"The Road Less Traveled"

By Ross

"This must be the proverbial 'Road Less Traveled,'" Roy wittily remarked, following a full fifteen monotonous minutes of driving down a dusty, country lane—at the whopping speed of between five and ten miles per hour.

"This has gotta be the road least traveled," his grimacing passenger quickly corrected. "I just hope we don't meet any oncoming traffic, or somebody's transmission is gonna be spendin' a lot a time in reverse."

The road was just a single lane—barely that, in places—and they hadn't seen a turnaround in the past ten tedious miles.

The rescue truck's occupants had both of its windows wound up tight, and all of its air vents closed. Still, some of the stirred up dust was finding its way into the cab—and Johnny began to cough. "Sheesh! *hack hack* Shouldn't we have reached the highway by now? *hack hack* This is really getting ridiculous!"

"Could be worse," Roy reminded him.

"Oh yeah?" Gage glanced in his optimistic partner's direction, looking deeply skeptical. "How so...exactly?"

"You could be sittin' with Chet and Marco back there—right out in the open. I'll bet those two are really chokin' on the dust. In fact, Mike's prob'ly gonna hafta stop pretty quick, just so they can don their airpacks." The driver smiled, seeing that he'd finally managed to coax a slightly crooked grin from his grumpy passenger.

Johnny's grin faded fast, however. "Man! I can't imagine why anybody would wanna build way back in there. Can you? I mean, no phone...no electricity...no running water...no indoor plumbing—" the fireman suddenly recalled the reason they were summoned to the god-for-saken call site, in the first place, "—no outdoor plumbing, either. Least ways, not until they can get their new latrine built."

Several of his partner's latest remarks had raised Roy's eyebrows. "You're kiddin'. Right?  I mean, I figured a place like that would be right up your alley."

"Maybe if it was on the bank of a trout stream...or on a beautiful mountainside...or on the beach of some secluded little lake," John conceded. "But that place is in the middle of the middle of nowhere—completely surrounded by nothin'—but dust," he added and promptly began hacking again on the powder-fine particles that were continuously invading their hot and stuffy vehicle. "How in the hell does an outhouse catch on fire, anyway? *hack hack* Was Cap able to determine the source of combustion?"

"He told me he talked to the guy's wife. Apparently, she's been after her husband, for years, to build her an indoor bathroom. Cap figures it was a clear case of arson." Roy suddenly recalled hearing about a certain hat-burning incident. The corners of his mouth turned up and his blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "And our Captain knows a-all about arson."

The Squad's occupants exchanged glances and grins.

Then Johnny commenced chuckling—and choking. "Are we *hack hack* there yet?"

The End

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March Picture 2010                 Stories by Ross