46
The weeks passed, but the feelings did not. It was still a slow road to somewhere, still taking their time exploring every fold on the map, still lost in the space that dwindled between them. Still sleeping in separate tents, but not before she stopped in for an excruciatingly pleasant goodnight kiss.
They’d ridden beyond the border walls of the corn kingdom, somewhere in southeast Colorado by now, Miles felt at home in the saddle as the world spun underhoof. He felt a new sense of control over his life path, a sense of direction that somehow increased as he let go of the reins. He and Bud had become one, their communication nonverbal, the more he released his grip, the smoother he found the ride.
The horse was their heart, their intuition, their connection to the Earth, the one most equipped to navigate the bumps in the road.
Miles considered himself the brains of the outfit, though that was probably just his ego talking. He led with an elevated perspective and an understanding of the manmade constructs they were traversing. He was further from the ground, but had a more detailed concept of the road ahead.
And the gear between them was the connective tissue of their body. Through the nuance of touch and feel, they spoke to one another, and only by properly caring for the leather could the unit adequately function.
They were at their strongest as a team. Miles could have insisted that he was in charge, relinquished little control as he convinced himself that his mind was all that mattered, but it would have been a rocky road of getting nowhere fast as he oafishly stumbled to his preconceived destination.
Or he could let Bud run wild, there would be certain adventure down that unmarked trail, but they would eventually get hung up in a fenceline that couldn’t be avoided without prior knowledge of the empire.
Together they were unstoppable. The ebb and flow of head and heart. A mind capable of overcoming nature, but the wisdom to know better. Once they found that perfect balance of yin and yang, they were able to travel the red road unencumbered by the ravines on either side. And only then, were they capable of taking direction from their guides, those who had already seen the entire map and lit the way through the darkness ahead.
The traveling agents sowed new relationships with the Earth and harvested the bounty of old ones, each night dealt a new delicacy as chefs rotated shifts, Miles noticed that no two firetenders stacked the sparks in the same formation.
“There are many ways to build a fire,” agreed Rowan. “And they all get you there, unless they don’t. There’s no right or wrong technique, just different paths to the same light. There are well worn methods handed down through time, like the colonial log cabin or the smokeless tobacco burner of the tipi, but there are also an infinite array of unique personal styles and conglomerations in-between. The common thread is that they all start with the tenderest fragments of ignition and gradually work their way towards dinner, except of course for the in-patients of convenience, who prefer to douse the logs with accelerant and wonder why everything tastes like chicken.
It’s the same way with spirituality too. There’s no one right way to get there, there’s a globe full of roads that climb that same mountain, but it’s the same peak that has us all striving for ascension. There are well defined routes with maps and guidebooks, but you can also venture off on your own and blaze a new trail. Might be a tougher hike, and it’s easy to get lost, but as long as you focus on one step at a time, you’ll eventually look back and realize just how far you’ve climbed. You’ll see all those paths that seemed so opposed from a lower plane, and you’ll be able to easily understand how the diversity of the journey doesn’t weaken the summit, it only makes the mountain that much more majestic as it glows with infinite dimension.
There are eight billion ways to pray, at least. Vastly different in their approach, but intimately familiar, as they all start with the same spark, they all demand the same constant attention, and they all build that same fire inside. So you just gotta find the way that works for you, maybe it’s the Sun Dance way, maybe it’s the Jesus way, maybe it’s bits and pieces from a personal journey of living in a good way. You shouldn’t try to race up it or you might burn yourself out, you shouldn’t seek the easy route because you’ll never fully appreciate the view, and you shouldn’t presume that your path is the one and only way to get there, because then you’ll just sound ridiculous.”
“What’re you boys going on about?” probed Tiana, as she snuggled into the fireside enlightenment.
“Oh, you know, just a little uplifting conversation is all,” understated Miles.
“I bet,” she said, knowing full well the typical topics of flame broiled fraternity. “So you think I could maybe talk you into coming over to my place for a bit, so we can talk about tomorrow and stuff?”
“And stuff?” decoded Rowan. “Heck yeah, let’s go.”
“Hold your ponies, horseman. My tent’s only big enough for two, and I already gave this one my promise ring. Better luck next time.”
“Man, I never get to have any fun.”
“We let you play in the fire, don’t we?”
“Fine, I’ll stay here and keep the camp alive, you guys go snugglebunch and plan the revolution or whatever.”
“Deal.”
If Miles thought he left the resistance when he left fossil camp, he now knew that the resistance isn’t a place, it’s inside, and it would be a lot harder to shake than the FBI.
The route they were on was no randomly generated anomaly, just a mile through the woods sat a Dinofuel terminal, a subsidiary of Fossil Corp, it was like a filling station for tanker trucks. Nine thousand gallons a pop and over a million through their gate every day, destined for the commutes of average people just doing their jobs, they might get perturbed if they had to cross the street to Exxon because of technical difficulties, but Mr. Fossil himself is who would feel it where it hurts.
Only four of the crew were hardcore Water Protectors, the other two would keep the horses ready, not that it would help them that much to accessorize. For some reason, Miles had been deemed the most fit to free climb a tree outside of the razor fence, lookout, hypothetically the least dangerous position, which was easy to say from the ground. The rest would come together like a split screen heist movie, no crown jewels, just black gold, and lots of it. The only part that wasn’t worked out yet was the getaway plan, an equinimous caravan of long haired hippies traveling twenty-five miles a day might not be the same great escape it was in the wild west. They’d have a little bit of a head start, hopefully, but they needed some deeper cover.
“So we got the horse trailers,” updated Tiana. “Two of ‘em, it’ll be tight, but we can make it work. A water buddy from Colonized Springs got us set up, he said his guy can take us a hundred miles or so. So now we just gotta find a place to hide out six people, seven horses, and a whole helluvalotta collusion, and hopefully off-grid.”
“You say a hundred miles?”
“Uh huh.”
“You gotta map?”
Miles only knew of one off the grid hideaway with enough grazable land nearby, and it was just across the border, about two inches away, eighty-seven miles. He’d not even considered the possible layover, but now the coincidental cartography seemed all but destined. Who knew what it was like by now, or who was still there, but there was always a chance that Tiana would get to meet Annie, awkward. She knew all about Annie, she was very intrigued by the whole arrangement, even if it wasn’t her cup of chaga. It would be fine, wouldn’t it? It’s not like the new moon was this week or anything...
“Squirrelmaster in position.”
It was a few hours past dusk, the previous night’s recon revealed two overnight security guards, could always be a battalion waiting inside, but this wasn’t the frontline, not yet anyway. The distraction walked right up to the front gate, where tractor trailers pull in, her car had broken down a mile or so back and she was desperate for help. This was the most vulnerable position, her face would be on camera, but fortunately for our readers, the local Capital-Mart stocks for halloween two months early and the haunted corn maze was a local legend.
“Oh, thank goodness someone’s here, I’m just trying to get home from rehearsals so I can get this mess off, but my damn car up and quit on me, lights just faded and it was dead. And so’s my phone.”
“Sounds like the alternator to me,” diagnosed guard number one. “I can’t leave this place, but you can come use the phone if you want.”
“Oh that would be great, you’re a lifesaver. Trick or treat.”
They walked to the office where she promptly forgot about her urgency and fell into the most engaging conversation she’d ever had.
“All clear,” from the tree.
Miles could see the pair below as they slid from the woodline to the back gate, it was only secured with a big chain and a padlock, which was picked free in thirty seconds flat. God she was hot. They slipped into phase two, it was pretty well lit, so hopefully Elphaba had everyone thoroughly under her spell.
It was just like a gas station, only way bigger, six inch hoses and lots of safety protocols. Without each latch and button in the proper position, the rack was worthless, and profitless, at least until the Maytag repairman made it out.
The movement musta bought stock in JB Weld, this was another job for their SteelStik epoxy putty, as well as a few other various expanding foams and super glues. They mashed the putty into every moving part they could, engaged emergency cutoffs and glued them down, filled the hoses with foam and nonviolently activated as much havoc as they could muster.
Back in the office, the holiday party was well underway, tales of valor from the oil fields filled the water cooler, who wouldn’t be interested in the life of petroleum’s private security?
“Hey Bob, something tripped the motion detector in zone two, you wanna go check it out?”
“Oh my, I never made my phone call, think you could set that up for me real quick, Bob?”
“Sure darling, it’s probably just a raccoon or something. Happens all the time.”
“It’s gonna be in the report, man. We better check it out.”
”Well then go check it out.”
“I’m supposed to stay here and watch the cameras.”
“And do you see anything on the camera?”
“Uh... No, not really.”
“Alright then, so we’re all good. Now here you go sweetheart, just gotta dial nine to get out.”
Conveniently her brother was already in the area and saw her car, he was halfway done fixing it up, but needed a hand. No, don’t worry about her, she’d be okay walking back, who was gonna mess with someone dressed like this. But he could walk her to the gate if he wanted, that way he could check on the raccoon.