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A Day Waits For No One

A Day Waits For No One

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A Day Waits For No One

Länge:
149 Seiten
1 Stunde
Herausgeber:
Freigegeben:
Oct 27, 2017
ISBN:
9781370859801
Format:
Buch

Beschreibung

The finding was an accident, the treasure was an enigma, the result was a catastrophe. HD Carson will read his way into hidden knowledge that changes his world, and yours too. Can nothing be done? The hunting trip was spur-of-the-moment but HD would bring back a trophy, and a story that just might be the end of the world.

Herausgeber:
Freigegeben:
Oct 27, 2017
ISBN:
9781370859801
Format:
Buch

Über den Autor

AUTHOR Frank Hajek spent his career working within the design and advertising communities, owning an advertising agency for more than thirty years. He has written throughout his life for print and television, including screenplays. Presently he lives and works in the Philippine Islands.


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A Day Waits For No One - Frank Hajek

A Day Waits For No One

A Day Waits for No One

Copyright 2017, Frank Hajek

ISBN 9781370859801

This is a work of fiction. Characters, companies, organizations, and agencies in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously without any intent to describe their actual conduct.

Published by Frank Hajek at Smashwords

Distributed by Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Other books by Frank Hajek

The Shepherds of Asia

Starlight Serenade

The Operative's Portrait

Lightning and Other Thrills

PROLOGUE

There was a time when I was engaged with the world, interested in it. A time when other people fascinated me and their stories of pain and pleasure offered the promise of learning, even wisdom, if only I could listen well enough. I spent most of my years believing that.

Now I’m older and reclusive. After many years I’ve determined it’s mostly bullshit. A whole make believe existence drawn by some unseen hand like the Matrix, or Dark City or some other science fiction imagining. So many truths are pure and simple. Your first perspective on anything is usually the correct one until some intellectual charlatan pilfers your reasoning. Then every move becomes a calculation, every word a projection. You speak what you think they want to hear. It becomes mental masturbation and you’re lost for the remainder of your life.

Grandig McClintock, 2012

CHAPTER ONE

Everything Weighs Something

The child was perhaps six. An innocent sweet soul just now lost in his world of thought, and happy in the large existence that held great wonders at every turn. He stepped off the curb without looking, unaware.

A screech of tires brought his head up and, like a deer caught in the headlights, he was frozen in place as the metal behemoth stopped just a foot shy of taking his young life. Behind the wheel a portly man in middle class attire scowled down at him, his face and jowls sweaty with the tension of what had almost happened.

I’m sorry the boy said in his smallest voice, knowing he had been wrong not to look both ways as his mother had always taught him.

The large driver leaned back on his seat still glaring. He pushed the brim of his worn hat up, and exhaled releasing his tension. Leaning out the window, he checked if there were no other cars about, then smiled at the innocence only a child can present and waved the young lad across the street. It would be another unrecorded incident in a long life of near misses, but Lord knows both driver and child understood his young life might have ended that very day if the traveling salesman were not paying attention. The sheer humanity of this event however, would last the rest of his life, if only in the mind of the child.

Henry David Carson sat at the kitchen table thinking about that. With fresh coffee in hand, he was contemplating things he should have done but never managed. ‘Who was it?’ he thought, that said It’s all a game.

Words once spoken can be like bullets. Having left the barrel there is no retrieving them and tragic, often unintended consequences result. It had been that way when HD opened his mouth and blurted out a poorly considered ‘wise crack’ he’d regret the rest of his life. Perhaps this is the history of every man.

She had been beautiful, and wonderful. A dream of his since early adulthood that finally came true one rainy night the same weekend his father had been laid to rest. There must have been some guilt in that too, but his stupid words had transformed a marvelous encounter into a dreadful embarrassment. His remorse would follow him for years and he was never able to just ‘let it go’. It became a haunting.

The cell phone bleeped, catching his attention.

Mushi, Mushi.

(Being in Hawaii, with its large Japanese population meant you could take the language and have some fun with it from time to time. Carson liked that.)

Dave? That you?

What’s left of me. It had been a trying week.

Hey, man, this is Chris.

HD recognized the voice. Chris Hanada was a friend Carson had met years ago thru a classmate of his ex-wife. The association was a bit complicated but the friendship was strong and real. Chris was a ‘salt-of-the-earth’ blue-collar construction worker and they had liked each other straight off.

What you up to this three day week-end?

Nothing planned but I probably will just try to crash and recover from the week.

Business been tough?

Carson shifted the phone from his left ear to his right and shuffled in the kitchen chair.

Yeah. Lots of rush work and stressed clients. I hate that. It makes it harder to do a good job and then they only remember the work wasn’t up to par. Retirement is starting to look pretty good.

Why not forget all that and join me and Butchie on the Big Island this week-end?

What are you guys up to?

I have tags for mufalon sheep.

‘Tags’ meant Chris had submitted names to the Department of Land and Natural Resources (DLNR) for the hunting period this month. There are scads of hunters in Hawaii and only so many ‘tags’ allowed for each seasonal hunt. It amounted to a lottery and your chances of winning were small at best. Chris took the liberty of submitting Dave’s name every year after they first hunted together some six years ago for axis deer on Lana’i. He would try for deer, sheep, goat and pheasant submitting the four hunters as a group. That meant Chris, Butchie, Clem and HD, but the past two years they had come up empty.

So, you got lucky.

Ya keep tryin’, ya gotta win sometime.

I appreciate it Chris, but you could have given me a bit more warning.

Couldn’t Dave. Just found out myself. Those guys down at DLNR have a pretty screwed up system and even though we were drawn two weeks ago, I just got the notice in the mail.

Yeah. That’s government for you.

HD scratched his head while he thought about the prep it might take. There would be the need to get some cash from the bank, prep the weapon he would take and get together the cold weather clothing required for high altitude hunting.

Chris cleared his throat, then; So. What do you think?

When will you be leaving?

Tomorrow. Early.

Can we get a flight?

Already taken care of; I arranged for a special through Royal Hawaiian Airlines. We have a Cherokee twin engine booked to take us to Hilo.

Royal Hawaiian Airlines flew short hop commercial flights throughout the islands using small twin engine Piper Cherokee aircraft. With a six-passenger maximum they were able to fly into the small airstrips located on every island giving access to many of the most beautiful, and remote areas in Hawaii. They were the local hunter’s favorite in getting to Lanai for deer and Maui for pheasant because all the airport gun restriction bullshit could be avoided.

Royal Hawaiian flew out of the private aircraft runway on the eastern flank of Honolulu Airport, and you could bypass the main terminal by driving out on Lagoon Drive straight to the hangers. Most of the regular hunting crowd knew the pilots and they in turn knew the hunters. Your gear was never questioned and the flights were friendly, if a bit bumpy, with great viewing of The Sandwich Islands from four thousand feet. The flight alone was worth the effort.

Count me in.

Great. The flight takes off at six A.M. You need a lift out to the hanger?

Yeah, thanks.

OK. I’ll be at your main entrance gate at five thirty.

Great Chris. See you tomorrow.

HD finished his coffee and cleared the dishes. He would need to get to the bank and also wanted to stop by the Sportshop in Mapunapuna to pick up the Bota water container he’d been wanting to buy. The Bota was a soft leather ‘canteen’ first used by Spanish herdsmen a thousand or more years ago and followed the design of Assyrian water skins used since three thousand BC. Modern versions were lined with a waterproof plastic bladder that prevented leaks and the soft shape made them almost noiseless when walking, something you want when hunting prey with twenty times the hearing acuity you have.

Dave started thinking about the quest. Hunting sheep would take them up on Mauna Kea to well over ten thousand feet where the air is thin, the temperature cold and the shot would be long. His best rifle for this job would be a pre-sixty-four Winchester bolt action he’d inherited from his ex-wife’s Uncle Mac. In caliber .243, it was a light weapon that fired a smaller bullet using a sizable powder charge. That meant high velocity and a flat trajectory over a pretty good distance. It also had a Bausch & Lomb four-power scope with a spring pinned mount that remained dead-on target every time he’d used it. A great weapon beautifully fitted out. He was also sure he still had a full box of fresh ammo in the gun case. Cartridges can have expiration dates as well as milk.

Dave determined he

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