REVELATIONS 1: DAWN (19/30)
by Sue Esty (AKA Windsinger@aol.com)
Begun 7/95, completed 9/98

For Disclaimer see chapter 1

Chapter 19

The Old Amos Homestead
Sunday, 12:30 p.m.

     The cabin was not in good shape. Plastic sheeting had been
nailed on the outside of the roof because clearly there was
little roof left. Once shoved inside, Dana could still see trees
through the breaks in the walls. In the center of its single
room there was a wooden table. Against the wall in the back, a
cot. A pump on the counter aimed into the ancient enamel sink.
There was only one tiny window so most of the light came in
through the breaks in the roof. Amos tied one end of the rope
which encircled Dana's waist to a pipe close to the sink and
pointed out a greasy bar of soap and a pile of weeks-old dirty
dishes. "Wash 'em," he ordered and began building a fire in a
tiny iron stove. Fire going, he filled a rusty kettle with the
brownish water from the pump and put it on the stove to heat.

     Warily, Dana pulled her left hand out from under the tight
hemp 'belt', losing some skin along the way. Tears burned her
eyes before she could extract the injured right one. Silently,
she began the task assigned her. It would take some time; but
then, time they needed. The cold well water made her fingers
numb, and the caked on food refused to budge without
considerable effort, and then only incompletely. Warily, she
cupped her hands under the water, her parched mouth reminding
her that it had been more than twenty-four hours since either
she or Mulder had had anything to eat or drink. Ignored by the
hermit, Dana drank her fill.

     Taking a large wooden bowl Dana had just 'cleaned', Amos
dumped in three packets of plain instant oatmeal from a small
collection of supplies he kept on a rickety shelf near the
stove. Then he filled two old Mason jars with the cloudy water
from the pump. While she worked, Dana watched, her eyes eager
for any opportunity to catch him off guard, but once inside the
close confines of the cabin he had traded his ax handle for a
long knife, the only one she could see in the 'kitchen'. On a
cracked china plate he put a package of saltines and then pulled
out a long cylinder of hard salami. While he cut rounds of the
sausage in sure easy strokes, Dana studied the tiny room in more
detail. There wasn't much to see. A pile of old magazines, a few
tattered books, some raggedly clothes hung on nails. Two framed
photographs hung above the cot.

     Before Dana could focus on the pictures, there came a knock
- wood on wood. Dana jumped. Mulder? As Amos turned, frowning,
to face the back wall of the shack, Dana realized how unlikely
it was that Mulder could extract himself so quickly. The knock
came again, a series of them this time. They were firm and
impatiently insistent as if someone was tapping on the back wall
with a stout stick. Snarling, Amos loosened the leash end of
Dana's rope. His yellow-toothed mouth close to her ear, he
whispered, "Not a sound or you'll wish you hadn't," then pushed
her a few feet in front of him, finally forcing her down with a
shove onto the iron cot. Dana didn't struggle. This was not the
time. He was too aware; the shack, the cabin, too small. With
deft skill he tied a filthy rag across her mouth and secured her
wrists and ankles to the four corners of the cot. Dana felt no
particular fear. This was no prelude to a sexual assault. He was
clearly annoyed by the interruption and wanted to keep her
presence secret. Any enemy of his was potentially Dana's friend
but, unfortunately, Amos knew his knots too well. All Dana could
do was listen and perhaps learn something.

     While he worked, the knocks came again, louder, and his
frown deepened. "Hold your horses!" he finally called over his
shoulder with irritation. The knocking ceased. Within seconds he
was gone, shutting the door solidly behind him.

     As she strained unsuccessfully against her bonds, Dana's
eyes drifted upwards. She could see the two framed pictures
easier now. One was at least a half century old. It was of two
unsmiling older people in their Sunday best surrounded by six
small children - three boys and three girls. The other was
newer. It was of the man from the earlier picture, older but
still well-built and gruffly-smiling this time. With him were
two tall, young men, all three in crisp army fatigues. Not the
Army surplus kind, but real ones. Beside them unsmiling was a
teenager in jeans. Though slightly built and already tall, the
bony look about the teen's face promised more growth to come.
The three young men had to be the brothers from the first
picture. The youngest in the family photograph looked the most
like Amos and there was a resemblance to the mother and father
in the hermit's face as well.

     There was no more time for study. Dana realized she was
hearing voices. Several voices. Clearly more than two. They
drifted through the cracks in the wall close to Dana's ear. Most
were women's voices but one was Amos's rumbling bass. The tones
rose in anger all on top of each other and then hushed suddenly
so that Dana had to strain to hear.

     "... got to stop..." This came from a woman with a slightly
country or Appalachian accent. She was crying softly.

     "Where'd this one come from? He's not like the others."
Came a second woman's voice, this last one sharp and demanding.
The crying could still be heard so there were at least two
visitors and they'd seen Mulder who, as dirty and bloody as he
was, was clearly not dressed for jogging.

     "Now just you..." Amos was protesting.

     The rest of the words came and went but Dana recreated the
scene from the few words she caught and the sounds. Maybe he had
been fingering Mulder's ID in his pocket because there was a
slight scuffle and the next clear words Dana heard were, "FBI!
This can't be. Do you hear me? Get rid of him! You think you can
play with his kind?"

     "When I'm ready," Amos growled. "Besides, Mary, what a
messenger he'll make..."

     "No. He won't be any such thing. Sadie, go on and start
back to the car. I'll catch up with ya." The weeping had long
since faded before the brusque woman spoke again. "I've got to
take her home or I'd stay and take care of this myself. Eugene,
you can't treat this one like the others. Do you really want to
carry the sorry carcass of an FBI agent all the way back to
D.C.? It's too dangerous. Kill him quick and bury him here, bury
him deep so the dogs can't find him." There came a noise Dana
couldn't identify. Had the woman, Mary, grabbed Amos's arm?

     "Do you hear me? And after this no more, no more! Or I stop
covering for you."

     "Have I ever asked ya to?" he snapped.

     "Do I have a choice? We're all the family either one of us
has left. Now, I'm coming back after I take Sadie home and when
I do I want to see it done, and it better be taken care of or so
help me I'll kill him myself and you can join him."

     That rather said it all. Dana found her fists clenched,
cold sweat on her body. She didn't want to be 'taken care of'
like some detail. She didn't want Mulder to be 'taken care of'.
But did it really matter what happened to them after they were
dead? Yes, it did. What if their bodies were never found? Her
mother would never know...

     No! That wasn't how she should be thinking.

     Dana's eyes burned again into the family picture above her
head. The eldest child was a girl. She had dark, piercing,
manipulative eyes. She could imagine an older version of such a
child speaking to her youngest brother in that 'take charge' way
the woman outside had. After 'Mary', came the two older boys,
then two timid girls clinging to their mother's skirts, one of
which was Sadie, and then Benjamin Amos.

     Dana's attention went back to the oldest girl's stern mouth
and then to the face of the resentful teen in the picture with
the three smiling infantrymen. She tore her eyes away as Amos
stomped back into the room. He was upset, his movements harder
and more abrupt. Without looking her way, he poured a quantity
of the now steaming water over the instant oatmeal and threw in
a spoon. After retying the rope tightly to Dana's waist, he
thrust the bowl into her arms. "Let's go."

     Dana knew she was supposed to stir the mixture, but before
she could Amos loaded her up with both mason jars of water to
hold. Dana carefully carried it all out of the cabin, watching
her feet particularly on the broken porch steps. Amos's sharp
temper was one reason, but she had a more personal one. She had
a feeling she knew who at least some of the water was for, and
she didn't want to risk spilling even a drop. More may not be
provided.

     As she emerged from the cabin, Mulder was standing on the
opposite side of the tree from where she'd left him. Hearing
their footsteps on the hollow planking his head reared back like
that of a startled animal, his matted hair falling across his
forehead. Like any caged beast, he'd been testing the strength
and limits of his prison. Amos didn't seem to care much one way
or the other what his prisoner had been up to. He took back one
of the mason jars and placed it and the plate of crackers and
sausage near a rocker which sat comfortably beyond the trampled
circle of ground under the tree. He then led Dana forward and
tied the leash end of her rope to Mulder's chain.

     "Feed and water 'im," he ordered curtly, "and get 'im ready
to run. Now don't act dumb. You wouldn't have found me if you
didn't know what I do here."

     "Mr. Amos," Dana began, "we can talk about this. We want to
help -"

     His favorite club in his hand again, he swung on her but
didn't connect. He had just wanted to see her reaction. Dana had
merely tensed her body for the blow and turned slightly to
protect the food and water with her body.

     "You want to help? Then die. That's what they need to see.
They don't care about anything else and little enough 'bout
that. Just remember - the better shape your boyfriend is in, the
longer he'll last."

     "He's not my boyfriend, Mr. Amos. You know who we are. You
know what we do. He's my partner and if there's been injustice
done -"

     A slap caught Dana on the mouth. It stung but it was no
where near as hard as it could have been. Only a very little of
the water from the bowel wet the ground.

     "You city people think we're all stupid. We're not. Not
where it counts. Now get him ready."

     "And what about me?"

     A pause. "You? I'll have to think about that. Never had a
second one to think about before." His expression was thoughtful
as if he did indeed see possibilities here. "Just remember, I've
got my eye on you and, if I so much as see you touch either his
bonds or your own, he'll lose some of those fingers yet."

     At that Amos turned his back on them and walked without
fear to his rocking chair forty feet or more away. There he
picked up his plate and began to eat. All the while, he watched
with predator's eyes.

     Dana found her legs quivering. She didn't need weakness,
not now. Her wounded arm ached. She'd had to cradle the bowel in
the crook of that arm. A shadow fell across her. She looked up,
startled. Mulder. His eyes were soft and questioned her about
the slap and what had happened in the cabin. She raised the jar
for him to drink. He eyed its murky depths suspiciously at first
but after uselessly licking his dusty lips with a dry tongue, he
drank. He winced at the thick, iron taste but at least it was
wet.

     "Sit," she said.

     With effort since his hands were still tied behind his
back, he got down on his knees then pulled his legs around and
sat. Slowly beginning to mix the oatmeal, Dana sat in front of
him. It should have been stirred earlier. What she had now was
largely a solid lump swimming in a thin, warm sea. She chopped
at it awkwardly with her left hand and with effort more went
into solution. All the while she was aware of Mulder sitting
before her silently watching.

     "Eat," she said, raising a spoonful of the glop.

     "You're beginning to sound like him."

     "Can you think of anything more useful to say at the
moment?"

     For the first time his attention moved from his partner's
face to the brownish, gray mass in the bowl. "Ugh. I hate
oatmeal. I've always hated oatmeal."

     "Eat it," she commanded, thrusting the spoonful closer to
his mouth. Grimacing he took a small bite, gagging. With a
little more water it went down.

     She held out another spoonful, right handed. Her hand was
really shaking now. Too much adrenalin. She switched the spoon
to her left hand. She knew he didn't want it but she would see
that he ate. He needed the strength. Anything to use up some
time and give them an edge. Anything to keep from dying too
soon. Maybe Skinner and Bull would still come. "More," she said.


     "Hold on, my stomach is deciding whether it's desperate
enough to allow it to stay down."

     Forcing patience, she waited. "So the fact that Rivera had
connections with CIA and the Mafia was pure coincidence?"

     Mulder managed to swallow somehow. "Looks like it. Just
your run-of-the-mill serial killer. I *hate* coincidences." He
ran a dry tongue over his lips. His voice was oddly quieter and
his eyes were on the spoon now, not on her. "Did he touch you?"

     "Not in the way you think."

     His eyes closed slowly and just as slowly opened again. "If
you have a chance, go," he whispered.

     "No!" she replied and stuffed the spoon in his mouth. His
eyes went wide, but he forced the lump down.

     "You have to," he snapped, his voice even lower. "You're
the only one who can."

     "Is that what you were doing, being so smart? So he'd kill
you? Does it come as a surprise to you that I might not want to
get away over your dead body?"

     His expression was almost sheepish. "I only wanted to
distract him."

     Dana looked down at the bowl. She was hungry but the sight
of it was enough to turn even her stomach and, considering her
profession, that took a lot. "That'll only anger him and then
how long will you last?"

     Another spoonful came up. He stared at her over the sticky
mess. "If we let this man go on, others will die after us.
People who don't know how to defend themselves. Then what use
are we? Scully, don't give up. Don't ever. I've been up against
serial killers before and survived."

     "It only takes one time when you don't. Besides, there's
more. Amos is not alone."

     His head came up a little, alarmed, "Tell me."

     And she did. She told him about the visit from the two
sisters. "They saw you."

     "And they assume he'll best me? I guess I didn't impress
them with my manly physique."

     Another spoonful. "The oldest wants you dead and buried.
Quick."

     "Aren't you the bearer of glad tidings."

     "Mary is coming back this evening to make sure."

     "Should we worry?"

     Dana thought about that as she chipped off another lump and
tired to pulverize it against the side of the bowl. Mulder
clearly had the same plan she had. A very simple plan at the
moment. Stall. Mary Amos's appearance wasn't helping. "I
wouldn't want to meet her in a dark alley."

     "Doris Claibourne stuff?"

     "From her voice and the eyes in a forty year old
photograph? Yes. She's been covering for him, but not for much
longer."

     Mulder's eyes rolled around the scene, taking in the
ground, the tree, the ominous piles of stones and cut wood. "Why
is he still planning to go through with this then?"

     "I get the impression Amos doesn't listen to his womenfolk.
He's not going to rush his agenda."

     A slow nod of understanding from Mulder and then he
actually leaned towards her, actively taking the spoonful as if
wanting her to know that he would do his part whatever that
might require. Their eyes lingered on each other's faces as if
trying to memorize the planes and shadows, as if attempting to
read the thoughts behind. Dana felt warmth spreading up from her
neck and even Mulder's pale face seemed to have more color.

     "That staying down?" she asked, not ready to put into words
what was really on her mind.

     His smile was weak and not steady. "It's either that or my
stomach will start digesting itself. My VCS ulcer does flare up
now and again. This is preferable but only barely."

     "Since when have you had an ulcer? With your dietary
choices -"

     "How can someone with my life not have an ulcer. I just
don't talk about it and it's not bad."

     He took another bite and another swallow of water. As awful
as the stuff was, his head had begun to clear just a little. He
gestured with his head towards a solitary post sunk solidly into
the ground by the cabin. "Is that what I think it is? I didn't
get a good look."

     "I have." Dana didn't even glance towards the object under
discussion. She knew what he was referring to. A shudder passed
through her.

     "So is that where..." He didn't need to finish. Another
brand of death than that predicated by sticks and stones visited
this place.

     "I'd say, yes," Dana confirmed. "The ground... it looks
bad." Her voice had not been as steady as she would have
preferred.

     "Not what I wanted to hear."

     "Before," she asked, "why did you tell him that no one knew
we were here? I could have kicked you myself."

     He winced, not entirely for her benefit. "At the time I
hoped it would give us time if he didn't think he had to hurry."

     Dana's face lightened in understanding. "Time for Skinner
and the troops to get here... I just hope you're right. I saw
something in the cabin that we might also be able to use though
I don't know how just now. There's two old photographs. The
oldest one is probably Amos' family when he was about three or
four. Six children, three boys and three girls. Amos is the
youngest. The second isn't so old. Looks like a father and three
sons. The father and two oldest were wearing Vietnam era
uniforms, I'm sure of it. The youngest looks like Amos at maybe
fifteen. Could it mean something?"

     "Maybe." Mulder paused in his chewing of the sticky mess to
look around the thirty foot circle of hard earth and roots where
other men and women before him had fought for their lives and
died. "I'd promise to think on it to but I have a feeling I'll
be a little distracted."

     He took another bite and she was glad he didn't try to look
at her face just then. "Dana, I want to apologize."

     "For?" she asked, her voice as unsteady as her right arm.
"Which of the dozen or so things that come readily to mind are
you apologizing for?"

     He gave her one of those little half smiles of his which
looked grim indeed on his blood and dirt encrusted face. "At the
moment I'm admitting to impure thoughts. That first case, when
you came to my room to have me look at your mosquito bites... I
thought at first that you were coming on to me. So much skin....
it was one of the nicest things that had happened to me in a
long time." Then his voice changed, his caustic wit creeping in
again. "At the same time I was also disappointed in you. I
thought you had more class."

     "Sorry you were proved wrong?" she asked.

     "Not at all, though you are a vision in your underwear."

     She stared at him then realized that the humor helped. It
was his way of breaking the tension. "You know, you're not half
bad yourself in a preppie sort of way," she admitted, stuffing
in an extra large bite. "Though when we first met what I most
thought was that you were an egotistical bastard."

     His eyes widened even as he cheeks bulged a little from the
latest lump of oatmeal. "Sorry," he said after he'd gotten down
a least half of the mess. "Guess I did have a kind of chip on my
shoulder."

     "A two-by-four, Mulder. Serious lumber."

     Almost meekly he took another bite, his eyes downcast. Dana
bit her lip. Had she hurt his feelings? No, it was something
more. Much more serious than that.

     "Mulder..." Dana started.

     "Don't," he told her, his voice very soft.

     "No, I have to say this. It isn't fair. If we had worked
together for a year or two or three and gotten in and out of a
dozen scrapes more impossible that this, I'd probably feel
immortal. I'd feel that *you* were immortal. Then there would be
no need for good-byes. Two months, however, is not long enough.
We should have been given more time."

     "We'll have more time," he promised. "I don't intend to
die. I have too much to do."

     At that moment both sensed a movement. Amos had risen from
his chair. His plate of crackers and salami was empty. Dana
dropped the bowl and raised the Mason jar of water to Mulder's
lips. He drank to wash down the last of the gut-twisting stuff
in his mouth, but over the rim his attention was all on Amos.
The lean man picked up a long rawhide whip that had been curled
around the back of the rocking chair. He didn't uncoil it but he
did come towards them. Dana found Mulder's eyes. They were
beautiful eyes, fearful but also full strength, and most
importantly she saw no despair in their depths.

     As he saw none in hers.

     No good-byes. So be it.

     They were on their feet by the time Amos sauntered up.
"Hope you're done," he drawled. "I've been thinking, you'll
probably want to impress your girlfriend. Wouldn't want to
disappoint her. In that case this might take a while so we'd
best get started."

     "She not my girlfriend," Mulder answered back putting a
little snarl at the end. "She's a federal agent as I am. And you
have no idea how much trouble you're going to be in if you
continue on with what you're planning."

     "Who's to say that doesn't work to my advantage. Besides,
whoever she is, she's got guts, I'll give her that. Not really
the type I usually post." He studied her, seemed to sense her
edging protectively in front of Mulder. "We'll see. First things
first."

     He began by untying Dana's rope from the chain. As he did
so, he left his back exposed. Mulder sensed it was a trap but
had to try. Leaning back slightly, he came in swiftly from the
side ready to sweep and kick but Amos was ready. The loop of
slack chain in the woodsman's hand came up like a snake,
flipping wickedly into Mulder's face almost across the eyes.
Mulder staggered back. Amos took hold of the chain with both
hands and gave one violent pull. The jerk on Mulder's bound
hands sent him spinning and with nothing to break his fall, he
went down face first.

     Make a deep sound like a distant earthquake that may have
been the hermit's equivalent of a chuckle, Amos completed
untying Dana's rope.

     Dana forced her eyes away from Mulder's slowly moving body
and walked towards Amos, the bowl in her hands. Now was the time
to run if ever she was going to. If she failed, she knew Amos's
punishment would be swift and harsh, but that was not what made
her hesitate. It was what would happen to Mulder if she managed
to escape. To do nothing, however, was not only against all her
training but also against her own code of honor. Besides, Mulder
had given his blessing - actually, his orders - and told her to
run. If for no other reason, she had to try. She refused to
think about what she would find when she came back with help.

     She could hear Amos's big boots behind her. She had seen
him take the end of her leash in his big hands. Dana turned the
bowl in one hand, the empty jar of water in the other. "Mr.
Amos, I -" she began.

     Dana never intended to get further. She aimed the bowl at
Amos's face at least as well as she could with her sprained
right arm. More, by turning she brought the rope up beside her.
She twisted, lunged, whirled, her whole body intent on pulling
the rope from his hand. It came free. That was all she needed.
Even with her training there was no point in her trying to
attack Amos directly. She had felt his strength and seen his
speed. Instead she ran full out towards the nearest section of
woods

     Less than a dozen steps from safety, Dana suddenly felt as
if she had run into a brick wall. She felt as if she'd been cut
in half, every ounce of air ripped from her body. She found
herself on her back, Amos standing over her, solemnly smiling.
The very end of her leash was looped around his left wrist.

     He had given her only enough slack to allow her to believe
for a few seconds that she had broken free.

     "You and I," he said with malevolence. "We'll have a time."

     "Let Mulder go," Dana wheezed. "At least take me first.
He's injured. I'll run for you."

     "You'll run anyway. You proved that by trying what you did,
just as I knew you would. You have neither disappointed me.
Let's try it my way first. You just have a good time - and
watch."

                        * * * * * * * *

Somewhere outside Catoctin Mountain Park
Sunday, 1 p.m.

     The stream bubbled brightly over smooth stones. Cliff
Gaines shook his head sadly and cast again into the center of
the pool. There were less and less fish in these steams every
year. He'd have to order an analysis on the lake in the park to
see if it needed to be restocked. The budget might allow him to
order some decent eating fish this time. The lack of anything
much more interesting than carp was why Cliff was fishing here
rather than in the lake. You could get a trout from this steam
if you were lucky. Cliff liked fish, but only ones he caught
himself. He had the fire all built, just waiting to be lit.
There was another reason why he fished here. At the lake he was
sure to be seen and recognized by the regulars who'd want to
stop and say hello. Then they'd start talking about the park and
the poor fishing and how they saw more tent bugs in the meadow
near Picnic Area Two and how ugly they were and why couldn't the
state spend a little more money to eradicate them.

     So Cliff fished here. He didn't want to talk about work. He
didn't want to be found. He had a quart of two percent low fat
chocolate milk - yeah, sure, low fat - a package of Hostess
cupcakes, a bag of Crunchy Cheetos, a knife, a stick and a
strong desire to be alone. The knife was to clean the fish he
planned to catch, the stick was to roast it and the desire to be
alone was because he wanted to think about his life.

     Since the fish weren't biting at the moment and he'd
already eaten his junk food, Cliff was thinking. His life seemed
to be going in circles. Getting nowhere. It had been bothering
him all summer, so he'd planned this getaway for as soon after
the leaf-watching crowd had returned to Washington and Baltimore
as possible. He had made absolutely certain he couldn't be
found. Being a local boy and not only unmarried but unattached,
his old aunts and female cousins were always dropping by when he
was off duty with twenty-some-year-old daughter of a friend in
tow.

     Cliff was not bad looking, and knew it, but his girlfriends
had all had such plans and dreams for their lives, while he had
none. That had made him feel so awkward that eventually he'd
stopped dating altogether. Oh, he went out occasionally with a
couple of women whom he'd known since high school but only those
who were comfortable with the fact that he wanted to remain just
friends. Cliff did want a future, a family, someone to come home
to at night or who would come home to him. Only how? He felt
out-of-step in this world. Should he hook up with some woman who
was kind and loving and beautiful and who had the spark of
daring and fight in her and let her go climb the corporate
ladder? He'd have to let her career decide the structure for
their lives. Cliff had enough friends whose marriages had
crumbled because the career of one or the other required change
while the other didn't want change. One member of the pair had
to be willing and able to compromise. He was floating through
life already. Didn't it make sense that he be that one?

     The sensible Nineties-kind-of-guy inside him said
'Certainly'. To the romantic, dominant knight who also dwelled
therin, it felt wrong. What was a man to do?

     Maybe it was his job that needed changing? Catoctin
Mountain Park was a backwater as far as the Federal park system
went. It was quiet to the point of catatonia. Dull, dull, dull.
Maybe he should put in for a transfer. The park service
patrolled the monuments on the Mall in D.C. Now there was
excitement.

     Yeah and traffic and noise and crowds and crime and
demonstrations and a cost of living that wouldn't stretch to
cover a park service salary.

     Still...

     Look at those two FBI agents whom he'd met the day before.
There was danger. There were sparks. Sparks of all kinds. The
man, Mulder, had been investigating a murder no one else seemed
interested in. But there was something in his eyes and manner
that indicated that what he was after was something bigger, much
bigger than just the killer of some unwanted land developer. The
woman agent, Scully, had been investigating Mulder, or looking
for him. She had been worried. Was she afraid he would stumble
into something he wouldn't be able to handle alone? And why
didn't he call his partner? If Cliff had a partner or friend who
cared about him the way she worried about Mulder, he'd keep in
touch.

     Those two bothered Cliff like one of those nasty little
horse flies that seldom land but might. More than anything,
though, what struck him was how their work, despite the danger,
obviously drew them together. At least it had with the woman.

     Cliff reeled in and cast again. Perhaps he should try to
find a woman in his own profession? Perhaps he should ask for a
transfer to a bigger park, a much bigger park. One with a
greater chance of encountering some rangers of the opposite sex.
They were becoming more common all the time.

     Maybe.

     At that moment his line tightened. A flash of silver danced
in the sunlight above the stream. A big one. Lunch.

End of Chapter 19