As inevitably happens, in any void of leadership, heroes often arise to take up the mantle. Unfortunately, on that day it arrived at the Fire Hall in the persons of Village Supervisor Falls and Big Bill Hodson.

A little background is in order to introduce readers to these 2 implacable enemies. In any small town there are those who think they cast quite substantial shadows – even if it IS their guts and butts.

Whipsaw had 2 such characters perpetually vying for being ‘on top’ – which was agreed by all to be a really queasy image to fix in your mind just before eating.

Edson was known as Big Ed married to small mousy Emmy – everyone thought she deserved one for staying married to the miserable so-and-so. Three offspring graced the Falls household. Two sons Josh and Jerry who appeared to have been cloned directly from Ed. Then there was SallyAnn who looked an awful lot like she’d come from a different root stock altogether. Lots of tongues wagged about THAT but not in public.

Big Bill Hodson had made a fortune with the Whipsaw Hardware, Plumbing, Agricultural Supply and Gas & Go. a red faced bully he was rumored to have actually made his deals by ‘screwing everything that moved, man, woman or beast.’ A prominent member of the Sons Of The Golden North he had his eye on the Republican ticket to the land of perpetual pig roasts – and a lifetime pension please. Bill wasn’t Supervisor but thought he should have been if someone had thought to count the ballots properly, or at least as they’d been told to do!

Posie picked up the phone full of hope but saw it piddle away in a scream of static.

“Well?” demanded Falls.

Posie shook his head.

“Does this piss-ant town even HAVE a lockup?” sneered Hodson.

“Well – there’s the walk-in safe here” mused Posie, “they usually just ship ‘em off to Jacknife and the State boys.”

“Now ain’t this just grand!?” Falls belly seemed suddenly more prone to wobbliness and his bluster seemed more put on.

“What about one of the storage sheds at your lumber yard Bill?” asked Posie.

Hodson thought for a moment, weighing the future political kudos against the prospect of the next wave of terrorists weighing in on his prime southern yellow pine………

“Sure, I suppose that’d work, I mean maybe.”

“Now just a darn minute here” said Falls, “ does anyone know what the hell we’re dealing with? Just who are these guys and where are they now?”

Black smoke still hung in the air over the Park. It was time to go see about the terrorists.

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Adnam and Bashir Farah were at that moment looking at each other and wondering if  their cousin Mansur Elhessin was dead, alive, singed or lying concussed somewhere out on the ice on Whipsaw Lake.

They were tied with bar towels to the brass front rail and perched uncomfortably on red anaugahide high stools. Adnam needed to pee very, very badly but was wondering if speaking would just make things worse. Bashir’s eyes motioned for very slow and careful actions – motioning back to the dangling antler from Old FleaBag the bar moosehead mascot.

Supervisor Falls now stood menacingly in front of them, a cup of coffee in one hand and the, badly sighted in, 30 Odd Six in the other.

“DO – YOUS – SPEAK – ENGLISH?” one – word – at – a – time…..

A pregnant silence.

“Are you from I-Ran?” yelled Hodson.

“Not at all gentlemen,” whispered Bashir, “Dearborn actually.”

“We’re dentists not terrorists,” nodded Adnam enthusiastically.

More pregnant silence.

“BS!” spluttered Cliff, “you bastards blew up the Park!”

“Well, in truth, your Park blew up our cousin Mansur and we’re a little concerned about that,” stated Adnam.

“Don’t get wise ass with me you towel head devil! Are you a sayin’ there’s more’n you?”

Bashir took a deep breath, “we’re on a poker run with the club – the Pearly White’s – lost our bearings in the storm. Are we in Canada?”

“Wouldn’t you just like that you bastard,” menaced Hodson,”a bunch of leftist leaning safe haven nut jobs’d love to give you pair a free pass. Where’s the other one?”

By this time Posie had sprinted from the building toward the plume of smoke to find a definitely singed and unconscious Pearly White Mansur in a crumpled heap on top of the stacked up loading dock planks. There was a trickle of red humanity coming from the left ear. Posie didn’t like that one bit.

As luck would have it the 2 way pager still worked and in very short order Nate ‘Bull’ Simpson arrived with the Rescue truck.

“Careful as we roll him Bull, this looks nasty and God knows how long it’ll be before we can get him out to Jacknife.”

As the firemen turned on their auto pilot training to the downed man, the good citizens of Whipsaw arrived on the scene en masse baying for more blood than was coming from the unfortunate Mansur’s ear.

“Oh crap,” sighed Posie.

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One of the blessings/curses of Whipsaw Lake, and the single reason for it’s being off the beaten path, is, well, it IS off the beaten path.

The only road goes right through town and up a darn scary hill at both ends. The highway got detoured up, over and around better than 20 years ago just leaving an ‘oo lovely’ moment for the traffic screaming by up above.

So a combination of laziness, inbreeding, lack of public transportation and access to decent secondary education had left the marooned citizens a tad limited in the world affairs area. Now adrift in a sea of scary ‘non-connectivity’, no bars on the phones, and betrayed yet again by Mother Nature – the phrase ‘abandon hope all ye who enter here’ seemed really appropriate. God had gone on vacation and the Muslims had come to take HIS place!

All the TV and radio stations had gone out leaving the words ‘state of emergency’ hanging in the ethernet – of course, all the level headed folks now firmly believed that the hoards of Islam had arrived to blow them all to Glory. If anyone doubt what poor education and blind panic looks like on a normally placid small town USA – it was at that moment barreling down the hill toward Posie, Bull and the crumpled Mansur. In spite of telephonic failure, word had spread like the proverbial wildfires. Time to kick some Muslim butt!

For a second, Posie wished he was armed. Bull took charge and spread his ample 200 pounds of muscle and long bones in front of the patient and boomed “stop the fuck right there! This man’s hurt real bad. You silly sons of bitches get your heads out your asses and get out the way!”

“That bastard could be dangerous!” fumed Cliff.

“Only if you want him to bleed all over you,” said Posie, “now stand aside so we can get him somewhere warm.”

A tense few seconds passed before Bull and Posie loaded the gurney and keyed the ignition.

“You think they’ll move?”

“Oh …… I think so,” said Bull as he stomped his foot to the floor.

……………………………………………

“Bring him in gladly,” said Georgette Sanders MLS. Georgette doubled her meager librarian income with the SlumberBy B&B. It seemed to be the safest and closest place to try to care for the still ashen fallen snowmobiler/terrorist.

“Who is he?” she asked.

“Some poor slob in the wrong place at the friggin worst wrong time,” muttered Bull as they were debating whether to attempt unzipping the now grubby white snowmobile suit.

Posie made the decision and cut the sleeves and legs to check for broken bones and get a blood pressure. Definitely a wrist and left forearm, probably a few ribs and a collar bone. “Seems to have taken the worst on the left side.”

“So,”said Georgette looking down at the black eye and flushed man,”you think this is the face of radical Islam?”

“I think this is the face of a silly sod who shouldn’t have been going 110 in a snow storm,”sighed Posie.

“Mmmmm – somehow I don’t think that’s going to fly any better than he did,” said Bull.

…………………………………………………..

As coincidence would have it, at that very moment, the shadowy faces of actual extremism were a might hot and bothered – having gone off the road into the ditch just half a mile south of Whipsaw Hardware, Plumbing, Agricultural Supply and Gas & Go. Tailgate sprung open, several bags of ammonium nitrate had scattered their white contents innocuously into the howling falling snow – the malicious intent swallowed up by the same forces of nature swirling around, and about to consume the good citizens of Whipsaw.

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