-2-
One hundred feet directly above the fortress wall, on the surface of the earth, twelve year-old Sam Hill loitered on the curb outside the Stop-n-Sip,contemplating the most potentially exciting thing to happen in his tiny hometown of Sumas, Washington, all spring. A white truck with the words “Dragon’s Breath Fireworks” stenciled in flaming orange and red on its side turned into the parking lot and rolled to a stop at the gas pump.
Sam followed the driver, who ambled inside to pay for gas. The driver selected a beef stick from the aging collection in the plastic bin on the counter and grabbed a ZOWIE! soda. He came out holding the foot-long welded metal salmon sculpture, to which was attached the station’s tiny bathroom key. He headed to the restroom out back, leaving his truck unguarded and unlocked.
Sam was old enough to know better than to do what he was about to do, but the truck was not carrying ordinary little Fourth of July sparklers and smoke bombs. Dragon’s Breath made industrial strength fireworks for town displays on the Fourth of July. Years ago, when his mom was still around, Sam had gone with his parents into Bellingham to see one of the big shows. The huge fireworks had lit up the entire night in a rainbow of colors. He’d watched in wonder as tiny points of light arced high into the darkness, where they would burst with ear-pounding explosions into gigantic blooming flowers of fire and burning rain that fell from the sky. Nothing like that ever happens in Sumas, Sam thought.
As far as Sam was concerned, living in Sumas was like growing up in a rural coma. The town was nestled in the foothill forests of the Cascade mountain range. Its main street was just a one-block strip of mom and pop shops, the Stop-n-Sip, and a mercantile. The town wasn’t big enough for a Wal-Mart or even a McDonalds—no real civilization of any kind, he thought.
Now that school was out, Sam was free to do whatever he wanted until his dad wandered home from the local tavern, but he was bored with daytime TV, hanging out at the gas station had quickly gotten old, and he’d explored the woods so many times that he knew all the trails around Sumas by heart. He wasn’t old enough to drive, so he couldn’t even head into Bellingham for a movie, unless, of course, he “borrowed” a car. He’d snuck off with his dad’s old truck before, but he wasn’t tall enough to see over the dashboard very well, so he never went very far, and he always parked it exactly where his father had left it when he came back.
A kid had to create his own fun in Sumas, Sam thought, like the time he’d created a make-believe ocean in back of the church with the garden hose, except that he’d made it a little too close to the church basement and the pastor had discovered his couches floating downstairs. There was also the time he’d pretended that passing semi trailers were enemy tanks and ambushed them, launching mortar shells freshly picked from Mr. Richey’s tomato garden. He’d gotten in trouble for that too, but not enough that it wasn’t worth it.
Sam eyed the multi-colored painting of exploding fireworks on the unlocked truck door. Setting off a couple of those in the woods would be an adventure, he thought. He glanced at the bathroom door. It was still closed.
Sam dashed to the door and quickly wedged a rock beneath it to block it shut. He slipped around to the front of the station and checked to make sure the attendant wasn’t watching, then he ran across the parking lot, climbed into the cab of the truck, and slid into the rear compartment. He threw back the canvas that covered the truck’s cargo and gasped. The bed of the truck was full of boxes brimming with fireworks, hundreds of them. They’ll never miss one or two, Sam thought, how could I possibly get into trouble?
– End Chapter Two –
