked around to the other side of the bulldozer. “The track’s completely off.”
          “It’s not a complete showstopper,” Dave said as he climbed down, “but it will take us some time to get another one out here. I’ll call and see about gettin’ some parts. Take at least a week, I figure.”
          “Eleven, twelve hundred.”
          “Yeah. At least.”
          Dave sucked on his cigarette and threw it into the dirt. Exhaling, he shook his head and squatted down next to the track. He ran his fingers across the broken metal, clean and bright against the other muddy parts. He noticed something. Among the tangled metal shavings, he noticed what appeared to be small footprints. His eyes followed the trail of steps to the field. ‘Rabbit or squirrel,’ he thought. But part of him wasn’t entirely convinced.

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