The Mountain

The Mountain and excerpt from "A Dog Named Fire"

The newspaper headline glared up at him from the table. He didn’t need to read it; he already knew what it said. He didn’t need anyone to tell him. It was the same routine each time, always erred in the beginning. The right people had to be told, information had to be confirmed. You couldn’t go around telling people news without following procedure. Procedure took time, not as long as most The newspaper headline glared up at him from the table. He didn’t need to read it; he already knew what it said. He didn’t need anyone to tell him. It was the same routine each time, always erred in the beginning. The right people had to be told, information had to be confirmed. You couldn’t go around telling people news without following procedure. Procedure took time, not as long as most peo-ple thought, but time nevertheless. Sometimes it was minutes, sometimes a couple of hours, it all depended on circumstances. The rest was a polite courtesy, a small window of time before it became too real.

With a sigh, he picked up his toast in the one hand and the paper in the other. He ignored the headline, and barely skimmed over the first paragraph. He didn’t need those details, he’d been there. Some details didn’t need repeating or reminding. There was only one thing he was looking for, one piece of information that needed to be con-firmed. He found it three quarters of the way down the page. He’d already accepted the outcome, this was just...procedure.

He choked down the last of his toast and took a gulp of coffee. It was too hot and scalded the inside of his mouth. He grimaced and cursed loudly. He got up from the table; tossing the newspaper into the recycling bin, he ab-sently dumped his plate in the sink. Several small fruit flies jumped up from the sudden movement. Where had they come from ? He hated flies, especially fruit flies. He saw no purpose for them other than to torment him. Too small to squish, they couldn’t be caught with the clapping of the hands either. He eyed the recycling bin. No, they were too quick for a newspaper. He would have to find a solution later. He took another gulp of his coffee, awful. He was about to dump it when he saw the source of the flies. In the sink the week’s dishes sat lonely and ignored. He stared at them. When had he done the dishes last? Did it matter, who was he trying to impress, the dog?

He glanced toward the corner of the room. A rather large mountain of fur moved ever so slightly, just enough to let him know there was still life. Lazy mutt just sleeps and eats and craps all over the yard. Still, he smiled. The way-ward pile of fluff was the only one that understood him. As least he thought she did, but he wasn’t certain if it was only a desire for table scraps that kept her coming back to sit at his feet.

At the end of the hall, he stopped beside a small table. There was nothing particularly fancy about it. He stared at it anyway. Keys, wallet, phone, id cards, all rested in a beat-up basket that he had bought from an old lady for a quarter at some roadside yard sale. It was quite plain, no color no decor, no handle. Just a yellow woven bowl-shaped basket, but it served a purpose- the guardian of essentials. Each morning, he would gather his things and every night he would come home and deposit everything back in this sad little basket. It seemed so trivial to even stop and think about it, but somehow today it seemed slightly more important; he couldn’t say why.

He opened the drawer of the table and pulled out a bag of M&M’s. He counted out four then put them in a ma-son jar to the left of the basket. The soft sound of the can-dy landing in the jar carried to the kitchen where the moun-tain of fur stirred and started to rise. He counted out two more M&M’s and dropped them into the jar to the right of the basket. Without a second thought, he picked up the lids and secured them tightly to the jars.

The mountain had a veracious appetite for things it shouldn’t eat, and M&M’s were high on its list. The sound of the jar lids screwing shut also seemed quite loud this morning; perhaps it was just the stillness of the street out-side that made it seem that way. The mass of fur stopped in the doorway slouched slightly and scuttled back to its corner. It settled down onto its oversized pillow, he pon-dered for a moment if he had somehow accidentally adopt-ed a very hairy exotic breed of large pig.

The idea that the beast in his kitchen might actually be a pig stuck with him as he made his way though his day. No one had actually told him it was a dog. He was just asked if he had a place for a pet that needed a home. He tried to remember the last time he had seen the animal’s face as he worked, absently washing off equipment. He couldn’t remember. His mind drifted to the jars. A few weeks back, she’d knocked them off the table and broken them. He’d come home and found shards of glass every-where, but not a single M&M. She’d somehow picked through every piece of glass to eat the candy without cut-ting or disturbing the carnage of the jars. She hadn’t dis-turbed the table or the basket either. Were pigs that smart? Where dogs that agile? He had replaced the broken jars later that day and with the current jars. The M&M’s were carefully counted out and each chocolate covered candy replaced.

He as pretty sure they had said dog. He couldn’t re-member what kind she was supposed to be. Big and Fuzzy summed it up; beyond that he didn’t know.

The sound of the alarm startled him from his musings. He grabbed his gear and followed the fast moving line of volunteers scampering toward the massive, red trucks. The jars flashed through his mind, as he secured his belt. He always thought of the jars on the drive to a call. The truck swung around a turn, causing a saying motion for the oc-cupants inside. He leaned into it without a second thought. He’d done this ride so many times over the years.

They were headed to the highway where a broken down vehicle had caught fire. No injuries. The dispatch prattled on over the radio. Her voice seemed very high-pitched and whiny like the sirens wailing on the trucks. Why was everything so loud today? He counted M&M’s in his head.

He’d made it through the first jar when the siren cut out, and the big rig eased to a stop. Mechanically, he jumped out and started pulling the hoses off the side of the tanker. What if it was really a hybrid dog-pig of some sort? He’d gotten her from a house near the University’s center for Bio-Medical Research. He had no idea what Bio-Medical scientist did at the University, but he figured there must be some kind of experimentation going on. What if they had somehow found a way to combine the two spe-cies? They were cloning sheep in England ; a hybrid dog-pig didn’t seem so crazy.

He pulled the hose toward the metal shell that had once been a car. The flames were jumping and crackling in the cold air. As far as calls go, this one was turning out to be relatively uneventful. He let his mind wander while he held the hose. It only took a few minutes for his team to extinguish the flames, long enough to soak through his pro-tective bunker and turn the highway into a skating rink. With the flames out and the tow truck on the scene, he rolled up the heavy wet hose and hoisted it on his shoulder. Around him his team was collecting gear and loading it on-to the trucks.

He was trying to picture what a hybrid dog-pig would look like. Would it have paws or hooves? He cautiously be-gan lugging the hose towards the back of the truck. He had just reached the far end, when a panicked shout made his head snap up.

Suddenly, everything around him was in slow motion, with only seconds to react he dropped the heavy hose and dove behind the truck as a vehicle slammed into the tank-ers side.

thought, but time nevertheless. Sometimes it was minutes, sometimes a couple of hours, it all depended on circumstances. The rest was a polite courtesy, a small window of time before it became too real.

With a sigh, he picked up his toast in the one hand and the paper in the other. He ignored the headline, and barely skimmed over the first paragraph. He didn’t need those details, he’d been there. Some details didn’t need repeating or reminding. There was only one thing he was looking for, one piece of information that needed to be con-firmed. He found it three quarters of the way down the page. He’d already accepted the outcome, this was just...procedure.

He choked down the last of his toast and took a gulp of coffee. It was too hot and scalded the inside of his mouth. He grimaced and cursed loudly. He got up from the table; tossing the newspaper into the recycling bin, he ab-sently dumped his plate in the sink. Several small fruit flies jumped up from the sudden movement. Where had they come from ? He hated flies, especially fruit flies. He saw no purpose for them other than to torment him. Too small to squish, they couldn’t be caught with the clapping of the hands either. He eyed the recycling bin. No, they were too quick for a newspaper. He would have to find a solution later. He took another gulp of his coffee, awful. He was about to dump it when he saw the source of the flies. In the sink the week’s dishes sat lonely and ignored. He stared at them. When had he done the dishes last? Did it matter, who was he trying to impress, the dog?

He glanced toward the corner of the room. A rather large mountain of fur moved ever so slightly, just enough to let him know there was still life. Lazy mutt just sleeps and eats and craps all over the yard. Still, he smiled. The way-ward pile of fluff was the only one that understood him. As least he thought she did, but he wasn’t certain if it was only a desire for table scraps that kept her coming back to sit at his feet.

At the end of the hall, he stopped beside a small table. There was nothing particularly fancy about it. He stared at it anyway. Keys, wallet, phone, id cards, all rested in a beat-up basket that he had bought from an old lady for a quarter at some roadside yard sale. It was quite plain, no color no decor, no handle. Just a yellow woven bowl-shaped basket, but it served a purpose- the guardian of essentials. Each morning, he would gather his things and every night he would come home and deposit everything back in this sad little basket. It seemed so trivial to even stop and think about it, but somehow today it seemed slightly more important; he couldn’t say why.

He opened the drawer of the table and pulled out a bag of M&M’s. He counted out four then put them in a ma-son jar to the left of the basket. The soft sound of the can-dy landing in the jar carried to the kitchen where the moun-tain of fur stirred and started to rise. He counted out two more M&M’s and dropped them into the jar to the right of the basket. Without a second thought, he picked up the lids and secured them tightly to the jars.

The mountain had a veracious appetite for things it shouldn’t eat, and M&M’s were high on its list. The sound of the jar lids screwing shut also seemed quite loud this morning; perhaps it was just the stillness of the street out-side that made it seem that way. The mass of fur stopped in the doorway slouched slightly and scuttled back to its corner. It settled down onto its oversized pillow, he pon-dered for a moment if he had somehow accidentally adopt-ed a very hairy exotic breed of large pig.

The idea that the beast in his kitchen might actually be a pig stuck with him as he made his way though his day. No one had actually told him it was a dog. He was just asked if he had a place for a pet that needed a home. He tried to remember the last time he had seen the animal’s face as he worked, absently washing off equipment. He couldn’t remember. His mind drifted to the jars. A few weeks back, she’d knocked them off the table and broken them. He’d come home and found shards of glass every-where, but not a single M&M. She’d somehow picked through every piece of glass to eat the candy without cut-ting or disturbing the carnage of the jars. She hadn’t dis-turbed the table or the basket either. Were pigs that smart? Where dogs that agile? He had replaced the broken jars later that day and with the current jars. The M&M’s were carefully counted out and each chocolate covered candy replaced.

He as pretty sure they had said dog. He couldn’t re-member what kind she was supposed to be. Big and Fuzzy summed it up; beyond that he didn’t know.

The sound of the alarm startled him from his musings. He grabbed his gear and followed the fast moving line of volunteers scampering toward the massive, red trucks. The jars flashed through his mind, as he secured his belt. He always thought of the jars on the drive to a call. The truck swung around a turn, causing a saying motion for the oc-cupants inside. He leaned into it without a second thought. He’d done this ride so many times over the years.

They were headed to the highway where a broken down vehicle had caught fire. No injuries. The dispatch prattled on over the radio. Her voice seemed very high-pitched and whiny like the sirens wailing on the trucks. Why was everything so loud today? He counted M&M’s in his head.

He’d made it through the first jar when the siren cut out, and the big rig eased to a stop. Mechanically, he jumped out and started pulling the hoses off the side of the tanker. What if it was really a hybrid dog-pig of some sort? He’d gotten her from a house near the University’s center for Bio-Medical Research. He had no idea what Bio-Medical scientist did at the University, but he figured there must be some kind of experimentation going on. What if they had somehow found a way to combine the two spe-cies? They were cloning sheep in England ; a hybrid dog-pig didn’t seem so crazy.

He pulled the hose toward the metal shell that had once been a car. The flames were jumping and crackling in the cold air. As far as calls go, this one was turning out to be relatively uneventful. He let his mind wander while he held the hose. It only took a few minutes for his team to extinguish the flames, long enough to soak through his pro-tective bunker and turn the highway into a skating rink. With the flames out and the tow truck on the scene, he rolled up the heavy wet hose and hoisted it on his shoulder. Around him his team was collecting gear and loading it on-to the trucks.

He was trying to picture what a hybrid dog-pig would look like. Would it have paws or hooves? He cautiously be-gan lugging the hose towards the back of the truck. He had just reached the far end, when a panicked shout made his head snap up.

Suddenly, everything around him was in slow motion, with only seconds to react he dropped the heavy hose and dove behind the truck as a vehicle slammed into the tank-ers side.

The truck let out a high pitch metallic groan and swayed from the impact it threatened to tip over on top of him. Hoses and equipment fell from the side of the truck and a large roof ax flew through the air narrowly missing his head. When it landed on the ground next to his feet the loud crack it made on the icy road echoed through the frosty air and hung in the nigh for what seemed like an eternity.

He clung desperately to his helmet, praying for the heavy truck to right itself. It groaned again loudly and fell backwards, righting itself into position with a sickening crunch.

Frantically, he lunged for the heavy roof ax. He heaved it on his shoulder and scrambled to his feet. He staggered awkwardly around the tanker, sliding and stum-bling across the ice. The drivers face was still frozen in his mind, as he tried frantically to get to the other vehicle. He could still see the fear in that man’s eyes. His truck had come hurtling out of nowhere skidding out of control across the ice. Their eyes had locked, and the men knew in that instant they were both powerless to stop the collision that was coming.

As he wrestled his way towards the twisted wreck, he could hear the familiar sound of his heart as it pounded in his head like a dozen racehorses His breath was heavy and labored under the weight of his wet bunker and the axe on his shoulder. He kept going staggering and stumbling. As he struggled to cross the ice, the faces came. He knew they would. One by one, they flashed through his mind’s eye like a slideshow; men, women and children. Their voices called to him in desperation. He knew each face, each call. He knew the list, and he knew the count.

He raised himself up as high as he could then brought the axe down. His feet slid out from under him, and he crashed down on the hard ice. He grabbed at the axe and swung again. Again, he fell. This time he threw himself to-ward the truck and swung the axe through the rear window with as much strength as he could. The glass exploded in the cold night, the shards stinging his cheeks like a thou-sand tiny needles.

In his head the faces were gone, their cries silent. Be-hind him his crew was approaching; their voices deemed dull and distant . Only one thought raced through his head as his cold wet hands reached into the vehicle. One thought, one voice, one desperate plea... please, be alive.

The scene continued to play, while he sat in the truck. His team around him sullen and silent on the drive back to the station. The sound of the truck hitting the tanker ech-oed through his mind. The faces around him told him it was a communal replay. The sickening crunch the tanker had made when it righted itself made his stomach churn on the drive home.

When he walked through the front door, he dropped his essentials into the pathetic remains of his sad little bas-ket that now resembled a smashed up tangle of reeves. He stared at the jar on the left and reached into the drawer to pull out a disfigured blue M&M. How fitting, he though, as he dropped it in the jar. He tallied the count in his head’ 121. A soft thud at his feet and a gentle nudge drew his eyes down. A large mass of fur looked up at him with two almond brown eyes. A furry paw softly pressed on his leg and withdrew a little, then pressed again. He gazed at her for a moment, comforted by her gesture, then pulled out a red M&M and gave it to her. She took it softly with her mouth and set it on the ground at his feet. She looked up at him again then moved in closer; her head hovered under his hand. He felt a partial release and relented, as he stroked her head. She nudged some more. The last of his reserves spent, he slumped down on the floor next to her. She laid her chin on his leg and nuzzled her head against him. Her deep brown eyes looked up at him. “Are you okay?” they asked. He let go, releasing the flood of tears he’d been holding back. It would seem she was a dog after all.