#or even Fire Rated Portable Toilets

[ecoplanet]

We are a leading manufacturer of portable cabin solutions that are engineered to offer hygienic sanitation needs for your daily life, special events, and many more.

all our products come in different sizes and shapes suitable for your needs. If you are in search of Temporary Toilets, Portaloo, or even Fire Rated Portable Toilets, then you can directly walk into Ecoplanet.

If you have any queries, please don't hesitate to contact us, We are located in Jurf Industrial 2, Ajman – UAE Tel: +971 (06) 744 1881 Ph: +971 56 744 1881 Email: sales@ecoplanet.ae Web: https://ecoplanet.ae

[sossurvivalproducts1]

SOS Survival Products

In times of emergency, having the right survival products can mean the difference between life and death. Whether you're facing a natural disaster, a power outage, or unexpected circumstances in the wilderness, being prepared with SOS Survival Products can be your lifeline. Let's delve into the crucial categories of survival gear offered by SOS Survival Products:

Emergency Survival Kits: SOS Survival Products offers a comprehensive range of emergency survival kits tailored to various situations. From compact, portable kits ideal for hiking and camping to larger kits designed for home or vehicle use, we have you covered. Our emergency kits for home, vehicle, and office. Perfect survival kits for military, homes or schools in case of a disaster such as an earthquake such as water purification tablets, emergency blankets, multi-tools, and signaling devices.

Food / Water: In survival situations, access to clean water and non-perishable food is paramount. Our selection of water filtration systems, water storage containers, and emergency food rations ensures that you can stay hydrated and nourished until help arrives. With products like the AquaPure Water Filtration Bottle and Emergency Food Supply Buckets, you can be prepared for extended periods of self-sufficiency.

MRE (Meal, Ready-to-Eat) heater meals: are a convenient and essential solution for individuals in various situations, such as outdoor enthusiasts, military personnel, and emergency preparedness. Buy top rated meals ready to eat at SOS Products, these self-heating meals offer a quick and efficient way to enjoy hot, nourishing food without the need for external heat sources. The MRE heater activates with a small amount of water, rapidly generating heat to warm up the entire meal. This innovation ensures that users can enjoy a hot and satisfying meal anytime, anywhere.

Sanitation / Shelter: Maintaining hygiene and having adequate shelter are crucial aspects of survival. SOS Survival Products offers portable toilets, hygiene kits, and emergency sanitation to help you stay clean and protected from the elements. Our range of products includes the Go-Anywhere Portable Toilet and Emergency Shelter Tents, designed for easy setup and durability in challenging conditions.

Lighting / Communication: Communication and visibility are essential for staying safe during emergencies. Our selection of lighting and communication devices includes LED flashlights, solar-powered lanterns, two-way radios, and signal mirrors. With products like the SolarLite Solar-Powered Lantern and Emergency Hand-Crank Radio, you can stay connected and visible even in the darkest of times.

First Aid: Accidents and injuries can happen unexpectedly, making a well-equipped first aid kit indispensable. SOS Survival Products offers a variety of first aid kits ranging from basic to advanced, including supplies such as bandages, antiseptics, splints, and medical tools. Our First Aid Deluxe Trauma Kit and Compact Travel First Aid Kit are designed to provide comprehensive medical care in emergency situations.

Preparedness: Being prepared means having the knowledge and resources to handle any situation that arises. In addition to our range of survival products, SOS Survival Products offers educational resources, training programs, and preparedness guides to help you develop essential skills and mindset. From emergency preparedness workshops to online resources, we empower individuals and communities to be ready for anything.

Safety / Tools: Having the right tools can make tasks easier and safer in survival scenarios. SOS Survival Products offers a selection of safety gear and multi-purpose tools, including fire starters, emergency whistles, multi-tools, and protective gear. With products like the Firestarter Emergency Tool and Survival Multi-Tool Kit, you can tackle challenges with confidence and efficiency.

CERT: Community Emergency Response Teams (CERT) play a vital role in disaster response and recovery. SOS Survival Products supports CERT programs by providing specialized training materials, equipment, and supplies. From CERT backpacks to CERT training manuals, we equip volunteers with the tools they need to assist their communities in times of crisis.Storage / Organization: Keeping your survival gear organized and accessible is essential for quick deployment in emergencies. SOS Survival Products storage solutions such as waterproof containers, backpacks, and storage bins to keep your supplies safe and organized. With products like the Waterproof Dry Bag and Emergency Backpack, you can store and transport your gear with ease.

[dower]

Coal saved our forests

And oil saved the whale, or so goes the energy transition tale. But thats not the whole story, not by a long shot.

Without the UK driving the adoption of coal in the late 1600s, we’d run the risk of de-foresting the whole of the land. Probably. Long before the industrial revolution, we needed heat to make glass. And heat traditionally meant charcoal, made from lots of trees.

But, we were running out of trees, and much of the landed gentry wanted to keep forests for themselves. They loved to hunt. So, the glass makers turned to using bituminous coal to create heat. Thereby saving the trees, and hunting. And coal was glorious..

Coal went on to give us indirect locomotion via heat (steam) providing the energy layer that underpinned the industrial revolution; steam trains, cross-ocean shipping, and portable motive power that liberated farming, mining, construction, and transport. Steam engines replaced huge, unscalable static powerplants such as water wheels and windmills with smaller, cheaper and more controllable power.

Coal was controllable power on a scale never seen before, but came at a price. Smoggy cities, respiratory diseases, filth, and death plus the cost to miners and communities from its extraction. For 200 years we dug and burned the stuff to fuel growth, imperialism, wars, ambition and the egos of the nouveau riche.

Atmospheric CO2 was clearly not a thing 300 hundred years ago, but if it was, the meter would have shown 280ppm in 1700. By the time oil usurped coal’s crown in the early 20th century it had barely moved the needle, showing under 300ppm. A 7% rise, or 20ppm, in 200 years seemed fuck all.

Yes, it had turned the facades of our great institutions black with soot. It might have turned London and other industrial cities into health death traps and created the horror that is the commuter belt. But, we had an empire to run, locals to subjugate, foreign lands to pillage, remote corners of the world to own.

The world was ours, driven by British bureaucracy, imperial coffers, and that damn coal. We were coal-powered apex predators.

Oil eh? Well, come the 20th century and we get super-efficient at converting heat into motion - by directly burning it under pressure in a confined volume; the dawn of the internal combustion engine. We also set alight to its lighter fractions to produce light, which was useful as we’d been burning dead whales for way too long.

Oil also produced other useful stuff such as fertiliser, pharmaceuticals, plastics, waxes, lubricants, detergents, and paints. This wonder substance would go on the dominate world growth, geopolitics, war, fame, and power for over a century.

Britain would lose its imperial crown, first, to oil-fired USA, then to … erm, lots of others. Some weren’t even real countries when the combustion engine was invented.

Unlimited cheap oil corrupted us all, kept on killing people and now increasingly wildlife. But energy this cheap and (even today) plentiful might have saved us from a coal-smog death and also allow whales to edge back from extinction. The ppms kept going up; by 30ppm to 330ppm in the first 75 years of the 20th century, more than the whole of the preceding 200 years.

We still burned coal, of course, and now also oil, mostly to provide our ravenous need for electricity. And now here comes gas, natural gas, clean burning, cheap gas. From the 1960s on, the UK pivoted to using gas for heat and electricity and oil (kerosene, petrol, and diesel) for transportation.

In the final 25 years of the 20th century, atmospheric CO2 climbed a whopping 40ppm. It took 200 years of burning coal to get a rise of 20ppm. Worse still, in the first 20 years of this century, CO2 rates have climbed a further 40ppm. Despite wind turbines, nuclear, carbon capture, rooftop solar, plant oils, led lightbulbs, single-ply toilet paper, hybrid engine technology and sophisticated combined cycle gas-turbine power stations.

We still burn coal, hunt and extract oil, we compress gas into massive ships and we send it round the world. Some luddites still burn charcoal and wood - more than you think and certainly more in the UK than use heat-pumps. At least we don’t frack, for now.

So what saves us next? After 300 years we need to stop burning stuff. We still need oil; for plastics, fertiliser, food stuffs, pharmaceuticals etc the list goes on. We don’t need gas - that’s you fucked, Qatar - or coal. But, oil still has a place in the world, we just need to decarbonise it.

To continue to grow on Planet Earth, we need to make much more electricity, more cheaply, more locally, at zero or negative carbon cost and we need to do it now. Our lungs will thank us, as will our great grandchildren who’ll be able to hug us and inherit our 20th century homes. The whales will probably say thanks, too.

Your turn

Look into getting an EV. Consider a heat pump to replace your aging home boiler. Look into solar, and wind. Understand YOUR CO2 footprint and try to tread a little lighter. It’s not just the whales that will benefit - it’s mankind itself. And the ability to look directly into your great grandchildren’s eyes and tell ‘em what you did to save the planet, what you sacrificed, that they may live.

[ethanhuntblog]

Camping Gear: Unveiling the Tools of the Wilderness

Camping is more than just an escape from the hustle and bustle of daily life; it's an adventure, a communion with nature, and a chance to disconnect from the digital world. To embark on this journey, every camper relies on an array of essential tools and gadgets, collectively known as camping gear. In this article, we'll delve into the world of camping gear, exploring its significance and highlighting some unique and indispensable items that can enhance your outdoor experience.

The Essentials

Before diving into the unique and unconventional, let's start with the basics. Every camper needs a few essential pieces of gear:

Tent: A comfortable and weather-resistant shelter is the cornerstone of any camping trip. Tents come in various sizes and designs, catering to different needs, from solo backpacking to family camping.

Sleeping Bag: Choose a sleeping bag that suits the climate you'll be camping in. They come in various temperature ratings and styles, ensuring a good night's sleep in any conditions.

Cooking Gear: Portable stoves, cookware, and utensils are vital for preparing hot meals in the wilderness. Consider versatile options like compact camping stoves and lightweight, durable cookware sets.

Illumination: Headlamps, lanterns, or flashlights are indispensable for navigating your campsite at night. Look for energy-efficient and long-lasting LED options.

First Aid Kit: Safety should always be a priority. A well-equipped first aid kit can prove invaluable for treating minor injuries and ailments.

Unique Camping Gear

Now, let's shift our focus to some unique camping gear items that can elevate your outdoor experience and make your trip more enjoyable:

Solar-Powered Camp Shower: Imagine a warm, refreshing shower in the middle of the wilderness. Solar-powered camp showers use the sun's energy to heat water, providing a much-needed luxury during extended camping trips.

Portable Espresso Maker: For coffee enthusiasts, a compact and portable espresso maker allows you to savor your favorite brew even in the remotest of locations. Some models are designed specifically for outdoor use and are built to withstand rugged conditions.

Hammock with a Mosquito Net: Relaxation meets practicality with a hammock that includes an integrated mosquito net. Hang it between trees, and you've got a comfortable place to sleep without worrying about pesky insects.

Collapsible Camp Sink: Maintaining hygiene while camping is crucial. A collapsible camp sink makes washing dishes and personal hygiene more manageable, and it takes up minimal space when packed.

Portable Fire Pit: Many campsites have restrictions on open fires, but a portable fire pit can provide a controlled and safe way to enjoy a campfire while complying with regulations. Some models even come with grilling attachments.

Biodegradable Toiletry Kit: For eco-conscious campers, biodegradable toiletries, such as soap, shampoo, and toilet paper, help minimize the environmental impact of your camping trip.

GPS Locator: Going off the grid? A GPS locator can provide peace of mind by allowing you to share your location with loved ones or emergency services, ensuring your safety even in remote areas.

Conclusion

Camping gear is not just a collection of tools; it's a gateway to adventure and self-discovery in the great outdoors. While the essentials provide the foundation for a safe and comfortable camping experience, the unique and innovative gear items can add a touch of luxury and convenience to your wilderness journey. So, whether you're a seasoned outdoors enthusiast or a novice camper, exploring the world of camping gear is sure to enhance your connection with nature and make your next camping trip truly unforgettable.

[imgonnagetkilledbynutstink]

Hey, another GVF as Brittany Broski. This time the news video. This is a long one because it's literally the whole fucking video but I swear it'll be funny I swear (please read this it took me a long time)

//

Josh: hello everyone, welcome back to Eye Witness 69 news channel. I'm your host, Josh Kiszka. Tonight we're gonna be going through some of the most awful current events today of the the times of... LA New York Times.

//

Josh: first story. A homeless man poops on the wall and smears it around with his hand *shows the card he's reading off of* there's nothing on this- and local tourists take pictures with the wall art. More to come on that later. Hehe, more to come- sorry.

//

Josh: next- oh, it's time for a commercial break.

Jake: oh would you look at that. I'm the one reading the adds also as well so let's get into that and read.

Jake: have you ever been on vacation and pissed your pants in a hotel room?

Danny: uh no... D-do people do that?-

Jake: well do I have a good thing for you. Now for 14.99 plus 70 dollars shipping and handling you can have a portable washer dryer for your *gets cut off by really loud washer dryer sounds*

//

Jake: come on down to mother of- *wheeze* come on down to Uncle Jeolberts Licorice Imporium. We've got all different flavours of licorice. Black licorice, yellow licorice, red licorice, toilet bowl licorice, toilet cleanser licorice. "Oh! I dropped my licorice in the toilet! " it's alright. That's the flavour. That's what we're going for, it's fine. Take it out, rinse it off-

//

Josh: welcome back to Eye Witness 69 news. Welcome back to Eye 69 news, I am Cher Bitch!... Cher impression, check. This just in, Taco Bell beans are powder mixed with tap water aaaand even after seeing those videos I will continue to eat Taco Bell beans. The FDA is not approving any of the items on the Taco Belle menu. Will I still to eat them? Yes. *coughing*

//

Josh: uh oh we've got a current alert... Current alert.

Danny: this just in, bombs. So many bombs so many missiles and- oh, library footage now. Going to the live footage of so many bombs and missles coming down every where today so... Watch out for that... We are selling bomb and missles merch out side of the drop locations.

//

Josh: oh and now we cut to the weather. Sam with the weather.

Sam: hello everyone, I am here reporting the weather. Rain, so much rain... And fire. And if you follow this stream here it's the Mississippi River, and through the Mississippi River, a hurricane wiping away all of the cows- that's tornados- all of the tornados are through the valley... And it's on fire! Now back to you.

//

Josh: thank you so much the weather update, Sam on the weather. Next we have: local culinary hot spot, Ma And Pa's kitchen, burned down! Aleena Shay set arson to Ma and Pa's Kitchen. The beloved hole in the wall spot in West Virginia. Really sad about that one. Condolences to Ma and Pa.

//

Josh: and now for more Cher impressions. We're here to go, it's Cher bitch!

*phone rings*

Josh: hello? Yeah... what do you mean no more Cher impressions? They love the Cher impressions. But they love when I do the Cher impressions. Oh so ratings go down when i- hey, ratings don't matter. this is my television channel network. That is enough. Where is my agent? Do news anchors have agents? I need an iced coffee...

//

Josh: and now a local news reporter who is interviewing someone to mimic that scene from Monsters Inc. Let's go to Jake, on sight.

Jake: it picked me up with it's mind powers and shook me like a dog!

//

Jake: IT'S FORD TRUCK MONTH. COME ON DOWN TO TOM THOMPSON'S FORD OVER ON ISLE 95, WE GOT TRUCKS EVERYWHERE, EVERY TRUCK YOU COULD EVER WANT. WE GOT AMERICAN EAGLES, BALD EAGLES, UH... TOPAY EAGLES FLYING EVERWHERE. IT IS ALSO DODGE RAM MONTH. DODGE TRUCK RAM FORD MONTH- EVERYONE'S DRIVING TRUCKS- I'M FROM TEXAS BUT ALSO FROM NEW YORK.

//

Josh: and now the section of the show where we do fall recipes.

Sam: have you ever wanted to make a fall recipe? Well welcome to the show. Sam- cooking with Sam the fall special series with special guest... Sam. *sighs* today's recipe- hold on I gotta read it. Todays recipe is pumpkin hotdogs... To make pumpkin hot dogs, we first must delve into my grandfather being in the Vietnam War. My grandfather served in Vietnam- *cuts forward* okay where getting into the recipe finnaly. We need a hot dog bun, a weenie, relish, mustard, and pumpkin spice. Now that sounds delicious. This was written in by Tammy from Iowa. Iowa is not a real state.

//

Josh: we apologize for the inconvenient interruption for out nightly news broadcast. We are now going to toss over to Danny with the traffic report. Danny? How's it hanging?

Danny: hey everyone, it's Danny with the traffic report. As you can see, very much clogged traffic, so many accidents, oh my god, there goes another one. An accident here, an accident there, an accident everywhere. It's like a dutch poem... Be careful if your going up the 101 98... A... South... East... Because- pfff- boy do I have a story for you. If you are traveling to LA... Stop. Back to you.

//

Josh: thank you Danny... And Tammy... And Tommy and Sue. This has been an excellent Thanksgiving dinner. I really loved the mashed potatoes, they where my favorite. Next on the nightly news: coyotes. Rabid coyotes taking over the city. One by one. Ferrel. Fomaning at the mouth. Screaming. Yelling. Banshees. The elderly are going first. Unless you are vaccinated against rabis you are next for these coyotes to come. They're coming

[newstfionline]

Wednesday, August 11, 2021

Beating The Heat Is Out Of Reach (IPCC, AP News) The U.N.’s Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) published a shocker of a report Monday summarizing the latest authoritative scientific information about global warming. 234 scientists contributed to the 3,000-plus-page report. Global temperatures have already risen by 2 degrees Fahrenheit (1.1 degrees Celsius) since the 19th century, the highest in over 100,000 years. Further warming is already “locked in,” meaning even if emissions are drastically cut, some changes will be “irreversible” for centuries. Ice melt and sea-level rise are already accelerating, and wild weather events like heatwaves and storms are expected to worsen and become more frequent. Earth is warming so fast that by the 2030s, temperatures will probably exceed the Paris climate accord’s ideal goal of no more than 2.7 degrees Fahrenheit and 1.5 degrees Celsius by the year 2100. The report called it a “code red for humanity.”

Infrastructure bill approved in Senate (AP) With a robust vote after weeks of fits and starts, the Senate approved a $1 trillion infrastructure plan for states coast to coast on Tuesday, as a rare coalition of Democrats and Republicans joined together to overcome skeptics and deliver a cornerstone of President Joe Biden’s agenda. “Today, we proved that democracy can still work,” Biden declared at the White House, noting that the 69-30 vote included even Senate Republican leader Mitch McConnell. The overwhelming tally provided fresh momentum for the first phase of Biden’s “Build Back Better” priorities, now heading to the House. A sizable number of lawmakers showed they were willing to set aside partisan pressures, at least for a moment, eager to send billions to their states for rebuilding roads, broadband internet, water pipes and the public works systems that underpin much of American life. The measure proposes nearly $550 billion in new spending over five years in addition to current federal authorizations for public works that will reach virtually every corner of the country. There’s money to rebuild roads and bridges, and also to shore up coastlines against climate change, protect public utility systems from cyberattacks and modernize the electric grid. Public transit gets a boost, as do airports and freight rail. Most lead drinking water pipes in America could be replaced.

COVID vaccines to be required for military under new US plan (AP) Members of the U.S. military will be required to get the COVID-19 vaccine beginning next month under a plan laid out by the Pentagon Monday and endorsed by President Joe Biden. In memos distributed to all troops, top Pentagon leaders said the vaccine is a necessary step to maintain military readiness. Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin said the mid-September deadline could be accelerated if the vaccine receives final FDA approval or infection rates continue to rise. “I will seek the president’s approval to make the vaccines mandatory no later than mid-September, or immediately upon” licensure by the Food and Drug Administration “whichever comes first,” Austin said in his memo, warning them to prepare for the requirement.

For first time, average pay for supermarket and restaurant workers tops $15 an hour (Washington Post) The U.S. labor market hit a new milestone recently: For the first time, average pay in restaurants and supermarkets climbed above $15 an hour. Wages have been rising rapidly as the economy reopens and businesses struggle to hire enough workers. Some of the biggest gains have gone to workers in some of the lowest-paying industries. Overall, nearly 80 percent of U.S. workers now earn at least $15 an hour, up from 60 percent in 2014. Job sites and recruiting firms say many job seekers won’t even consider jobs that pay less than $15 anymore. For years, low-paid workers fought to make at least that much. Now it has effectively become the new baseline. Economists caution that a higher average wage is not the same as a $15 minimum wage. Half of workers in these industries are still making below $15 an hour. Nonetheless, rising pay is still a game-changer for millions of workers.

Dry California tourist town to guests: ‘Please conserve’ (AP) Tourists flock by the thousands to the coastal town of Mendocino for its Victorian homes and cliff trails, but visitors this summer are also finding public portable toilets and signs on picket fences pleading: “Severe Drought. Please conserve water.” Hotels have closed their lobby bathrooms and residents have stopped watering their gardens in the foggy outpost about 150 miles (240 kilometers) north of San Francisco after two years of little rain sapped many of the wells Mendocino depends on for potable water. Mendocino’s water woes were compounded in recent weeks when the city of Fort Bragg a few miles to the north—its main backup water supplier—informed officials that it, too, had a significant drop in its drinking water reserves after the Noyo River recorded its lowest flows in decades. “This is a real emergency,” said Ryan Rhoades, superintendent of the Mendocino City Community Services District, which helps manage the water in the town’s aquifer.

Nicaragua recalls four LatAm ambassadors in tit-for-tat move (Reuters) Nicaragua has recalled its ambassadors to Mexico, Argentina, Colombia and Costa Rica for “consultations,” the government said on Monday, deepening the Central American country’s international isolation over its crackdowns on the opposition. Mexico, Argentina and Colombia recently recalled their ambassadors to protest against moves to clamp down on the opposition in Nicaragua, while Costa Rica a few weeks ago suspended the appointment of its ambassador to the country. On Saturday, U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken accused Ortega of taking new “undemocratic, authoritarian actions.” Blinken also singled out Ortega’s wife, Nicaraguan Vice President Rosario Murillo, and said the two were seeking to hold on to power “at all costs” with a strategy of disqualifying potential opposition candidates. Nicaragua is due to hold presidential elections in November in which Ortega is seeking a fourth consecutive term.

Twelve Days In Office, and Crisis Swamps Peru’s Leftist President (Bloomberg) Peru’s new president is off to a rocky start, selecting contentious ministers, alienating allies and setting the stage for a brutal face-off with congress, all within days of taking office. A rural teacher and union activist, Pedro Castillo won the election after reassurances that he’s his own man, not beholden to his party’s Marxist ideology or chief. But when he named his cabinet—including a prime minister who’s under investigation for being an alleged apologist for terrorists—analysts, opposition figures and even some who’d backed him expressed alarm, so much so that the word “impeachment” was heard more than once. “His political capital went up in smoke in 24 hours,” said Rodolfo Rojas, a partner of the Lima-based Sequoia political advisory group. “If he doesn’t change course, there’s no future for him.” Impeachment isn’t imminent, Rojas said, but a clash with congress looks likely. And while Peru has made a habit of ousting presidents, it’s rare for such a discussion to take place within days of inauguration.

French wine production set for a 30-percent drop (Washington Post) A confluence of weather woes is hurting France’s wine harvest. First, there was severe frost in the spring, which laid the foundation for disaster by damaging 30 percent of the production. Then, torrential summer rains hit western Europe in July, leaving parts of Germany and Belgium ravaged by floods, and leading to fungal attacks on grapes and their leaves in France. All of this has set France up for a wine supply drop of 24 to 30 percent this year—the lowest output since 1970, France’s farm ministry said Friday. For champagne, harvest potential has been slashed in half, some producers warned. In Italy, the world’s largest wine producer, high temperatures in the south caused an early harvest, while heavy rains in the north caused a late harvest, according to farmers association Coldiretti. Output is estimated to fall by 5 to 10 percent.

'We fought a great battle': Greece defends wildfire response (AP) As Greece’s massive wildfires were being largely tamed Tuesday, the country’s civil protection chief defended the firefighting efforts, saying every resource was thrown into the battle against what he described as the fire service’s biggest-ever challenge. Nikos Hardalias said authorities “truly did what was humanly possible” against blazes that destroyed tens of thousands of hectares (acres) of forest and hundreds of homes, killed a volunteer firefighter and forced more than 60,000 people to flee. Two other firefighters were in intensive care with severe burns. “We handled an operationally unique situation, with 586 fires in eight days during the worst weather conditions we’ve seen in 40 years,” Hardalias told a news conference. “Never was there such a combination of adverse factors in the history of the fire service.” Greece had just experienced its worst heat wave since 1987, which left its forests tinder-dry. Other nearby nations such as Turkey and Italy also faced the same searing temperatures and quickly spreading fires.

Smoke from Siberia wildfires reaches north pole in historic first (Guardian) Smoke from raging forest fires in Siberia has reached the north pole for the first time in recorded history, as a Russian monitoring institute warned the blazes were worsening. Devastating wildfires have ripped across Siberia with increasing regularity over the past few years, which Russia’s weather officials and environmentalists have linked to climate change and an underfunded forest service. One of Siberia’s hardest-hit regions this year has been Yakutia – Russia’s largest and coldest region that sits atop permafrost – which has had record high temperatures and drought. On Saturday, the US space agency Nasa said its satellite images showed wildfire smoke travelling “more than 3,000km (1,800 miles) from Yakutia to reach the north pole”, calling it “a first in recorded history”. It added that on 6 August most of Russia was covered in smoke. According to Russia’s forestry agency, this year’s fires have ravaged more than 14m hectares, making it the second-worst fire season since the turn of the century.

Lockdowns In Manila (Guardian) The more aggressive Delta variant of COVID-19 has led to record case numbers in countries across Southeast Asia. Indonesia, Thailand, Malaysia, and Vietnam have reported record cases in recent weeks. The variant was detected in the Philippines in mid-July and has spread to 13 of 17 regions. On Friday, the national capital region of Manila, with a population of almost 14 million, was placed under strict lockdown until August 20 in an attempt to slow the spread. Only authorized people, including those buying food, traveling for medical reasons, or frontline workers are allowed to go outside. The day before the lockdown went into effect, thousands rushed to vaccination centers and waited for hours hoping to get a shot. Rumors had spread that unvaccinated people wouldn’t be allowed to claim government aid or go outside.

Taliban Capture Sixth Provincial Capital (Foreign Policy) The Taliban’s advance across Afghanistan continued on Monday with the capture of Aibak, the capital of Samangan province, marking the sixth provincial capital to fall to the group in less than a week. Monday’s seizure was hastened by the defection of Asif Azimi—a prominent warlord with ties to the now defunct Northern Alliance—a worrying sign of shifting allegiances due to a rapidly changing situation on the ground. As the fighting drags on, pressure is building on President Ashraf Ghani to get a handle on the situation or get out of the way. Reports in Bloomberg and the Wall Street Journal paint a picture of an isolated leader whose best hope lies in rallying support from anti-Taliban groups ahead of an all-out civil war.

[john44545]

Best metal test and best wireless pressure - tips and tricks

Wash under pressure. How do they work? How do I choose a gas, electric or wireless car? What is the difference between a vacuum cleaner, a vacuum cleaner and a vacuum cleaner? Why are there so many different dishes and what do they do? What about PSI and GPM?

In this article, I will answer these and many other questions. In addition, I present my best selections on a variety of test types and types.

The main focus of this article is primarily on “customer points” (mostly electricity) washing machines. These devices have a very high cost and reasonable price, and often take time to use, and some have the same PSI as commercial and professional units, only without labeling (or high quality to to build heavier buildings) sections).

Types of washing machines There are three main types of washing machines.

Fasi kesi afi Connect the power supply to 120 volts and The wireless devices run on batteries, mostly Li-Ion. Each type of washing machine has its advantages and disadvantages, and you may be foolish to try to better manage the pros and cons of choosing the best washing machine that suits your needs. I recommend you use the Pareto rule, asking which machine will do 80% of your work and only 20% of your activity. This should get you off to a good start.

Normal conditions of washing pressure PSI: weight per square inch

This is the amount of energy released from the surface water purifier. Ideally, you want a fire that has the same power to convert one object over another. For example, is PSI enough to remove paint from the house, travel carts in your living room, cement dirt, or dirt and grime in your car? As the PSI rises, the washing pressure intensifies.

GPM - gallon per minute (free flow rate)

Think a little about Niagara Falls, which produces about 440,380,904 gallons per minute. This is a very large number. When all this water falls on the top of the mountain, it falls on the rocks as high as 160 meters and gradually enters the soil. Now imagine the water flowing at the edge of a small natural waterfall. Niagara has few flowing streams and free land.

If I wanted to clean it quickly (or water!), I would use Niagara instead of a spring. Also in the washing machine. If you want to clear the area in a short time, you need a high flow rate or GPM.

Anatomy of the filtering machine This article focuses on purifying cold water. They are usually connected to a water heater where the water temperature is below 1040 degrees Fahrenheit and use hot water but have commercial sanitation agents. It is important not to pour hot water on the cold water machine as this will damage the engine.

Next, let’s talk about the cold washing machine parts.

There is a high pressure water pump. There is a pool of water that connects to the water supply device, usually the pool. Some cordless batteries bring water from a bucket where the hose is installed (or added). The machine is powered by household electricity (120V), a machine or (the newest on the market) lithium-ion battery. The machine can be operated manually (is installed) or can be added units with wheels to balance the workspace. Most devices come in medicine bags or supplier supplies. It has a high pressure range from the water pump to the spray hose ("gun" holder) Typically, a vacuum cleaner is supplied with multiple tubes for different cleaners (usually 00, 150, 250, and 400) and may also contain a vacuum. It can have "turbo" hosting (much later).

It is about heavy load puzzles With the exception of “turbo” nozzles, most cleaning machine vendors on the market today have options that include their bags. Each group has an activity. These include:

00 is a good pencil case that emphasizes weight loss. It is used to build narrow passages that require large water flow. It is also good for removing things like tar, burnt dirt and dirt on the second floor of your home, as well as high surfaces such as grease and shelves. Suitable for removal of material 150 surface. Apply everything from paint to tools and metals from rust to oil / grease. 250 is a great team for cleaning the sides of your home, balconies, floors and streets. Typically, 400 nozzles are used to clean windows, outdoor furniture, cars, boats, recreational vehicles, and garden equipment. Soap soaps are used to disperse chemicals on the floor before washing machines. These leaks are located at the end of the spray tube and cause low pressure soapy. Turbo is about community and turbo speed. In the cycle mode, the flow rate of 00-150 is close to 3000 rpm (rpm). Because the pen and scratch pads rotate at a very high speed, it does not hit (as above) like a flat brush The advantage of a turbo host is that it can cover many areas in a short time, for example, 50% less time. In addition, it can be used to be a common denominator (except for the soap holder), which eliminates the need for four standard nozz.

see here more about it

Use it for the right job Using the wrong puzzle can destroy ready-made paint for important things like ships, cars, and fun games. It is important not to use the power of a spray gun on these items. 400 kits are recommended, but you still need to be careful not to hold the button too tightly in the car, because the transparent jacket (and even the color under the paint) can crack and damage it.

When cleaning a car by force, first and foremost, it helps to remove dirt and grime from the car when using a cleaner that you plan to use in the washing machine. Then use soap to gently wash the soap and dirt.

Also keep in mind that moving signatures to those in good standing (00, 150, and sometimes 250) can damage boards and other slippery surfaces. It is better to use the suggested button for a specific task.

About heavy pipes The size of the container corresponds to the standard size of a 20-meter-tall plastic tube that connects to a plastic tube machine. These pipes usually have a minimum diameter of 1/4 "or 5/16" (internal diameter). The 1/4 inch sensor is typically rated at 3200 PSI. 5/16 engine identification is typically rated from 2700 PSI to 3600 PSI. When buying a vacuum, the company will provide accurate identification based on the maximum vacuum load. When buying an replaceable hose, make sure you purchase the correct ID and PSI hose for your device.

If your garden is short of supplies and needs further cleaning, the answer is long pipe pressure. A good choice is the high pressure Flexilla hose (shown above). These green tea bags are easy (they can be adjusted by wrapping or wrapping the base after spraying) and a 50-meter hose can be held in place, including a warm, long sleeve. However, I found that Flexilla high-pressure washers work well with Greenworks washers (I replaced most of the high-pressure Greenworks washers because they are so thin and easy to roll), Yard Force units and Sun Joe, appear waste.

Yard Force Electric Pressure Test Electrical cleaning If you don’t need expensive commercial units and professionals (and you don’t need many farms and those interested in the scenery), a heavy electric car is a great option.

High quality electric washing machine At the place of the electric washing machine (powered by 120V lithium-ion batteries) we looked at the cleaning machines of the big machines (categorized by customer)

Loss of power, Sun Jo W. Green issues. Data rates range from 500 to 3200 psi. Some had separate puzzles, some had puzzles, and some had one adjustable puzzle for any change beyond the age of 00. 450.

What you need to know about a washing machine buyer These units specialize in cleaning playgrounds, wheelchairs, butcher shops, boats, windows, gardeners, lawns, garden equipment, outdoor furniture, and more. Some parts I tested can remove paint, but only at slow speeds (except for the 3200 PSI Yard Force gas test we reviewed). Washing machines are often more expensive than gas stoves. It can be used safely in a locked room (eg toilet cleaning and garage cleaning). On average, these units can reach PSI 500 to 3,000+. This needs repair. It can be portable (carry or return to arms and wheels). Be quiet about the gas stove. It is now available in wireless models powered by lithium-ion batteries. Use less GPM water compared to commercial and commercial sectors. Do not use the same key components such as businesses or private sectors (this will reduce costs). Clean performance Performance depends largely on GPU data and user speeds. The more time you have the device near the workplace, the more energy it will take from dirt, wounds, paint, and more. As mentioned above, you need to be careful when you do test burushyo different surface installed to cleaning to avoid damage to looga basis subject. The standard format has 4 puzzles (usually 00, 150, 250, 400) and offers many cleaning options. Turbo auo good, but unnecessary. But I found it to be very effective and 50% faster than usual can be cleaned with a small hand. The use of electric washing machines is recommended

Yard Force Impact Wrench (YF1800LR)

This is one of the most non-commercial washing machines I have tried. From an independent call to an electric hose settling to high pressure, efficient cleaning, from weight and weight bearing to small details such as instrument cleaning, the instructions on ergonomic design are easy to understand and follow. All washer components, including infrastructure fans, are fully automated. As the name of the company suggests, the Yard Pressure Washer (YF1800LR) is a power that needs to be considered. I highly recommend it. 5 stars.

Sun Go SPX3000 Electric Pressure Test The Sun Go electric pressure sensor is simple and easy to use, with a clean, easy-to-adjust handle, adjustable steering wheel that simplifies its operation, and is stored on the board in all parts. It does not have the same power as conventional gas, but provides sufficient energy for most operations. 4.8 stars.

Sun Go SPX1501 electric cleaning machine I love this little washing machine. He took me like a wolf in his clothes - a strong pocket despite its small size and a toy-like appearance. Due to the effective pressure of the 1400 psi guide, I put it on the vacuum pump section. But if you’re looking for a standard blog that doesn’t have a lot of bells and whistles, a special package of brakes (no more straps anymore!), Heavy-duty components that connect easily, and a GFCI cable battery, but don’t look no further. Could this be the part you are using to remove the paint from your home? Probably not. But it is very useful for general cleaning work. 4.6 stars.

[quietlydiabolic]

“Attack of the Killer Robotos” - BassRock short oneshot fanfic

By: Jixie Fandom: Mega Man Classic @bassrockweek: May 15 - Zombie Rating: G Words: 1770

There was always a sort of order amidst the chaos. For all the trouble and destruction Dr. Wily caused, he also had some sort of compulsion to do things a certain way, using certain patterns. Set zones. Defined attacks. Eight Robot Masters. The winding path through Skull Fortress.

Order amid chaos.

Which is what made this so weird.

It was… unpredictable. Haphazard. Disorderly. Mega Man knew Wily's patterns and habits like the back of his hand, but he never truly appreciated just how predictable the mad scientist was until now, when everything was— well— the best way to describe it was 'on fire'. Mostly on account of all the fires.

They had been waiting to hear from Wily, either bragging about his latest plot, or begging and simpering about how he'd lost control over it, but so far it had been radio silence. Mega Man did his best to stop the robots running amok and rescue civilians and put out fires, both literally and figuratively.

The last thing he needed was Bass showing up to brawl. He never knew if Bass was going to be on their side or in Wily's corner— it was 50/50— and their relationship was pretty nebulous, so Mega Man wasn't sure where he stood with Bass at any given time.

Lucky for him, Bass wordlessly went after the berserker robots instead of hassling Mega Man.

They fought separately for a while, until Bass shot down a Potton delivery drone that was in Mega Man's blindspot. He used that as an opening. "Thanks! Let me guess… Dr. Wily's latest scheme got out of hand?"

"Yeah."

"Another virus?"

Roboenza had caused advanced robots to go wild, while less complex ones simply ceased functioning. This time, everything had come to life, from smart blenders to self-driving vehicles (traditional and flying) to robotic vacuum cleaners.

"Nah." Bass hesitated, because it would help if Mega Man actually knew what was going on. But at the same time, Wily was still convinced he could regain control of the situation, in which case it was better if he left his rival in the dark.

He was still on the fence when Mega Man's face scrunched up in amusement, clapping a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh and failing miserably. "Oh my goodness, is that… is that a commode?"

Blinking in surprise, Bass glanced over his shoulder, then slowly turned around. Shambling down the road was, in fact, a computerized auto-toilet.

"Oh for cryin' out loud!" Built for consumer use, a single shot was all that was needed to dispatch it, but Bass unleashed a series of rapid fire shots until the hapless appliance was reduced to scrap. "Does EVERYTHING need to be a robot? Sheesh!"

***

Everything being a robot was the problem, really. They fought their way through hordes of air conditioners units, portable terminals, coffee makers, automated tellers, electric bikes, water efficient washing machines…

…and robo-pets, unfortunately. Bass was not-so-secretly enjoying the mayhem, but even he seemed ashamed of having to put down the robotic beasts.

He decided not to fill Mega Man in on the details. It wasn't a virus. It was a remote-control satellite, only somehow Wily had bungled the command codes. Instead of making the world's machinery his loyal subjects, it had turned them into mindless attacking zombies.

But hours dragged on and it was obvious Wily hadn't got a handle on the situation. Even more worryingly, he hadn't heard from him since leaving the fortress.

While they fought to restore order, Dr. Light scrambled to figure out what was going on and how to fix it, Roll and Auto offered support, and Proto Man…

Proto Man showed up, having been off doing his own secretive machinations, tossed energy tanks to the other two, and while they refueled, took a moment to appraise the situation. "Why don't you take this fight to Dr. Wily?"

"I don't think Dr. Wily's in control," Mega Man replied, glancing at Bass. "I'm not sure stopping him will stop this," he gestured at the scene of destruction that lay before them.

"Couldn't hurt to try." The tone in Proto Man's voice suggested he knew more than he was letting on.

Chewing at his lip, Mega Man shot Bass another look. "What do you think?"

If nothing else, they could probably force Wily to shut off the satellite signal. On the one hand: mayhem. Bass didn't exactly want to stop. On the other hand: the whole thing was pretty ridiculous, there was no end in sight, and it was weird that Wily hadn't been in touch.

"Fine."

With that Bass teleported, and Mega Man facepalmed. "Darn it, you know I can't just beam directly into Dr. Wily's fort!"

"Hey, listen." Proto Man threw an arm across his back. "I'm sure Bass never mentioned anything, but this whole disaster ruined our plans."

"What? What plans?" He didn't like the sound of this. Particularly the ‘our’ part of it.

"We were going to catch a movie—"

"A movie? ‘We’? As in… the two of you? A movie?" Mega Man made no attempt to hide his disappointment. "Like a— like a date?"

His brother laughed. "No. Like a ‘trying to teach that idiot normal life skills'. It was going to be a group outing."

"Wh— a group— what group?" He was both relieved and increasingly confused. He'd never met any of Blues' friends. Had Bass? Did they have mutual acquaintances?

"Rock," Proto Man said firmly, turning so that they were face-to-face, planting both hands on Mega Man's shoulders. "Rock." He sounded tired. "Invite. Him. To. The. Movies."

There was an unbelievably awkward pause, and Mega Man gulped loudly.

"O-oh. Right."

***

Mega Man was surprised to find Bass loitering outside the fort. Something was wrong— Bass couldn't teleport inside either.

So they fought their way in the old fashioned way. The badniks inside were just as erratic and violent as the household appliances had been. Not knowing the cause of all this, Mega Man started joking around, making wild, increasingly preposterous guesses for what hare-brained plot Wily had this time.

"Is he trying to scare the public by turning their dishwashers and street sweepers against them, terrorizing them into surrendering and begging for mercy?"

"No."

"Let's see… he wanted to ruin Dr. Light's day because he won the Aperture Scientific Achievement award last week, and because he's a super-villain Dr. Wily didn't even qualify."

"No."

"This is an elaborate cover while he builds a third King, even though the last time—"

"Don't mention that name around me."

"Ummm… he's trying to collapse the economy, to start up a corporate conglomerate monopoly for all consumer gadgets?"

Bass groaned. "Please stop talking."

"He just woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

"No."

One of the weirdest things about all this was the complete and utter lack of Robot Masters. They got through the maze pretty quickly and found the massive arena where, under normal circumstances, Wily would attack with a massive war machine.

It was startlingly empty.

"Where is he?"

Mega Man did a double take. "You don't know?"

Gesturing for him to follow, Bass made his way deeper into the fortress. If Wily wasn't around, what was the point of trying to keep his plans secret? He guided Mega Man to one of the main control rooms, explaining the whole satellite hacking scheme along the way. Calling up Roll, Mega Man used the nearest terminal to create a network link that would allow Dr. Light to download everything he needed directly from Wily's computers.

They waited in silence, Mega Man not willing to leave until Dr. Light was good to go, and Bass unwilling to leave his rival unattended in the fortress.

"Sooooo," Mega Man said, trying to sound casual. "Did you catch the latest Revengers movie?"

"Nope." He then mumbled something about how he was supposed to, and scuffed his foot on the floor in frustration.

Weaving his fingers together, Mega Man offered a small, hopeful grin. "I haven't had a chance to see it yet, either. M-maybe after things are wrapped up here, we could go check it out…?"

It earned a derisive snort, but then Bass shrugged. "Sure, whatever. I don't care."

"Cool." Trying to hide the feeling of glee, he clapped his hands behind his head. "I wonder how they're going to resolve the whole Eternity Jewels story. It's been so hard avoiding spoilers!"

They were in the midst of debating if Atoman's screen adaption was better than the comic version when Roll called in with the all-clear.

"I'm going to go back and help Proto Man handle the zombie-bots until Dr. Light can shut off the satellite." Mega Man hesitated. "Did you want to…?"

"Nah, I gotta find out where Wily got to."

They went their separate ways, but in the middle of a surprisingly intense battle with a commercial impingement oven— able to launch projectiles from its conveyor belt with incredible speed— Mega Man received a text with a set of coordinates.

Catching his look, Proto Man nodded in understanding. "Go, I have this."

They led him to the grounds outside of Skull Fortress, where a desperate, shrieking Dr. Wily clung halfway up a tree, feet scrambling against the trunk, surrounded by three small robotic lawn mower units.

Bass stood in the distance, arms crossed, wicked grin on his face. "Hey," he said as Mega Man approached. "You don't think Dr. Light could shut down the signal to everyone except these guys, could he?"

"Maybe…"

Dr. Wily switched tactics from berating and cursing Bass to pleading with Mega Man.

"We really should help him."

Tilting his head, Bass tapped his chin and pretended to be lost in thought. "I dunno, I think he could use another half an hour up there."

Mega Man laughed. He should help Dr. Wily and take him to jail, he really should.

"…I think I'm going to let you two work this out," he said finally. "Uh, Leitersburg Cinema, 7:30?"

Glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes, Bass shrugged. "Assuming the projectors didn't go nuts, too."

"Oh, shoot!" Mega Man hid his face in his hands. "You're probably right."

But with all the attacks Wily had done over the years, most businesses had contingencies and bounced back pretty quickly. "Think they'll be up and running again by next Thursday?"

"I guess?"

"Fine. It's a date."

He knew that Bass didn't mean a date, rather that they had an agreed appointment…

…but he couldn't help wearing a stupid, goofy grin for the rest of the day.

-- -A/N: Special thanks to @s-uranet for suggestions and brainstorming.

[mackinmacki]

In My Neck of the Woods

Rating: K+

Word Count: 4886

Summary: Ruby thinks it's a good idea to take Weiss camping with herself, Yang, and Blake. She was mistaken.

Pairing: White Rose

Notes: This is day one of White Rose Week. First prompt: First.

Link: (FFN) | (AO3)

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"Aren't you excited?" Ruby bounced up and down in her seat, grinning from ear to ear. She was clearly excited. Weiss, who was sitting still with her arms crossed, didn't seem to be sharing her enthusiasm. "C'mon Weiss, it's your first time camping! You could at least be a little bit excited." Weiss sighed, slowly unfolding her arms. She loved Ruby to death, but sometimes she could really oversell the situation. This was a prime example.

"I've told you already that I've been camping before. My family took me several times when I was younger." Admittedly, it had been nearly a decade since she'd last gone camping, but that didn't mean she'd never gone. Saying she was a complete novice was certainly overreaching. Just because it had been awhile since her last venture into the woods didn't mean she needed to be as hyperactive about it as Ruby was. It wasn't even that fun for her back then, honestly. She had only agreed to go because it made Ruby happy. Ugh, she could hear Yang making a 'whipping' sound in her mind right now.

"Weiss, that was glamping, not camping." Blake spoke up from behind the wheel, a hand on Yang's knee as she drove the four of them to the campgrounds. "Your family took you to the woods, yes, but you were in a fully-stocked portable home with air conditioning and beds. That's like saying living in a house next to the woods is camping. You've never actually experienced the wilderness in your entire life." Between Ruby's high-pitched excitement and Weiss's stubborn attitude, she was already starting to get a headache. She'd known what she was getting into when she'd agreed to do this, though. There was no one to blame but herself.

"That's not a real word, Blake. Besides, that is camping! What else would you call sleeping out in the woods, staring at the stars through the visor in the ceiling? Don't be ridiculous." She paused when she heard Yang laughing, turning her indignant attention to the passenger seat. "And just what is so funny?" Now Ruby was laughing, and she couldn't figure out which of the two sisters she should be glaring at. How could they sit there and make fun of her camping experiences? She hadn't expected them to be so elitist.

"You can't be serious, Weiss. That's not camping!" Yang could barely get the words out because she was laughing so hard. Weiss puffed out her cheeks, which made Ruby poke them with a giggle. "Real camping involves staying in a tent with a sleeping bag, not a comfy bed. You sit around a fire and roast marshmallows, telling ghost stories and watching the stars from above the treetops. Sounds nothing like what your family did, right?" Hearing Yang's words made Weiss's face fall. Her eyes slowly widened as she stared at her in increasing horror.

"What... That's camping?" She gaped at Yang, then turned towards Ruby so fast her neck cracked. "Tell me she's lying." Ruby just shook her head, smiling sheepishly. "Are you serious?! We're going to be spending the weekend in a tiny tent like homeless people?!" Yang busted out laughing again while Blake glared at her through the rearview mirror. "Why didn't you tell me this was what you meant, Ruby?!"

"I thought you knew what I meant!" Ruby had known that Weiss's camping experience wasn't exactly typical, but that was why she'd been saying it was Weiss's first time camping. Her first real camping trip. She'd had no idea that Weiss didn't know that was atypical. It'd just seemed obvious. Everyone knew what camping was, right? Apparently not, as it turned out. "It's okay, though. It'll be fun! A weekend in the woods with your best friends!" She spread her arms as wide as she could in the car, smiling brightly. "What do you think about that?"

"I think I'm going to die." Weiss groaned and laid her head back against the seat. She should've known something was wrong when Ruby was packing sleeping bags for them. It should've raised some sort of an alarm, but she'd stopped questioning her partner's eccentricities awhile ago. That would turn out to be costly this time. She closed her eyes and tried to astral project herself somewhere with an actual roof. A weekend in the woods with all sorts of insects ready to take bites out of her skin, woodland creatures wanting to do more than that, and worse of all: Blake and Yang, who'd proven that they couldn't keep their hands off each other for more than five minutes. This was going to be hell.

When they got to the campsite, Blake parked the car and everyone started getting to work. Ruby and Yang pulled out the tents and started to nail them down to the ground. Blake got their supply of food and drinks out of the trunk and started hauling it over near where they were going to start a fire that night. As for Weiss, she hovered around Ruby and asked a variety of paranoid, ridiculous questions.

"What are we supposed to do if we get attacked by a bear? Did you bring enough bug spray for the entire weekend? What about sunscreen? Are there snakes in these woods? There's no Wi-Fi and I can't check which snakes are venomous. Where are we supposed to use the restroom? You don't expect me to go in the woods like some kind of a barbarian, do you?" Ruby exhaled deeply, hammering in a pike with a look of increased annoyance. Across from her, Yang was shaking so hard from keeping her laughter in, the tent kept threatening to come down when she held it. She loved her partner, though. She really, really did. That didn't make her any easier to deal with when she was like this, though. 'This' being so very... Weiss-like.

"There are no bears. We have enough bug spray. We have sunscreen too. There are no snakes either, so you don't have to check how poisonous they are-" "Venomous," Weiss quickly chipped in. Ruby chose to ignore that. "And no, I don't expect you to pee in the forest. There's an outhouse near here that we can use." For once, she didn't put any excitement into her answers. Normally she was happy to answer any questions Weiss had, but being bombarded by all those questions at once, along with her generally sour attitude for most of the ride there, had worn down Ruby's normally chipper mood. She figured that had answered everything properly, but she was incorrect.

"What did you say?" Ruby just turned and stared at her, unsure of what she'd said that Weiss was referring too. She'd answered what felt like a dozen questions without pause. "An outhouse? You expect me to go to the bathroom in an outhouse?" She was visibly shaking in distress. Weiss hated public restrooms. They were usually not taken care of well, and the thought of walking into one with coarse graffiti and shredded paper towels everywhere made her gag. An outhouse was even worse, though. It was the most public of public restrooms. Absolutely disgusting. She might as well use the woods for all the good it would do her!

"Sorry, I forgot to pack a toilet for us to use."

"The joke is not appreciated." Weiss huffed and stormed over to Blake, who had hoped that if she'd been quiet enough, she'd be able to avoid Hurricane Schnee. Nobody was safe from that unnatural disaster, though. "Blake, give me the keys. I'm driving home right now. This is ridiculous." Blake sighed and dropped down onto a large log that was next to their fire pit. She'd tried to tell Ruby that bringing Weiss outdoors was a bad idea. She'd even floated the idea of bringing Winter instead, since she was like a bigger Weiss. That kind of counted. Ruby was adamant that Weiss come with them, though, even after being warned that something like this would happen. She just had to go and fall in love with the ice queen, didn't she?

"Fine, fine." She put her hands in her pockets, feeling the keys in there. However, when her hands came out, they were empty. She knew this was probably going to bite her in the butt eventually, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. "Uh, they're not here."

"What?" Weiss stepped closer, hands on her hips as she glared at Blake. "This is no time for games, Blake. Give me the keys now."

"I don't have them, Weiss!" She did her best to sell the lie, looking a bit freaked out as she made a scene out of patting down her pants. "I must've dropped them somewhere." That did it. The annoyance on Weiss's face was quickly replaced by panic at the realization that their only way home was now lost somewhere. She whirled around and ran to the car, tugging on the handle of the front door. It was locked, though, and wouldn't give way to her. Not that she could do anything if it had. She didn't know how to hotwire a car.

"Get over here and help me!" She yelled at all three of them, dropping down to her knees in desperation to see if the keys had fallen beneath the car. Then she started crawling through the grass, trying to find a hint of silver or black that would reveal them to her. When she looked up, nobody had moved from their positions, which only frustrated her further. "Why are you just sitting there?! We're going to be stranded here forever! Girls!" Finally, after finishing setting up their first tent, Ruby stood up and headed over to her distressed snowflake.

"Please don't rile her up, Blake. I'm the one who has to calm her down," Ruby muttered as she passed by Blake, heading over to the car. She went down on her knees and started massaging Weiss's shoulders, whispering calming words in her ear. Eventually she was able to get Weiss back on her feet and over to the tent, an arm over her shoulder to keep her close. As they passed by Blake, Weiss stuck her tongue out at her. So Ruby told her the truth, then. Well, it was fun while it lasted.

Ruby was actually able to corral Weiss into helping her set up the other tent, though she grumbled about it the entire time. It sort of made Ruby regret asking her to help, and that was compounded when she looked up and saw Blake and Yang making out by the fire pit. She really needed to remember to have those two separated whenever they were setting things up. Seeing Blake's tongue down her sister's throat wasn't her idea of a fun camping adventure.

When everything was finally set up, the four of them ventured into the woods for a nice, relaxing hike. They were going to appreciate nature, then bring back some firewood to light up that night. It was as relaxing a walk as possible when one of the participants was Weiss. She was as jittery as a caffeine addict, jumping backwards at any sudden movement. Whether it was something rustling in the bushes or an insect that had flown near her, Weiss clearly wasn't doing much appreciating of her surroundings. When she wasn't yelping like someone was attacking her, she spent a good deal of time complaining about anything and everything.

"I wish we had something to gag her with..." Blake muttered to Yang, getting close to ripping off her own ears. Weiss acted like they were keeping her there against her will. It wasn't their fault she had a warped view of what camping was.

"We could use my underwear-" Yang started, only to get cut off by Blake's 'It's time to stop' look. "Okay, okay, we can use your underwear." Blake just sighed. Sometimes...

Ruby, meanwhile, wasn't feeling so frustrated anymore. In fact, she felt a little guilty. She could tell that Weiss was struggling, and this was the only way she knew how to react to the situation. Instead of trying to force her to enjoy it like she did, or become extra chipper to try and drown out her pessimism, she just took Weiss's hand and held it tightly. She pulled Weiss close to her and walked in lockstep with her, falling a couple paces behind Blake and Yang so she could have Weiss to herself for a bit. Sort of.

"Hey, it's okay, Weiss. Nothing's going to happen to us out here." She made circles on the back of Weiss's hand with a finger, smiling reassuringly at her. "Dad took Yang and I camping plenty of times, and nothing bad ever happened to us. Besides, if there is any wildlife out here, I'll protect you from it." She giggled as Weiss rolled her eyes.

"I doubt you can do anything to protect me from bears, Ruby." Though she was still nervous about walking around in the forest like this, she felt a bit calmer with Ruby's warmth next to her. For whatever reason, Ruby had the ability to calm her down when nothing else could. It was one of the reasons she'd began to trust her when she refused to extend that courtesy to others. They weren't like Ruby: they couldn't even hope to get close. She was just special like that. "Are you sure we're not going to get lost in here?"

"Yup! Blake's got a compass and everything. She can point us back to camp." Blake gave a wave over her shoulder, acknowledging that she'd heard her name. That put Weiss further at ease, though she hadn't forgiven Blake yet for pulling that key prank on her. However, there wasn't too much to get mad about for the rest of their time in the forest. They were able to collect a good amount of firewood: mostly with Yang ripping branches off of trees with her bare hands. There was enough wood for everyone to carry a handful back, which Weiss made sure to grumble about. It was 'work for the help' and all that.

They set the wood down by the pit and relaxed for awhile while the sun was still up. Yang had brought a deck of cards, and the four of them sat in a tent to play poker. There wasn't any betting made: it was just for fun and to pass the time. Yang did suggest betting something, but the other three unanimously rejected playing strip poker. Things were pretty calm for the next couple of hours, all in all. There wasn't anything for even Weiss to complain about, which was a relief for all parties involved.

When the sun started to go down, Yang loaded the fire pit up with wood and put some lighter fluid on it. Then she struck a match and tossed it in, quickly getting a good flame going. "Alright girls, let's get this cookout started!" She went for the cooler and grabbed out a packet of hot dogs, opening the packaging while Blake grabbed four skewers. Then she put a hot dog on each skewer and handed them around so everyone could cook their own. While everyone else took theirs without complaint, Weiss stared at hers as if she'd been handed an alien device.

"You want me to put this in the fire?" Weiss stared at it some more, then turned her attention to the fire. It crackled and burned at degrees completely unsafe for human skin. A small ember popped out and landed near her feet, making her squeal and fall backwards off the log. Yang proceeded to laugh her ass off while Ruby hurried over to help her back up. Of course, she was laughing too, so the gallant gesture wasn't as appreciated. Weiss 'hmpf'ed and folded her arms. "I'll just eat it cold, then."

"I'm pretty sure you'll get salmonella or something." Ruby gently grabbed the skewer and pushed it away from Weiss's face. "Just put it in the fire for as long as I do, and take it out when I do. It'll be cooked to perfection." She gave Weiss a thumbs up, but only got a sour frown in return. Seeing her eyes glance towards the fire, she put two and two together. She leaned in and whispered, "The fire's not gonna hurt you, Weiss. You'll be okay."

"Hmpf." She didn't answer Ruby, but she did hold out her skewer and glanced over towards her partner. "Well?" Smiling, Ruby plopped down next to her and stuck her hot dog in the fire, with Weiss following suit. Both Blake and Yang sat down on the opposite log and did the same, and the four of them just waited for their food to be cooked. The entire time, Weiss had her eyes on Ruby, her hand twitching every time Ruby moved. Finally, she pulled out her hot dog, and Weiss yanked hers out right after her.

On the other side, Yang handed her skewer over to Blake so she could grab everyone drinks while the food cooled down. She and Blake had a beer, while Ruby had a soda and Weiss had water. Originally she'd asked for wine, but Yang claimed that it wasn't very 'camping friendly', whatever that meant. She would just stick with water, then. With their drinks, they also got buns for their hot dogs once they were cool enough to grab.

"Ooh, the sun's finally gone down!" Yang exclaimed happily, chomping down on the remainder of her hot dog. Well, her second hot dog, but who was counting? The four of them had been eating and chatting amicably as the sun set on them, but now the dark had finally spread into the woods. "It's time for ghost stories!" She clapped her hands together, excitedly looking around the campfire. Ruby was the only one who appeared to be excited. Blake usually didn't tip her hand when it came to her emotions, and Weiss just looked thoroughly uninterested. That just meant she needed to come up with something super scary to freak her out.

"Did you know this forest is actually haunted?" She grinned as she looked around the campfire, the fire casting her face in an eerie orange glow. "I chose this place exactly for that reason. They say that a group of guys drove by this campground in the winter time. It was cold, and the forest was blanketed in snow. Their car ran into a snowbank, but it would've been easy to push it out. They were more than capable." She halted her story, changing out her grin for a more somber, serious expression. "However, they didn't. Something compelled them to abandon their car and venture into the cold, unforgiving forest."

"They wandered in the woods for so long that two of them ended up falling to the ground from exhaustion and perished where they fell. The other three luckily found a cabin to stay in, and if we went deeper into the woods, we could even find it ourselves. This was only delaying the inevitable, though." Blake was already curled up next to Yang, taking in the spooky story pensively. Ruby actually appeared frightened by the story, leaning forward with her hands on her knees and taking in every word. Weiss found it hard to believe that anyone would actually be scared by something like this, but Ruby had helped her with her own forest troubles...

"They stayed in that cabin for months, but no matter how long they waited, nobody was coming to help. All the snow made it too difficult to get through the forest." Weiss reached over and took Ruby's hand, squeezing it tightly. Ruby looked over at her in surprise, then smiled and leaned against her side. It embarrassed Weiss somewhat, but she would allow it for tonight. "Eventually, one of them died on the lone bed, wrapped up in enough blankets that it was like he had turned into a cocoon."

"The other two set out on foot, but it wouldn't be long before one of them died. They found his bones just outside the cabin, along with an extra pair of shoes. The two who had died in the forest, and the dead guy in the cabin? They eventually found all their bones when the Spring thawed out the snow. The fifth guy, though? They never found him. No body, no bones, no nothing. He walked out of that cabin and disappeared, never to be seen again... except some campers still say they can hear his voice on the wind on some long, lonely nights. They even say they can hear his footsteps coming closer to their tents. Closer, closer... Until it vanishes into the dark. He still haunts these woods today, and he's not the only one..." She stopped talking, tilting her head as if listening for something. "Can you hear that? I think I hear something."

"No, I can't hear anything." Weiss bit down on her lip as Ruby clung onto her arm, squeezing the life out of it. "C'mon Ruby, let go! There's nothing out there!" She looked over at Yang with disapproval, then realized something was missing. Or rather, someone was missing. "Wait, where's Blake?" Yang just grinned at her, but said nothing more. "What the hell? Yang, where the hell is Blake-"

"Boo." A voice came from right next to her ear, making her scream and jump off of the log. She flew up and tripped over her own feet, screaming again as she fell backwards into the grass. Ruby, who had just been in the process of relinquishing Weiss's arm, squealed as she fell face-first into the grass. Groaning, Weiss jolted up, only to find that the 'ghostly presence' was none other than Blake. Yang, who had held back her laughter the entire time Blake had 'disappeared', couldn't contain herself anymore. She fell off the log and rolled around on the grass, laughing so hard that she could barely breathe.

"Oh man, you should've seen your face! I thought you were gonna jump right outta your skin!" She howled with laughter while a mortified Weiss glared poison-tipped daggers at her. Her words were garbled a bit with how hard she was laughing, but the intent was clear. "I think I'm gonna die! Oh man, I can't breathe! Blaaake, that was beautiful! Help me!" She laughed and laughed while Blake trotted over to save her girlfriend from a laughter-based paralysis. Weiss considered pushing her into the fire, but she wasn't sure she could get away with that one.

"That was a good one, Yang! You really got us!" Ruby pushed herself up from the grass, laughing as well. Weiss turned and gaped at her, unable to believe that she was laughing after that little stunt those two pulled. That didn't seem to matter to her, though. Her eyes shined with determination to one up Yang's ghost story with one of her own. That was... one way to look at it. When she was focused on something, you could either walk next to her or get out of the way. She decided her best course of action was to sit back down next to her and pretend that she hadn't been scared out of her wits.

Ruby sat there for five minutes trying to come up with the perfect ghost story while Weiss held her hand and wished she could use her phone with the other. Someone needed to get wi-fi out in the forest. This was the current year, after all. Eventually Ruby came up with a story that wasn't half bad. At least, Weiss thought so. She sat there impassive throughout, however, refusing to be spooked again. Blake then told her own, but Weiss refused to budge. She even kept her eyes on all three of them, in case they tried to get up and pull a fast one over her.

"Alright Weiss, it's your turn!" Ruby patted her knee and smiled brightly, excited for whatever story Weiss was going to come up with. If she was expecting something great, however, then she was going to end up disappointed. Coming up with scary stories wasn't Weiss's forte. She wasn't really big on horror in general, honestly. Especially not with a heavy reliance on jump scares, Blake.

"Once, there was a couple who were very mean to an innocent girl. The innocent girl then left them in the woods to be eaten by bears. The end."

"That wasn't very scary." Ruby pouted, poking Weiss's arm. "And it wasn't long either!"

"It was honestly more like a fairytale," Blake chimed in. "With the 'Once' start and all."

"Scary Story Time is canceled."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After things had all wound down, Yang doused the fire and the four of them retired to their tents for the night. Blake and Yang were in one, while Ruby and Weiss were in the other. Weiss had considered bringing earplugs so she could sleep through any shenanigans those two were certainly going to get up to. However, impairing her hearing when there could be wildlife crawling through the forest to maul her alive made her want to have all her sensory faculties intact. She just had to hope that if a bear happened to find them, it would be attracted to the noise those two were making and she could make her escape.

Both her and Ruby had their own sleeping bags, but that wasn't acceptable to Ruby. She suggested they put them together and unzip them from opposite sides, so that it'd be like they had one big sleeping bag. Weiss acquiesced, because it was Ruby and she hadn't yet figured out how to follow through on 'no' most of the time when it came to her. She could say no all the live-long day, but when Ruby gave her those puppy-dog eyes, she'd crumble like a house of cards. She had a power over her that no one else could dare dream of.

"This was a nice day. Good food, good stories, good company." She rolled over to kiss Weiss's cheek, smiling at the blush she knew would be there, though it was too dark to see for sure. "I know you thought camping was something else, but I'm glad you stuck it out with us. Even though you did try to take the keys and drive off without us." She laughed and wrapped her arms around Weiss, pulling herself as close as she could beneath the dual sleeping bags.

"I would've come back for you. Once the trip was over." Weiss rolled her eyes, but she didn't try to push Ruby away. She'd gotten too used to her body warmth. Whenever she had to sleep alone, she could feel that something was missing. Now she found it unacceptable if she had to fall asleep without Ruby by her side. Not that she had admitted that in as many words. "It wasn't that bad, though. I mean, besides the bugs, and the scary stories, and having to be outside all the time."

"So the only thing bad about camping is camping, huh?"

"Yes, exactly." That sounded like Weiss, alright. Ruby giggled, continuing to snuggle up with Weiss. She could feel Weiss moving in her arms, which turned out to be so she could hold her as well. That made her smile brightly, happily squeezing her partner. Weiss's skin was always so cool to the touch, which was nice when they were out in the humidity of a spring forest. It was like having a bit of air conditioning she could always take with her. Feeling very content at the moment, she searched out Weiss's lips in the dark, pressing her own against them.

Weiss was more than happy to reciprocate that kiss. She held onto Ruby and closed her eyes, even if there wasn't much she could see with them open anyway. Maybe staying out in the wilderness wasn't where she thrived, but in that moment, it didn't matter. Because to her, wherever Ruby was was where she belonged. That was completely cheesy and undoubtedly cliche, which is why she wouldn't say it out loud. Well, that and it embarrassed her to even think of it. That didn't make it any less true, though. Maybe she'd put it in her vows if and when they got married. That'd be nice.

"I love you, Ruby." She could at least say that. It wasn't hard for her to express those particular feelings anymore. They weren't sleeping in a comfortable bed together, but they were together, and that was what mattered. Maybe not to her back when she would inevitably wake up with it all out of wack, but to her heart it would.

"I love you too! See, I knew this trip would be good, and now you can say you've gone camping for real for the first time!" She nestled her head against Weiss's chest and sighed contently. "The next two days are going to be just as good. I can feel it!" Oh yeah, they were going to be camping all weekend. Well, in that case...

"Pardon me, Ruby. I'm going to go get the keys from Blake."

[socialjusticeartshare]

In Mexico, kidnappings and misery for asylum-seekers waiting in camps for a shot at life in the U.S.

‘It infuriates me. This is a crisis,’ says a Brownsville resident and Iraq vet.

MATAMOROS, Mexico – Edwin Vaquiz’s frustration was rising as the 42-year-old Honduran asylum-seeker passed out supplies from a tent with a hand-lettered “Tienda No. 3” sign. There was little water available for drinking at Store No. 3, but there were two kinds of soap for washing clothes in the dirty Rio Grande. There were few portable toilets, but plenty of toilet paper.

Soon the camp of asylum-seekers would be blanketed in darkness and there would be no security.

“Miserable,” Vaquiz said last week of conditions at the migrant camp where he and his wife and daughter have been waiting for the last five months.

This sprawling camp is one of the most visible signs along the border of how the U.S. asylum process has slowed to a crawl, leaving thousands of people essentially stranded in Mexico, many in danger because of the high crime rate and violent cartels.

The violence in the state of Tamaulipas, where Matamoros sits, has forced about 2,000 asylum-seekers to cluster for protection here at the banks of the Rio Grande and along the Gateway International Bridge into Brownsville in Texas. A former Army nurse here estimates 18 people were kidnapped through October, probably by the dominant criminal group in this region. Then she stopped counting.

Volunteers from around the U.S. — from Dallas and Houston to Florida and Maine — regularly cycle through the border’s camps with food, tents, blankets, jeans, sweat shirts, diapers, toys — and even songs for the children. While the efforts are extraordinary and a patchy organization is slowly emerging, it clearly isn’t enough.

Vaquiz is grateful for the kindness. But what he could really use to protect his family is a battery-powered lamp. That way no one could sneak up on their tent.

Many people here whisper about the dangers. Migrants are taken by the local cartel members and their lookouts, who openly walk into the camp, at any hour, said a Honduran who didn’t want to be identified because he feared for his safety. A Honduran woman who has been at the camp for several months said a man posing as an asylum-seeker within the camp has molested two small girls. “We can’t complain. It’s a mafia and they will come and beat us,” she said.

No one runs the camps. There are no controls for who enters the encampment. Some migrants have clustered their tents on the sidewalks leading to the nearby Gateway International Bridge to be ready if their asylum cases are called, but they’re also hoping for more safety. Passing cars provide a bit of light. But the vast majority of people, hundreds more, have secured space on the tree-lined grounds near the river where the camp has grown. They are the most vulnerable.

“This is one of the worst situations I have been in, merely for the fact there are so few resources and security is so bad,” said Helen Perry, a former Army nurse who now runs operations for the small nonprofit Global Response Management. “We know people are trafficked out of the camps, and kidnapped. … It goes back to not having formal camp management.”

Traditionally, the United Nations refugee agency might be one of the groups that would play a role in organizing and running the place. But danger is keeping the usual help away.

Mike Benavides, a veteran of the Iraq War and a co-founder of the nonprofit Team Brownsville, said much more help is needed.

“It infuriates me. This is a crisis,” Benavides said.

Conditions were more sanitary in Iraq than they are here at this camp, Benavides said. Infectious diarrhea and dehydration are two of the biggest dangers. Recently, children have been coming down with the flu. And there are many pregnancies.

Giovanni Lepri, the deputy representative for Mexico for the U.N. refugee agency, praised Team Brownsville and other volunteers for work he called “amazing.” But they aren’t trained in camp management, he said. The U.N. was focused more on Mexico’s southern border where Mexico’s tiny refugee agency maintains an office, he said. They also opened an office in Monterrey, about four hours west of Matamoros.

Lepri acknowledged that the U.N.’s security advisers warned against opening a permanent office in Matamoros because of the danger in the region, which includes the more dangerous cities of Reynosa and Nuevo Laredo. “Our security unit, which is the U.N. security unit, has recommended for the moment we don’t establish a permanent presence,” Lepri said.

In November, the U.N. began using a mobile unit in the region. The staff sleeps on the U.S. side of the border, Lepri said.

The U.S. State Department has issued its harshest no-travel warning for the Mexican border state of Tamaulipas – a level 4 warning like the ones in war-torn Syria and Somalia.

More than 56,000 asylum-seekers who have made it to the U.S. border from Central America and other places have been sent back to Mexico by U.S. authorities to await the processing of their cases under what the Trump administration calls the Migration Protection Protocols. The policy was phased in earlier this year; in the past, once asylum-seekers got to the U.S., they would await the outcome of their cases in the States.

Most asylum-seekers wait in Mexico in the haphazard camps. Those with more money might rent apartments — but that can make them even more vulnerable to gangs.

Kidnapping is rampant in Matamoros, said immigration attorney Charlene D’Cruz, who runs a Lawyers for Good Government resource center near the camp. Asylum-seekers expect to be kidnapped and the risk increases the longer they stay.

“The resignation to die is how we dehumanize them,” the attorney said.

Life in the camp

In the stench of the camp, families have begun building their own ovens with mud bricks. They cut wood branches from trees for fires. And the smoke covers the smell of feces.

In a country of music-lovers, there is no music here. Muffled conversations come from inside tents. Sometimes, children can be heard laughing, but even that is infrequent.

Some families have been given pallets to place their tents on in case of rain. Others string clothes lines among the trees or place laundered clothes on fuchsia-flowering bougainvillea bushes near the entry lanes into Texas.

Last Sunday at the camp, some of the children received an early Christmas with gifts from a Brownsville group called Angry Tias y Abuelas of the Rio Grande Valley. The volunteers wrapped the gifts and tagged them with the names of children they saw regularly.

Others in the group prepared to read to the children, who in a normal world would be in school. There are geography lessons with an emphasis on the countries of origin of the migrating families. And lessons on the colors of the rainbow.

“Apurate,” shouted a skinny little girl to a smaller companion. “Apurate!” Hurry up, the little school is about to start, she urged.

On another night, a Houston volunteer plopped herself on the sidewalk to read to children a story from a picture book illustrated with Monarch butterflies, a symbol of migration.

“You are very valiant. You are so strong. Your journey is a miracle. I admire you,” she told the children in Spanish.

Then, she explained, “That’s what the butterfly says because they have flown so far.”

A Houston volunteer (right) reads to a group of asylum-seeking children by the Gateway International Bridge in Matamoros, Mexico, on Dec. 14, 2019.  (Lynda M. Gonzalez / Staff Photographer)

Another group of boys played checkers, using bottle caps made of creamy white and red plastic.

Other boys sat comfortably on flattened cardboard that covered the powdery dirt. They pushed their plastic green dinosaurs through a kingdom of the imagination. Then a child hit another on the head. Wails began. A father came to scold the group.

Another day, a toddler in a diaper waddled toward a hammock in stripes of blue, purple, yellow and red. But he was sullen. Vaquiz, the Honduran, stroked his puffy cheeks and called him “Donald Trump.” Why? “Because the child is always angry,” the Honduran said.

Grasp as they might for a normal childhood and a normal world, the children’s anxiety levels are high, medical doctor and volunteer Anjali Niyogi said. Some seem traumatized by the violence they fled in their home countries — and some are traumatized by the dangers within the camp.

“We see a lot of depression, anxiety, PTSD,” said Niyogi, who teaches at Tulane University School of Medicine in New Orleans.

Some children in the camp are even emotionless, so strong is their depression, the doctor said. “Moms tell me, ‘He just stopped eating.’ “

Recently, fierce dust storms swept through the camp, making it difficult to see until the wind died down. The doctor fears fecal matter has been scooped up into the air and children will be most susceptible to health risks.

The asylum program

Every weekday, immigrants’ names will come up for hearings in the U.S. immigration courts near the international bridge. Hearings are held in tent courts in Brownsville. Asylum-seekers cross into the U.S., and are sent back to wait in Mexico unless their asylum cases are advanced so that they can formally enter the U.S.

In Brownsville, hearings under new program began in September. The asylum caseloads there have rapidly made this the border’s second-busiest area for Border Patrol apprehensions through November, according to the Syracuse University nonprofit Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse, or TRAC.

Already, through November, a fourth of all Migrant Protection Protocol asylum cases — nearly 14,000 — are pending here, TRAC data shows. About 16,400 cases are pending in the El Paso area.

“How can we really say that somebody can make a free choice to continue an asylum claim in the U.S., when they have to spend several months ... risking to be kidnapped or worse?” said Lepri, the U.N. representative.

Mexicans, too, are showing up in the camps. An increasing number of them are mostly indigenous Tzotzil Mayan people from the southernmost state of Chiapas. About a dozen Chiapans told The Dallas Morning News about a resurgence in violence there related to decades-old oppression against their people, including the murder of family members and the seizure of their land and homes.

Under U.S. asylum law, a well-founded fear of persecution because of race or nationality would be acceptable grounds for an application.

But a man from Chiapas who wanted to be identified only as Osiel said, “The guard just told us that asylum has been shut down. We are suffering here,” he said.

“We want to know if there is still asylum. If not, we don’t want to be here suffering,” he said.

Nearby, Gloria, a Honduran woman, said some parents are so worried about lengthy waits at the camp that they’ve sent their children alone across the border. “At times, it is the only exit one has,” she explained.

Jodi Goodwin, a Harlingen immigration attorney, said she faces difficult choices in what she tells asylum-seekers. Still, she persists in giving sidewalk workshops near the bridge to let them know their rights, or threading them into the volunteer network of Lawyers for Good Government.

They are like the kid with his finger in the dike. Only 4 percent of immigrants in the Migrant Protection Protocols program are represented by lawyers, according to TRAC.

What does Goodwin tell an immigrant who feels hopeless?

Sometimes it’s, “You got to fight and fight to the end.” But other times, she says she is brutally honest.

“Why sit here in squalor without the ability to minimally take care of your family for a case that I can tell you right now has zero chance of winning,” she explained.

Goodwin fears that the attorneys’ work will get only more difficult in January when asylum cases will be partially transferred to judges who sit in a year-old immigration court center in Fort Worth, which handles cases by video conference. Government attorneys are in another courtroom in another city and immigrants can be in yet-another location.

“It is so messed up,” Goodwin said. “This is not how you practice law.”

Caught amid the camp squalor, the danger and the tent court system, many immigrants aren’t showing up for their asylum hearings. TRAC found that of those required to wait in Mexico, about half failed to show up for a hearing. By comparison, 9 out of 10 immigrants who are allowed to remain in the U.S. while their cases are adjudicated attend every court hearing.

Trying to help

Into this misery flows charity aid – everything from beef burritos and chicken soup, sliced oranges and cashews, powder milk and plastic buckets for hauling water of dubious quality to volunteer medical teams. Late last week, a huge water purification system was being tested thanks to a charity donation from a group called the Planet Water Foundation. 

“We need to build everything to U.N. standards so, should the U.N. show up, all this will stay,” said Blake Davis, a volunteer with Global Response Management. The paramedic from Maine was overseeing the prize donation of the water purification system, hoping it would make a significant change in the bleakness and sickness at the camp.

Businesses, veteran charities and foundations, and some freshly formed nonprofits all lend assistance. Among them are Samaritan’s Purse, Church World Service, Physicians for Human Rights, Good Neighbor Settlement House, Manos Juntas of the Mexican Methodist Church, Lawyers for Good Government, and an anonymous T-Mobile manager who forgave a huge bill run up when migrants at the Brownsville shelter called family in Central America instead of the U.S.

Cassie Stewart, a former child protection social worker, started her nonprofit Rio Valley Relief Project during the summer of 2018 when she was shocked by seeing migrant parents separated from their children, causing global protest. Stewart began collecting donations, clothes, powdered milk, and diapers for long drives to a respite center run by Catholic Charities of the Rio Grande Valley.

Sometimes, she would bring along her husband, immigration lawyer Daniel Stewart, who inspired her with stories about his work.

This night, the Rio Valley Relief Project distributed 1,000 beef tamales and 850 bean burritos as the sun set in hues of pink and orange. Cassie Stewart’s group spent hours in the Brownsville kitchen of the nonprofit Good Neighbor Settlement House, where asylum-seekers lucky enough to pass U.S. review can shower, get new clothes and move on to their next destination.

Later, a slow-moving man dressed in soiled clothes shuffled along the sidewalk to ask if there was any comida left. No, Stewart quickly said. Then, the Dallas woman took note of his brown eyes, his small, thin frame. She told him to wait.

Stewart grabbed the last canister of cashews and almonds and poured a mound on a white paper plate with some dried mangoes.

The man took the plate and disappeared into the indigo night.

Article Source

[pixiealtaira]

Into The Woods

Here it is... day 15 of Kurtoberfest...2016

It is not Blaine friendly, it is a break-up fic.  It features the Warblers and Elliot.

Rated M...but probably doesn’t need that high a rating.

Kurt centric

Summary: Kurt is Lost In The Woods.

 In to The Woods (not posted)

Kurt Hummel was lost in the woods.  At least that is what his Facebook page was shouting. He’d already called his dad and informed him he wasn’t ‘lost’ lost in the woods, but he was…in a manner of speaking…lost in the woods.

Kurt Hummel was lost in the woods with a tent and air mattress, three sleeping bags, several blankets and two pillows, plenty of clothing, a cook stove so he didn’t have to build a fire, a cooler full of food, a cooler which was filled with bottled water, a generator that he peddled on which he could make enough power with to charge his laptop, cell phone and the lantern he used as his main light source at night.  He had a very comfy camp chair and a portable table.  He had his digital camera and several novels he’d been waiting to read until he’d had enough of a school break to do so.  He had notebooks and pencils and even a sketchpad and watercolors, watercolor paper, tape and a great selection of paintbrushes. He had his laptop and several days’ worth of downloaded movies, his old IPod classic which held music and only music and enough music to listen to all week almost without repeating a single song.

He had a working cellphone, cell phone service and he even had internet since he’d set his phone up as a Wi-Fi hotspot.

He was perfectly content to remain lost in the woods for the rest of the godawful ‘camping’ vacation…which was three more days.

It started with a magazine article and a desire to try to ‘fix’ his relationship with Blaine.

He and Blaine could not live together. It seriously was as simple as that.  The evening Blaine had moved back in, within hours of sending Rachel off, Blaine started fussing about the loft. He wanted to redo the book shelves, he wanted the bathroom reorganized. Heck, in the bathroom he wanted to come up with the money needed to have the bathroom renovated so the toilet and sink were in ‘better’ spots for Blaine’s use, regardless of Kurt’s insistence he would have to ask the landlord about that in the first place and they were never going to come up with the money considering a certain someone had no steady job.  Blaine needed things done his way in the kitchen, even though he used it less than Kurt. It only got worse when Kurt spoke about school.  Kurt understood that’s June’s showcase took a lot of time and that just because it happened didn’t mean it was completely over and Blaine could just start ignoring her.  Kurt pointed out that Blaine still had classes to attend and that he hadn’t thought Blaine skipping them when preparing for the showcase was a good idea to start off with and Blaine certainly should not keep skipping them when he wasn’t working towards an actual event.

Kurt was reminded that he wasn’t the boss of Blaine and that Blaine could do what he wanted.  Fine and dandy, however, the tantrum tossed when Kurt refused to skip class and meet up for an afternoon of gaming with Sam while Sam was in town finishing up paperwork at the model agency was uncalled for and ridiculous.  The semi silent treatment…Blaine refused to speak to Kurt when Kurt spoke but Blaine was happy to tell Kurt about how mean Kurt was acting and how much he had hurt Sam’s feelings (Kurt hadn’t, he’d texted an apology to Sam with the explanation that Kurt could not miss his dance class and that he’d buy Sam dinner when he was in Lima next and Sam said he was fine with it) so long as Kurt just sat and took it and didn’t dare speak back…was annoying and irritating.

Then there was the wedding crap.  Kurt told Blaine the hour after they got engaged that he was NOT getting married until he had finished university...and maybe even landed a full time serious job in his fields of choice.  It was NOT happening.  Kurt heard nothing different from Blaine about it either.  Until it passed a year of being engaged and all of a sudden Blaine kept coming and telling him about potential sites and potential caters and asking for him to make a firm decision on colors and a guest list.  Kurt had never even mentioned colors or a guest list, ever…not to even make a non-firm comment. Kurt’s reminder that he still had two more years at least and maybe more before even THINKING about a wedding seemed to not be heard…at all…not any of the 500 or more times he said it. (Neither did Kurt’s reminder that KURT had his wedding planned down to the number of filler flowers in the table displays, thank you very much…so Blaine needed to back off and chill out because so far nothing Blaine had brought forward would ever work even in whatever dream reality Blaine was working under. When Kurt decided that it was time for a wedding, Kurt would then present his fiancé with five choices and after that make five calls and they would be ready to go.  That had been yelled the fourteenth time Blaine asked Kurt if he thought Forest Green and Peach would be good for wedding colors. )

All that added with the fights about shoes and clothing and picking up after one’s self and TV choices and movies and gaming and food choices and washing dishes and chores and jobs and rugs and towels and bathroom timing and personal hygiene and good lord everything…Kurt and Blaine were not at a good spot coming up towards the end of the semester.

NYADA’s last day for underclassman was the 16th of May.  NYADA’s seniors walked the 10th, with all that week before dedicated to the seniors presenting their final projects and stuff and the seniors taking all their finals for non-presentation classes.  It was a dead week for the rest of the campus…it was supposed to be used to study for finals and any presentations they might have during their finals week…unless you were involved in a seniors project.  Kurt was not during the end of his second year…or rather his job had already been done and he wasn’t needed on campus. Furthermore, he had already presented for three classes, finished and turned in his huge paper for one class, was complete and ready to present in two classes and didn’t need much more studying for his finals in the rest. To top it all off, he’d taken off the whole of dead week from all jobs, because the year before during dead week Kurt had been buried under so much work it had not been funny. He had just neglected (or blocked) to remember why he’d been so far behind and working so hard to catch up.

When Kurt came home on the last day of April, Blaine was already home.  He was sprawled out on the couch and had his face buried in some sort of magazine.  Kurt hung up his bag and coat, pulled off his boots, and went to sit by him and turn on some TV until he had to move again…or make dinner, even though it was Blaine’s night to feed them.

“Hey Kurt,” Blaine said as he noticed the TV go on. “You should read this article.  I bet we could get some ideas on how you could fix our relationship.”

“We could certainly use some help, but I’m sure a therapist would be a better option than a magazine article.”  Kurt replied.

“I told you, I’m not going to therapy.  It is a waste of time. My mother says it has not helped one single bit for either her or my dad, so I doubt it would help us.”

“Well, you do have to sort of show up for it to help…” Kurt said under his breath. Louder Kurt said, “So what does the article say?”

“It talks about activities couples can do together to reconnect and get back into tune with each other.  We should go camping!  It says camping allows couples to rely on each other and talk to each other without distractions.  We could go before finals.  We should totally do the full week!”

“Don’t you need to study and finish up projects?”  Kurt asked.

“Ok…we’ll come home late Friday.  I’ll have the whole weekend.  We can leave this Friday, right after your morning class.”

“I have a presentation to give at my 1pm class.”

“Ok…right after that.” Blaine said bouncing on the couch.

“Is it even all the way thawed out anywhere?”  Kurt asked.

“Thawed? I guess.  It’ll be great!  I know the perfect place to head off to! You get everything together and I’ll get the place set up.  Oh…we’ll need to rent a car.”

Blaine’s confusion at the word thawed should have been the first clue that he and Kurt didn’t have the same idea of camping.  That and the word car.

“Leave that to me as well, Dad gave me the number to some of his friends.” Kurt said.

Had Kurt thought about things for much longer, instead of simply going into planning mode, he probably should have figured out that Blaine’s idea of camping and Kurt’s idea of camping were very much two different things. Except, Kurt rather liked the idea of camping, of peace and nature and relaxing, so he didn’t think about it long and just jumped into planning mode.

Kurt called one of his dad’s friends the next day, who rented him a SUV since he wasn’t sure where they were going camping and he might need a 4wheel drive. Kurt also called NYADA’s student recreation center and found out that they did rent out tents and camping gear, also if he chose to buy they gave him the name of three sporting goods shops who gave tremendous students discounts.  Kurt rented the tent and camp stove with a full propane tank, but when they showed him the pedal powered generator and external batteries to be charged and used with laptops and other larger items, Kurt went to the sporting goods shop and bought that (he’d already bought sleeping bags after their snowed in day). He bought the type of camp food that was like military MREs, but which he hoped tasted a bit better…although some of the MREs his dad forced down him when he was younger weren’t too bad. He bought other food too…hot dogs(which were only edible outside cooked over an open fire) and potatoes for a fry-up, marshmallows and eggs, some good fish that was frozen, onions and peppers and other things to make tinfoil dinners. He even gave into nostalgia and bought spaghetti circles and meatballs and canned raviolis and hot chocolate packets and instant oatmeal. He broke down and bought sodas, not just his Diet Coke, but fun root beers and other fruity sodas in bottles and regular cans of Cokes and Pepsis and Sprites. He found a good deep pot for Dutch-oven cooking and bought the makings for peach cobbler and a good outdoor fry pan that could sit over open flames or on a camp stove, he added a smaller pot and camping utensils and camping dishes for himself and Blaine that he could wash but he wouldn’t have to risk his matching place settings at home. He bought two coolers and four of the reusable ice packs to keep frozen food frozen for a decent amount of time. He bought enough bottled water to cook with and drink and even wash their hands and face with for a whole week. And, since Kurt did not trust the weather, he also bought long-johns, silk and thermal and two pairs of fleece lined jeans.  He bought two cable knit sweaters...one wool and one cotton, two fleece pull overs, a good multi-layer hooded waterproof coat which wasn’t too bulky to be comfortable, good gloves which included fingertips with which he could use his phone, nice lined boots and lots of good thick socks…oh, and a few hats.  He bought a hiking pack which he could put all his clothing and some food in, a compass and a good fire starting kit, a first aid kit that was geared towards outdoor recreation use but would be wonderful to add to the loft, and a wonderful water bottle/canteen which he couldn’t wait to take jogging with him when the whole camping thing was done.  He had never been so glad a store stayed open till 9pm in all his life.   When he got back to the loft, Blaine wasn’t there…he’d left a note saying he was out with some friends and that he’d be ready for Kurt to pick him up at three and could Kurt have the car gassed up and ready to go at the time as well.

Kurt spent the night washing clothes and getting everything ready for the next day. He charged all his devices; he loaded movies and games on the laptop.  He pulled out board games and card games and books to read. He pulled out his travel art box, and filled it with pencils, watercolor paints, brushes, and his watercolor paper pad and his sketch pad.  He found the extra SD cards for his camera and the extra battery pack and made sure it was charged.  He packed extra notebooks.  He packed a ‘goody bag’, just in case Blaine’s bonding activity ideas were more on the physical side.  He pulled out the three sleeping bags he’d bought after they were snowed in, the extra blankets and the pillows that could travel and their air mattress (bought when Sam was living there at the loft).  He packed everything into the SUV except the stuff he wanted to move to the SUV last minute.  

He finished packing as soon as he got done with his dance class, where everyone presented their pieces so that Miss July could go somewhere right after she sat through graduation. Kurt was exhausted but he thought he nailed it, which was good.  Blaine wasn’t home yet and so Kurt finished packing and had everything in the car ready. Blaine was dropped off by someone at 2:45 and ran up to the loft just in time to meet Kurt who was bringing down his art box and the last sack of groceries (seasonings and stuff from their own kitchen).

“Kurt as soon as you put that in come help me bring my stuff down and then we can be off!” Blaine yelled.

When Kurt got back up to the loft, Blaine handed Kurt a large duffel bag. Kurt locked up as Blaine carried down a large paper sack full of some sort of bottles and his travel cosmetics case. Blaine took those two items with him into the front of the SUV and Kurt packed his bag into the back.

“God, this car is huge! I don’t see why you thought we needed something so big.” Blaine complained as Kurt got into the driver’s seat. Once again, Kurt should have considered that Blaine’s surprise should have been a clue to his idea of camping.

“I didn’t know where we were going so Dad’s friend thought we might need 4wheel drive.” Kurt said.

Blaine nodded. “We might, I didn’t ask.  It’ll take about five hours to get there once we get out of the city, so we’d better head now.  Take I-80 until you get to almost Watkin’s Glen.  There might be tolls. Wake me at Binghamton if I’m not awake by then…or if you stop for food.”

Then Blaine popped his head phones in and leaned his head against the window.  He was snoring before they were even out of the neighborhood. Kurt popped his music in and settled in for the drive, singing along as he drove north.  Kurt stopped for food without waking Blaine.

He woke Blaine up when he was supposed to, and they stopped for dinner at a fast food drive-thru.  Blaine then spent the next half hour chattering about presentations and how annoying it was they were all needing to be done the week of finals.

“Why didn’t you take the option of presenting early?” Kurt asked.

“Why would I do that?” Blaine asked back.

“Because it allows you to space yourself better?”

“But it makes it so you don’t get as much time as everyone else to complete stuff.” Blaine said.

“Well, you do…I mean I know in three of those six classes you share with me the paper or presentation project is in the syllabus and so you’ve had since the start of the semester to work on it if you wanted to.  If I chose to work on it early and have it down and ready to present early I don’t see how I’ve lost time.  I just used it to my advantage.”

“But you could have done more or added more or changed things over the next week or so!” Blaine exclaimed.

“Why would I need to if I already have it done?” Kurt asked back.

Blaine just grumbled and glared at him.

“When you get to the turn off to go to the state park, take it and drive along the road you’d take to get to the back way into the camp grounds.”

“I’ve never been up here Blaine, I don’t understand where you want me to go.” Kurt said.

“There is a sign for a bed and breakfast and an inn…take that exit and follow along.  We aren’t going that far though.”

Kurt sighed. “Just tell me when to turn Blaine.”

Blaine snorted and played on his phone and Kurt drove until Blaine told him to turn.  Then Blaine started paying close attention to the road.

“See that turn right up there…the big open gate.  Turn there.” Blaine said.

Kurt turned, frowning.  

He followed the paved road up and around a bend and to the front of a large lodge thing.  He should have known. Blaine reached over and blasted the horn and guys spilled out the front.

Wes and David led the wave of boys who spilled out. Kurt noticed Jeff and Nick as well, and thought he might have seen a few others around somewhere…school, callbacks, or maybe even Dalton.

Blaine jumped out of the SUV and Kurt let his head fall forward against the steering wheel.  He sighed and got out of the car, watching as Blaine was passed from group to group for hugs and high fives and chest bumps and the whole nine yards.

“Kurt! I’m so glad Blaine talked you into camping with us!” Wes shouted, so Kurt could hear him over the noise the other guys were making.  “There is a fire out back and we’ve already set out drinks.  There is still some chowder on the stove if you haven’t eaten yet. Richards will be up later to clear it away, but he’ll leave snacks out, so don’t worry if you’re not hungry now. Would you like to take your bags up before you head out back?”

Kurt watched as Blaine draped his arm around a guy Kurt wasn’t familiar with and moved with the group of boys towards they backyard.

“I guess I’d better.” Kurt said.  He reached in and grabbed Blaine’s duffel bag and his backpack, giving the rest of the gear in the back a longing look. David was waiting for him instead of Wes.

David showed Kurt a room with double bed. “Wes got called to see if Richards would leave out stuff to make s’mores with. You lucked out; Blaine won the flip for this guest room.  Jeff was put out because he and Nick are one of the bunk rooms and he has to share with Lenny.”    

Kurt smiled.  He dropped off the bags and followed David out towards the back through the house, taking note of where everything was.

Half an hour later he went back into the kitchen for some soup.  Blaine hadn’t even acknowledged Kurt since they pulled up other than to get the keys so he could get his stuff from the front seats where he’d left it and then bring the keys back to Kurt.

Jeff wandered in a bit later, to see Kurt rinsing out his bowl.

“You don’t have to do that.  Richards is here.  He’ll come wash up later.”  Jeff said.

“I feel better if I do.” Kurt said.  

He listened to Jeff talk about his classes and clubs he was involved in.  He hadn’t realized Jeff and Nick were both at NYU and that several others they went to school with were at Columbia.

“Are you going to shoot with us tomorrow?” Jeff finally asked.

“Shoot?” Kurt asked.

“Wes has set up the archery range, but he’s also got trap shooting set up.”

“I haven’t ever done that.” Kurt said.

Jeff looked at him oddly. “Have you ever shot a gun?”

Kurt snorted.

“We go hunting.” Kurt simply said.

“Oh. I bet you could come shooting with us then. Of course if you don’t want to the hot tubs are both filled and the courts are set up and there is always gaming and TV in the house.  The pool isn’t filled though. This is the week the official pool cleaners come out and scrub it so it needed to be empty for that.”

Kurt just nodded.

“We should go see if they’ve started telling scary stories yet!” Jeff said, dragging Kurt back out to the yard.

Kurt watched as the guys told stories and drank and Blaine talked and chatted with everyone but him, leaning in and snuggling in to random guys all night. Blaine spent a good amount of time with two blonds in particular, both darker blonds than either Sam or Adam, but blonds none the less. Kurt mostly hung with Jeff, while Nick seemed to be having it out with a red headed man about the amount of alcohol he was consuming.

Kurt went up to bed at 1am.

He was one of four out of 25 up before 10am.  Wes was up working on some school work and two guys Kurt didn’t know, who ended up friends of David’s from Yale, were out in one of the hot tubs.

Richards was a very nice man in his early 50s who took care of the lodge throughout the year and stayed to do all the work needed when people were at the lodge.  He made a mean coffee cake and had no problem with Kurt making himself an omelet.

Richards showed Kurt the ATVs, all with keys ready so that they could be used, the dirt bikes and gear and the trails and explained how far back they could go before running into other people’s property or into the state forest.  There were a lot of woods out back and to the north of the house that Wes’ family owned.  He was warned not to get lost.

Blaine was finally awake around noon and Kurt joined him for lunch, along with most the rest of the guys.

Jeff bounded up to Kurt and Blaine (and the two blonds and a dark haired man whose hair was actually a mess of ringlets).

“We are going to the range this afternoon to shoot.  Wes decided he wanted to do skeet shooting and we don’t have the proper set up here for that.  Do you still want to come?” Jeff asked.

“Sure,” Kurt said.

Blaine looked at the two blonds who shook their heads and then answered. “I think I’ll stay here. I’m not big on shooting.”

Jeff looked at Blaine weird. “You love shooting with us.”

“I just think I’ll stay, but Kurt should definitely go if he wants.”

Kurt sighed and rolled his eyes.  “I’ll follow you guys. When are we leaving?”

“We are heading out at 2.” Jeff answered and then waved as he bounded off to the next bunch of guys to see who was going.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay, Blaine?” Kurt asked.

“I’ll be fine.  I’ll hang with Ricky and Edwin. I doubt you knew them; they both graduated my first year at Dalton.  Ricky was the head of the Warblers council before Wes, he served with Wes and Wes’ cousin Lance,” the blond wearing the man bun waved, “and Edwin was fencing champion.  That’s why I knew all about fencing when we got to stage fighting class…I use to watch Edwin fence all the time.”

Kurt smiled while struggling to keep his snort in.  Blaine had been called out over and over and over for improper fencing during class, and ignored the teacher every time…insisting he knew the real rules. Kurt hadn’t interfered with that mess. Blaine and the professor’s animosity towards each other had become legendary and Kurt wanted no part in it. He and Blaine had not been paired since the fiasco that occurred the week he’d been able to participate again in class after being bashed in the head, so it was just easier to stay out of the fuss and focus on class and not upsetting Blaine by paying too much attention to any specific other people in class.

“I’m sure you’ll have fun, then.” Kurt said.

“Are you sure you’ll be ok, Kurt?” Edwin asked. “Don’t let Jeff bully you into shooting if you don’t want to.  Blaine has told us all about how you aren’t into things like sports and horror movies and such and prefer clothes and fashion and musicals.”

“Really now?” Kurt asked, smiling the type of smile that would have warned Santana and Rachel he wasn’t happy.  Blaine seemed not to notice.

“I’m sure we could find you some of the movies you’d like,” Ricky said. “Wes has girl cousins who come up here to the cabin every summer.  Most the movies pulled out for the week are horror or action movies, you know…guys films…though, sorry.  I’m sure you’ll have time to watch other things though when we are doing the tournament video games later today and tomorrow.  There is a TV in the back room past the gym equipment since we use the TV room, the theater and the gaming room for tournaments, but it’s hooked up to a DVD player and the satellite.  Patrick and Felix are really the only ones who don’t participate in the tourney. Felix totally would but his brain won’t let him be in the room with video games for long.”

“I’ll be fine, I’m sure.” Kurt said.

“Felix is the boy who looks like a clone of David.” Blaine said.  “Patrick is the red head without the huge mass of freckles.  Neil has the freckles.”

“Thanks, Blaine. Did I see Conner last night?” Kurt asked.  Conner was one of the non-warblers Kurt had been friendly with when at Dalton.  Blaine had hated him since.  Kurt had always thought it hilarious that Blaine hadn’t wanted to date him or notice Kurt’s crush on him but had bristled up like a dog protecting its bone whenever Kurt spoke with Conner.

Blaine growled. “Yes, he’s here with his boyfriend, Jake.”

“Cool, I’ll have to find him and catch up later.” Kurt said.

“Kurt, he is very serious about Jake.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Yes, Blaine. I’m sure he is.”  Kurt fiddled with the ring on his finger.   He and Conner had never been like that anyway…Conner wasn’t even out at the time to anyone and Kurt was who he’d approached about things. Kurt had once asked why he didn’t talk to Blaine and Conner had answered that he knew Blaine couldn’t keep a secret. Kurt had just nodded. “Who was the guy Nick was tal…”

“Come on, Blaine. Let’s go see if they’ve started the after lunch movie!” the dark haired guy said as he pulled Blaine towards the huge theater room that Kurt had seen on the way to the kitchen.

“Have fun later, Kurt!” Blaine yelled as he bounced after the others.

Kurt sighed at his questioning being interrupted. He went out to check out the trails in the woods to the north of the house.  He’d at least get hiking into his foiled camping trip.

Ten minutes of slow wandering into the woods on the largest trail and he could no longer hear the boys screaming and yelling at each other outside where they were playing basketball and tennis.  Five minutes after that several game trails broke off the path and Kurt decided to take one of those to see where it led.

It was a short trail, not more than about 100 to 200 steps. It led to a lovely clearing with a brook running through the back of it and wildflowers peeking through the carpet of old fallen leaves.  There were some great trees surrounding the clearing, huge green leaves making the light coming through dapple over the few evergreens.  Kurt brushed the leaves away, finding the ground mostly dirt under a copse of evergreens and birch and giving away to green grass which was trying to fight the dead leaves.

He made plans to come out the next day with his sketch book and pencils and possibly the camera before heading back to the house so he didn’t miss the trip to the shooting range.

It wasn’t all that late when Kurt got back, so he joined Jeff and Nick at the archery set up at the far end of the lawn.  He didn’t see Blaine anywhere.

Using the bows Wes had for everyone’s use was fun, but Kurt missed his own. When he complained Nick teased him.

“What,” Kurt said. “My dad’s cousin was ecstatic when he learned of my interest in bows.  Granted it started because I watched Robin Hood, but it was something he could work with in making a connection, you know. So when I outgrew my first bow, he took me and had a friend make me a longbow I could hunt with but would also look cool and be useful as a prop.  I also have a hand crafted recurve and he is trying to convince me to come to the dark-side and join his love of cross-bows.”

“You’ve hunted with a bow?” Nick asked.

“I’ve gone bow hunting.” Kurt said. “I try not to actually hit anything and my dad and his cousin’s family all promise not to tease me too much when I cry as they field dress Bambi.”

Jeff had to sit down because he was laughing so hard.

“You should have joined the archery team at Dalton.” Jeff said.

Kurt snorted. “Do you remember what happened when Drew’s tire went flat?”

Nick snorted.

“The day at the Lima Bean?” Jeff said.

“Yeah.  I offered to fix it and Blaine got all ‘You can’t do that. You don’t even like sports. You’ll mess up your hands. You’ll mess up Drew’s car. You’ll mess up your uniform. What makes you think you could actually fix a car?’ condescending about it, so I just called someone because Drew didn’t even know who usually looked after his car.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Nick said.

“I decided there that if Blaine wanted this fairy prince idea of me then who was I to ruin it?  He wasn’t listening to anything contrary to it anyway, why force the issue? I joined badminton as my sport, although I admit if the ballroom dance team had had an opening I might have considered that. I steered clear of those sports that Blaine considered too much for my delicate little self and just let it be.”

“So, you could have changed the tire?” Jeff asked.

“Jeff, my dad is a mechanic. We own Hummel’s Tires and Lube. I’ve known how to change a tire since I was 8…by myself for the most part.”

Nick laughed.

“But, Blaine says you work as a singing waiter.” Jeff said.

“I like that job.  I also work at Vogue.com.   My choice of jobs is one of those just because I can do it doesn’t mean I always want to do it things.” Kurt said.

Wes called them to head off before anyone could say anything more.

To Kurt’s surprise, there were 18 guys heading to the shooting range and two of the others had headed into town to pick up something for Wes.  Wes said the others were staying behind to work on projects and stuff for school.

Kurt worried Blaine would be bored, but decided to stick it out for a while.  He stayed about an hour, hitting about 2/3s of the clay discs during his turns.  He couldn’t call the time spent at the range a loss though; he’d spoken to Conner and met his Jake, who could not have been a better match for Conner if Kurt had been able to manufacture a boy for him.  He made plans to see them during the summer.  They were both at Yale.  He spoke and joked with Jeff and Nick some more.  He got to hang with David a bit, who oddly enough was not hanging with Wes as much as Kurt expected. It was great but he was still worried. He told Wes he was heading back to the house and waved goodbye to Nick and Jeff and David.

Kurt parked off to the side so others could get in and out easier when he got to the house and then headed in.   He pulled the SUV up off to the side of the trail he’d hiked down earlier.  He waved to Richards, who looked like he was starting dinner, as he entered into the kitchen and then went hunting to find Blaine.

Blaine wasn’t in the theater room.  Some horror film was playing, but Kurt didn’t see anyone in the room watching it.  He found one of the guys who’d been hanging around Jeff the night before in what Kurt had declared the library, surrounded by books and typing as fast as his fingers could fly.

The dark haired kid and Ricky were located in one of the Hot Tubs. Kurt saw them as he passed by and headed towards the game room.

The game room was empty, the inside gym was empty, the music room was empty. The laundry room was empty as was the formal dining room, the mud room, and the Kitchen…except for Richards. Kurt sighed and went to their room to get his IPod and go relax in the library with the guy working on his school work.

Their room wasn’t empty. The door wasn’t even shut.

Blaine was on the bed riding Edwin with more gusto than he’d ever shown while having sex with Kurt, and Edwin was calling him all sort of pettish type names that Blaine was simply eating up.  The kind Blaine got upset at Kurt for using.

Kurt turned and headed down the stairs to the kitchen and Richards’ peaceful presence.

“So,” Kurt said after watching the man for a while. “Are there any actual rules about doing actual camping on the property?”

“As far as I know, no one has ever considered it,” Richards said.

Kurt nodded.

“But you know of no rules against it?” Kurt asked.

“There are no tents or anything around.”

Kurt nodded. He headed outside to the trail he took earlier.  It was big enough for the ATV until the game trail.  Kurt pulled the ATV to the back of the SUV and went to the garage to swipe a few bungie cords.  He loaded the two coolers and the propane tank first and drove them to the game trail, unloading them and dragging them down the game trail until he reached the clearing. He drove back to the SUV and loaded the camp stove, the tent and a normal camp chair and the camp table. He drove those out to the game trail and took them one by one into the clearing.  He headed back to the house and wandered into the Kitchen again, asking Richards if he knew when the other boys would be back.

Wes had called and told Richards they’d be back in about an hour and to have snacks ready.  Kurt nodded and stayed to help make snacks, grabbing a few mini quiches before heading back out the door when Richards turned his attention towards dinner again.

Kurt loaded a tarp from the garage onto the ATV and sat the air mattress, the generator, the sleeping bags, blankets and pillows onto the tarp. He added the camp chair that reclined somewhat and had a foot rest to his pile. He loaded his art box and the bag of stuff from the kitchen, and finally the box with all the cooking and camping stuff he’d packed. He tossed the messenger bag with his laptop and camera in it over his shoulder and took off one more time down the trail.

After he moved everything into the clearing he’d tucked the messenger bag into the tarp bundle, secured with the bungee cords, and road back to the house.  He headed into the theater room and started a new movie, fast forwarding it to about 40 minutes into the movie.  He’d seen Men In Black enough to not have to worry about missing out on anything.

Jeff and Nick’s voices carried and Kurt hopped up and headed out to see the guys who’d just got back. Nick was once again having an animated discussion with a red head, but not either mentioned by Blaine. Jeff was looking a bit worried, but noticed Kurt and waved. Blaine and Edwin and Ricky and the dark haired guy were all in the Hot Tubs and Kurt made sure to wave as he went around back with the group coming in from shooting.

“Wes,” Kurt said siding up to him, “I’m going to go in and lay down.  I forgot to wear the earplugs while out at the range and have given myself a headache.”

Wes waved and nodded. “If you miss dinner, there is always food in the fridge.”

Kurt smiled and nodded to him.  Then he went up to the room and packed the few things he’d taken out back into the backpack and took the backpack downstairs, tucking it into the garage against the wall.

He went into the kitchen and grabbed more snacks and stuffed them into a baggie and grabbed some pain meds and a bottle of water. He waved to Richards. He went down the hall towards the stairs and the rooms, then turned back and ducked out a side door.

He fetched the backpack from the garage and ran to the trail, then happily and cheerfully hiked his way into the woods, to the game trail and into the clearing.  He sang as he went.

“Into the woods, It's time to go, It may be all In vain, I know. Into the woods- But even so, I have to take the journey.”

Kurt felt lyrics had never so rightly expressed his feelings.

Kurt spent the next two hours setting up camp to his liking, listening to the Into the Woods soundtrack as he worked. It seemed appropriate. The music made his task seem quicker and less lonely.  Singing made everything feel less tight.  It hadn’t been that way in a while. Kurt tried not to think about why.

Kurt counted his blessing as he set up as well. He had the tent to himself.  He had the air mattress to himself.  He had his pillows.  Everything would stay hair gel free.

He realized he was missing a few items, but by the time he’d decided he wanted those it was nearly dark. Kurt made himself an omelet again and a list of what he needed to get from the house.  He took stock of what he had food wise and what he’d need to make and eat first. He decided to deposit what he didn’t want into the fridge of the house the next day, but without feeding two he would still have plenty to go around.  Besides, first he had to see if he could make it through the night.  It would be the first night camping alone he’d ever done.

Kurt put on warm clothes and kicked back in his deluxe camp chair with one of the books until it got too dark.  Then he curled himself up in the sleeping bag nest he’d created with his laptop and watched one of the movies he’d put on it. When it finished, Kurt curled into his sleeping bag and bawled about everything until he fell asleep.

He slept through the night but woke early the next morning, which was fine by him.  He wanted in and out again with minimal contact.  He located the plastic wrap and wrapped all the meat he’d brought, except the frozen fish and a package of bacon, and tucked it into his emptied messenger bag.

Even hiking back to the house had him up and in the kitchen before anyone else. He tucked the food into the fridge and swiped one of the sleep masks that had been sitting in the cabinet that held the pain meds that Kurt had seen the night before.  Kurt headed into the garage, where he borrowed a pair of hedge clippers which he could also use to cut rope, rope and another tarp and an empty box that wasn’t too large.  He headed back into the kitchen and nicked a pack of frozen imitation crab, some butter cubes, and some fresh green onions and tomatoes and a bunch of fruit…bananas, oranges, grapes, pears, kiwis, berries.  He tucked into his bag some fancy cheese spreads and a box of fancy crackers and a small loaf of French bread.

He noticed a note on the fridge door that mentioned the showers in the pool house were open and people should shower out there as well so there wouldn’t be too much wait.

Kurt skipped back to his camp and then skipped back to the pool house shower with a change of clothes and his personal care items in tow.  The pool house not only had showers, but sinks and toilets as well. It was empty still, although he could now see movement up at the house.

Kurt was showered and back out towards his camp in fifteen minutes.

His day was blissful. He took photos of the brook and trees and flowers and all sorts of stuff, lovely detailed ones.  He was sort of planning out part of Carole’s Christmas gift if he could locate someplace to turn the photos into a calendar.

Kurt also spent time sketching.  He was taking set design over the summer and recalled from listening to those Apples who’d been in the class that those in the class were encouraged to get practice in sketching as many different environments as possible.  He drew flowers and mushrooms and trees and rocks, focusing on details in some pictures and the big picture in others.  He went on small hikes, following little trails here and there around his camp site.  He kept his ears open for anyone yelling his name.

He wrote and he practiced his vocal piece and his drama piece. He let his anger out at a spot on one of his mini hikes where a stream ran through what seemed to be rock walls and that had a lovey echo.  Kurt screamed and yelled and called Blaine all sorts of foul names and shouted curses upon him and his future generations, which was oddly satisfying.

Kurt went back to his camp for lunch, where he ate some of the pilfered cheese and fruit and drank specialty root beers. He packed into the small box all the food items that he couldn’t really use without a campfire…the makings for the Dutch oven peach cobbler, the marshmallows and s’mores ingredients, half the potatoes, the other items he’d bought for tinfoil dinners, and more than half the sodas.  He figured he’d just take those things back to the SUV, and then he wouldn’t have to deal with them at camp.

He settled down to read some more and then checked his email and Facebook and played around on the internet for  a while, plugging the external battery in to the generator and pedaling as it charged so he could watch movies again that night while he used the computer.  He decided to charge his phone while he read in the evening and his IPod while he read the next morning.

He fixed himself a fry-up for dinner, using half the bacon and some potatoes, cheese, onions, eggs and peppers.  He used a grocery bag he’d left stuff in to put the trash in and determined to take it to the house after it got dark.

Kurt dug out the flashlight he’d packed and took the trash, his personal care items, and the box to be taken to the SUV back to the house a bit after dark.  He went to the SUV first and put the box in the back.  Then he ditched the bag of trash in the outside dumpster. He saw a few people milling about, a few guys in the Hot Tubs and a few more by the fire pit.  He spoke to one of the guys he didn’t know who said most were in the house playing a video game tournament.  Kurt nodded. He headed to the pool house to shower and use the bathroom.  There were some things he was not doing in the woods unless he absolutely had to.

On the way out, he nicked several smaller trash bags from the box of the under the sink.

The night was spent peacefully curled up in his tent, without the crying of the night before. He’d put on the sleep mask, as well, so he actually slept a bit late.  Kurt wasn’t too upset about it.  During the night he decided he really wanted to play on one of the dirt bikes, so he figured he’d stick around for a bit and being seen wouldn’t be bad, unless it was Blaine…besides he hadn’t slept in that much.  It wasn’t even 8am yet.

Kurt skipped off to the pool house to do his morning routine…messenger bag in tow with clean clothes and his phone to take selfies on the dirt bike.

He slipped into the kitchen and found breakfast laid out, waffle batter to be put in the waffle makers and the goodies to top waffles with and decided to eat. Two waffles later, and a bowl of sugared peaches in cream later, Kurt skipped out the door to the dirt bikes. He was just barely hearing movement.  He wandered around the bikes and decided on a yellow one that was good height and engine size.  He fetched a helmet and jacket and took off on the bike to the area Richards had said was a bike course.

He was out on the bike for over an hour, going over the trails on the course three times a piece. He decided one of the first things he was doing when he got home was calling his dad and spending a whole lot of time apologizing for not letting him buy him one when he was younger.  He might need to send apology gift baskets to the guys his dad worked with as well.  He might not have become the racer they wanted but he would have loved one of these bikes.

He headed back to the house and met another of those guys he didn’t actually know as he was parking the bike.  After a quick exchange where Kurt gave directions to the bike course and the guy informed Kurt that no one was down at the pool house anymore, Kurt went off and quickly took another shower to remove the dust and sweat.  There were a few guys out down by the archery course, but Kurt didn’t see anyone else as he skipped on back to his camp.  There were three bikes gone and he could hear them somewhere off a ways though, so he figured the guy he spoke with went and dragged out some friends.

The rest of Monday consisted of pedaling to charge Kurt’s IPod while he sketched an absolute brilliant Robin Hood costuming idea making Robin Hood and his Merry Men not people who went to archery tournaments but people who competed on the Motocross circuit…ok, maybe not so brilliant but fun none-the-less, and as he was sketching for fun it didn’t matter. He decided to charge the external battery again since he was still sketching when the IPod was fully changed, and then the other battery for the lantern.

He made an imitation crab omelet with onions and tomato and peppers and mushrooms and cheese.  He was almost down to a dozen eggs from two dozen, but his cold foods were still cold, so he wasn’t all that worried.  He might have to go up and sneak some milk out in a day or so, but he’d worry about that when he got there.

After lunch and clean up, he settled into his chair for some more reading.  He’d finished the first novel and was starting the second.  With any luck he could get at least four of the five books he brought read.   By about four in the afternoon, with still no one calling for him, Kurt was starting to wonder about Jeff and Nick at the very least and why they hadn’t been asking after him.  Of course he hadn’t seen Jeff’s car that morning either, so maybe that had something to do with it.

By late evening, after Kurt had made himself some soup with chicken stock and potatoes, adding the rest of the bacon and the rest of the onion and pepper and mushrooms, he settled down to check his social media and watch a movie before sneaking back to the house.  Everything was fine. He hadn’t missed any calls or anything.

The trip to the house at just after 10pm was uneventful.  No one was outside at all, even though there was a fire in the fire pit. Kurt was washed and ready to head back to his camp, trash tossed, without having seen anyone.

He slept the night through without any problems, but forgot the eye mask so was up way early.  That was fine; he wanted to nick some milk anyway. Kurt picked up the empty water bottle he’d set aside for the purpose and tucked it in to his messenger bag.  The house was silent when he got there, however once again breakfast was waiting.  This time there was a huge pot of oatmeal and some absolutely heavenly looking scrambled eggs being kept warm in one of those containers used at like restaurant brunches.  

Kurt ate eggs, which were divine, and a small bowl of oatmeal with fruit and cream mixed in and honey for sweetener. He nicked a water bottle full of milk and a partially used block of Colby Jack and several little balls of mozzarella. He still had some of the spreads left.  He nicked a few bagels and a partially used tub of cream cheese and another small loaf of French bread.  He picked up a lemon from the basket of fruit, as well as a banana, some grapes, an apple, and the rest of three berry baskets from the fridge.  He also swiped more mushrooms, an onion, two bell peppers and a mostly used bag of spinach leaves.

His shower was quick and he was done before anyone else seemed to be up.  He decided to go hiking again after lunch and to bring his paints.

He spent the morning on his computer, looking at his classes needed and what he could take over the summer.  He planned on set design already, in fact was signed up for it.  There was a dialect course he thought would be fun and if he took it during summer, if wouldn’t interfere with his singing course, which he heard it could.  He decided to also do his vocal projection course, make-up arts, and one of the other history of theater courses.  That would give him a full load for summer, but an easier load than was carried for normal semesters.   He checked to see if he could register them yet…and he could, so he got that done. He emailed Carole, to let her know what days he wouldn’t be going to school over the summer…which included every Friday oddly enough.

Kurt fixed himself the left over soup for lunch, finishing it off with the bread and some of the Colby Jack.  He washed what needed washing and put together a small kit to take hiking…watercolor papers taped down onto cardboard rectangles that were small enough to easily carry, about six, his watercolor cake set…small but containing 12 colors, a water bottle for drinking and one for using with the watercolors, a plastic cup and a plastic palette. He tucked his IPod into his pocket and let the ear buds dangle and turned the music loud enough that he could hear.

He left his phone on the table where he’d packed.

He had a grand time. He found the most delightful mushrooms to paint and a set of wildflowers that were peeking above leaves that were still bright red and yellow.  He painted the little waterfall that cascaded between the rocks where he’d yelled earlier. He tried a little blue bird but he wasn’t sure he’d go so far as to call what came out a bird. Finally he painted a rock with moss all over it like a carpet.

He hopped and skipped back to the camp.  It had been ages since he felt so content.

His phone was shrilly ringing when he got back.  He looked at who was calling and saw Rachel’s number so ignored it.

He set out the paintings so they could dry even more and pulled out the fish so it could thaw enough to cook for his dinner. Then Kurt opened his laptop to Facebook.  He called his Dad right then.

Because apparently, Kurt was Lost In The Woods. He couldn’t hear anyone calling for him, but there it was spattered all over his Facebook page…he’d been lost in the woods for three days or maybe two…or maybe just one.  No one could recall seeing him…but some people said they had. But those people all said ridiculous things so obviously they were just saying stuff to make themselves feel important. Blaine noticed he was gone first…no Nick and Jeff did and Blaine was surprised…no Nick and Jeff are wrong, Blaine DID notice Kurt was gone first…if Blaine noticed then why was he surprised when Jeff asked about Kurt…on and on and on.

Rachel was in hysterics and said this was going to ‘ruin her big chance’ she was so upset.

Santana suggested they look for a trail of glitter dust.

Mercedes was wondering if she needed to head out to New York and cancel a show to do so and help look.

Mike asked if they had checked nearby camp grounds and was promptly told how silly he was and asked if he remember who was ‘lost in the woods’.  Mike responded that maybe they should all think about that same question a bit.

Puck asked if anyone had asked his dad or Carole if they had heard from him.  No one answered Puck.

Kurt sighed and turned off his computer. He plugged it into the external battery to charge.  He plugged his IPod into the pedal generator and his little external speaker and started to pedal. He called his dad again…who asked if he was safe and then said he really didn’t care as long as no authorities were called in.  Then asked why none had yet been.

Kurt said he didn’t know and that he was close enough to hear if anyone was actually looking for him or calling for him...and no one was.

“I mean seriously, Dad, I am a 10 minute brisk walk away from the house everyone is staying at. I was at the house this morning and there was no one even up. I spent the morning in my camp registering for school, sent Carole an email, and then spent the afternoon till I called the first time wandering around the woods, and not always deeper into the woods, stopping in places long enough to PAINT! No one has been out here looking.” Kurt nearly yelled.

“And you’re sure you’re warm enough?”

“I got hiking clothing, Dad. I could model for some catalogue like LLBean.” Kurt said with a sneer. “Granted there are a few pieces I might consider moving into my normal wardrobe…but most are too lumberjack chic for my tastes. I got lined jeans, Dad and they do nothing to enhance any sort of figure what-so-ever!”

Kurt smiled as he heard his dad’s laughed.

“What are you doing up there anyway?” his dad asked.

Kurt explained the magazine and how he totally misunderstood the word ‘camping’ in Blaine’s world.

“I’m not kidding; these guys seem to think staying in the house is camping…because they have a fire in the fire pit out back and do things like archery or go shooting and have dirt bikes and ATVs out for use.  It is ridiculous. I swear I made Jeff loose his capacity for speech when I said I had been shooting before, but never trap or skeet shooting…I went hunting. Luckily I did that while chatting the first night we got here and not while out shooting the bows at targets the next morning.  It would have been a shame to have shocked him so badly he took his bow shot when I mentioned hunting while at the bows; Jeff was so not being safe and would have probably hit one of the guys running about the yard at that time.”

“Anything good come about with this?”  Burt asked.

“I have reconnected with Jeff and Nick; I didn’t even know they were in New York.  I have reconnected with a few other of the Warblers. I have learned you can rent equipment from the Student Recreation Center and that NYADA has a Student Recreation Center, and it has this awesome climbing wall and a pool that is just open to students and staff and they do extra dance, fencing, stage combat, tumbling and classes like that for a low fee. I bought this absolutely awesome generator which had these pedals and you pedal on it to charge stuff, but it is easy to pedal, so you can just sit there and pedal as you read or such at the camp and you can charge things like your phone or IPod or tablets or charge external batteries which you can use to charge things like laptops…or a lantern.  I also bought a very nice lantern.  I figured both could be useful for emergencies, like if we lost power again, so I dipped into the emergency fund at the sporting goods shop…which did include clothing purchases but I’ll refund that money back into the emergency fund. Anyway, the sporting goods shop had this awesome first time student buyer discount of 50% and then another 20% discount for a single item. And their student discount is usually 30% off anyway, which is really good.  I have decided that Blaine is a cheating and lying piece of crap and not worth my time or effort.  Oh, and I would like to officially apologize for telling you ‘no’ when you offered me a dirt bike…I was a fool, those things are awesome.  I took out a 250cc four stroke and it was so fun. I didn’t even care the helmet messed my hair up.  I seriously should have let you talk me into that when little.”

“Back-up kiddo.  What was that about Blaine?” Burt asked.

Kurt sighed.

“I was willing to go ‘camping’ Blaine style when we got here, but he spared NO attention to me at all, except once to warn me off talking to an old friend…making it sound like I was the one who cheated and was after guys even though we are engaged…which I don’t think anyone there knows or pays attention to, even though the blasted engagement happened at Dalton.  So I came back from skeet shooting early and walked in on Blaine being screwed by someone else! So…I am done.  We have been fighting about everything since he moved back in, he gets mad at me every time I try to tell him anything like…oh, you should study, we have a huge test next week or we do need to go to class, it is kind of one of those things you do when you go to school, and he never listens to me, not about what I like to eat, not about what I’d like to watch, and not about not wanting to get married until after I have graduated! Then he is hanging with these guys and not telling me, lying about where he’s been or what he’s been doing, and now he’s fucking around and I’m done.”

“Oh, Kurt.  So that’s why you ended out on your own?” his dad asked.

“Yep.”

“And are you going to go tell them you aren’t lost?” his dad asked.

“Nope.  Not until someone comes yelling for me.  I’m not exactly hiding.  Or if the authorities come yelling for me, or in with the sirens…I’d be able to hear them I’m sure. We’re supposed to leave Friday afternoon so we’ll be back Friday night so Blaine can do some studying for finals week and get together his presentations and such. So if no one comes yelling before then I’ll break camp and then go borrow the ATV to move everything back to the SUV so we can go.”

“You telling Blaine you’re done then?” Burt asked.

“Not planning on it. I’m planning on right after finals week. That way his schooling disaster can’t be blamed on me…although it probably will anyway.”

“You are sure he’s going to fail?” Burt asked.

“Dad, we share 6 classes…he pulled strings to get into them.  I have done half my finals stuff already.  I spent weeks putting together presentations, picking and working on pieces, writing papers, practicing my dance stuff…although we don’t share that class.   I don’t think he has given any serious thought to any of it.”

“It’s ok, Kiddo. It is not your responsibility to make him do his work.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Well, I’m going to go make sure Carole doesn’t think you’re lost in the woods.  You take care and find something relaxing to do.”

Kurt leaned back in his camp chair, his feet stilling after his dad hung up. He really didn’t want to become ‘unlost’ until someone tried to find him, however he wasn’t sure he wanted to sacrifice his evening shower and tending to business either.  He also sort of wanted to see if he could figure out how come, if he was lost enough to shout about it all over Facebook, no one was looking for him and how come it took this long for anyone to notice he wasn’t around.

The first answer, of course was to see if he could figure out a more detailed timeline from Facebook.

Kurt popped open his laptop and got on Facebook.  He ignored the message box for the time being and just started looking at the feed.

At a bit after noon, Blaine posted on his wall about Kurt not being around and to stop calling him to talk to Kurt.  Jeff answered with ‘where the hell is he, since that was what you said last night as well’ and ‘if you don’t want me to call you to talk to Kurt, give me his damn phone number’. Jeff, who has check-ins at food places and such, was in NYC with Nick and Lenny… who was apparently Nick’s brother and who they had to rush back to NYC because he didn’t feel well and then who ended up having his appendix out. They had left right after Kurt had headed to the bedroom according to the posts on Nick’s Facebook page, which was oddly enough how he seemed to be communicating with his mother. Anyway, apparently Nick had wanted to ask Kurt something and was trying to get hold of him, but was busy and almost constantly on the phone with other family members and didn’t have his current phone number. So, Nick had Jeff calling Blaine…starting Monday afternoon. Jeff was apparently told consistently that Kurt was probably off in the bathroom and Blaine would have him call as soon as he got out, or outside and Blaine would have him call as soon as he got in, or sleeping and Blaine would have him call in the morning…or just not around that Blaine could see and Blaine would have him call as soon as he came around. The phones calls never last long because Blaine would then tell Jeff he was in the middle of something and then hang up on Jeff…no offer to take a message or anything.

Also a bit after noon, Jeff called Wes and asked if he could find Kurt and give him Nick’s number so he could call Nick since Blaine wouldn’t.  He also called David, to ask him to look for Kurt but David was in NYC as well, picking up one of their friends from the airport…whose flight had been delayed for 12 hours and so ended up in at 11am on Tuesday not 11pm on Monday, in fact when Jeff called they were still in the airport as even that time was late and they were still waiting for the luggage to be able to be picked up. David couldn’t remember seeing Kurt past the shooting range.  However, Blaine had also told David each time he asked that Kurt was hanging with Conner or with Jeff and Nick…because he didn’t like video games.  Jeff pointed out that he and Nick had been gone since right after they got back from the shooting range, Kurt wasn’t hanging out with them.

Wes called Nick, since Jeff was on the phone with David, and told him he couldn’t find Kurt.  And that Blaine couldn’t actually seem to remember the last time he’d seen him.

Nick posted up a note on Kurt’s Facebook page asking Blaine how he could treat his fiancé like he was. Jeff posted a note asking any of Kurt’s friends if he’d been in touch. Wes asked why Nick thought Kurt and Blaine were engaged…and found out about Blaine’s proposal at Dalton and that they hadn’t even been dating again for two full days and about how many people were there and then started questioning Blaine…still over Kurt’s page…about that situation. Blaine had said nothing other than hadn’t he done a fabulous job at making such a grand display.

Wes posted that supposedly some people had seen Kurt, with the dirt bikes or walking around by the pool house showers…but Blaine posted that the dirt bike story was obviously stupid…didn’t they know Kurt? Of course he refused to answer when asked when he’d seen Kurt last.

Then Wes posted that no one could find Kurt and did that mean he was lost?  And when did he get lost?  And how could no one notice Kurt was missing?

And Kurt’s Facebook page exploded into chaos when his Lima friends all started commenting…none except maybe Mike and Puck in any manner that helped.

Kurt rolled his eyes and sighed. David posted that he and Ravi, the friend he was picking up, would be on their way and some people had a whole lot of explaining to do. Jeff and Nick posted that they would be up in the morning, however they still couldn’t leave until Nick’s mom got back to look after Lenny, who was apparently hopeless and didn’t even have a single friend who could be trusted not to screw up his recovery.

Still, no one at the house right now was looking for him. He figured that he’d walk down and decide then if he was going to risk the shower and toilet or not.  However, dinner was calling and he deserved something good.

The fish had thawed enough to be fried up and Kurt seasoned it with the lemon and some butter.  He ate some fruit and the bagel and cream cheese. He broke out another of the fancy sodas. He washed up.  He gathered the used water bottles and tucked them into a bag he was using for recycling. He gathered the trash and put it in another. He plugged the external battery into the generator yet again and peddled while reading his novel until it was too dark to read anymore. He switched out items to be charged half way through and charged his IPod.  His phone was still fine.

At nearly midnight, Kurt took his bag with his stuff in it and walked down to the house. He’d probably hit things just right, David had just pulled in when Kurt hit the tree line. Kurt leaned against a tree to watch and gather information which he hoped would shed some light on his ‘disappearance’ and the lack of hunting for him.

“Would you like to explain what the Fuck is going on?” David yelled  at Wes who had exited the house as David stood from behind the driver’s seat.

“I don’t know.” Wes said. “All I know is that when Jeff called at about one-ish, and I went to ask Blaine where Kurt was, Chez got all huffy and yelled at me because Blaine was getting grouchy and not being as fun since Jeff kept calling.  He and Ricky were hanging in the exercise room and said Blaine wasn’t with them, so I left to look for him, however Blaine and Edwin were there when I walked back by like two minutes later. I asked Blaine where Kurt was…he said he was probably with Conner.  I found Conner, who hadn’t seen Kurt since the shooting range...nor had Jake. Conner said he thought Kurt and Blaine had been together tucked up in their room enjoying their time together, since that was what Kurt thought the week was for and since he hadn’t seen either.”

“I went back to ask Blaine why Conner thought he and Kurt would be tucked up together and who else might Kurt be hanging with, but I couldn’t find any of the four, so I just started asking about Kurt.  Rocko was certain Kurt was the one who told him about the dirt bike trails. Lex thought he’d talked to Kurt Sunday night about how everyone was up playing video tournaments still so the shower was free. No one else can recall seeing him around. So, I asked Blaine if he knew if Kurt’s stuff was in the bedroom or not…after hunting him and Edwin and Ricky and Chez back down…this time to the hot tubs. He said he didn’t know … he hadn’t looked. I asked when he saw Kurt last.  He shrugged and said he hadn’t been to their room since Sunday afternoon really, just long enough to get some clothes so he could bunk down with Edwin and Ricky and catch up with them. So I asked if he realized no one had seen Kurt since Saturday afternoon, did he see Kurt after he’d gone up to bed with his headache? Blaine said he hadn’t even known Kurt had gone up with a headache, he’d slept on the floor of the movie room after watching movies all night long with Edwin and then didn’t look for Kurt because Kurt is always up early so of course he wasn’t in the room when Blaine went and got his clothing and such on Sunday.”

“So Kurt’s been missing since Saturday Night?” David yelled.

“Well, maybe?” Wes said.

“Where have you looked?” David shouted again.

“Umm….”

“Wes?” David’s voice dropped very low and dark.  Ravi, or at least that was who Kurt assumed had also climbed out of the car was, laughed.

“The house?” Wes said. “Look, It’s not my fault.  I kept asking around if people had seen Kurt and Conner found out I was asking around about Kurt so he took off to find Blaine and then all of a sudden it was like world war three! I don’t know if anyone but Felix doesn’t have blood on them somewhere! You had been calling and everyone was antsy and so when Conner found Blaine and started screaming at him everyone just joined in….then Chez threw a punch at Jake when Jake said something about boyfriends and then others started throwing punches and when Richards finally blew the blow horn and everyone stopped, you had a bunch of guys who were just caught in the middle and then one side who said Blaine was engaged to Kurt and were screaming about that and one side who kept insisting the other was delusional, after all Blaine was with Edwin, didn’t we all know that? It was insane.  People even ended up going to the ER. So we had to spend hours patching people up and stopping the little fights that keep breaking out here and there and our friends from college are all stressed at being caught in the middle. Most of the guys have calmed somewhat, since Jake took Conner off to the ER and Brent went with them, he thinks he might have fracture his foot. Except Rocko, who seems to still want to tear Blaine limb from limb.”

“Blaine isn’t with Edwin.” David said.

“Yes he is.” Wes said. “They’ve been an item since Edwin saw Blaine perform at the old lady’s showcase….the one we left early.”

“The one you left early. The rest of us stayed, remember? We wanted to talk to Kurt but Blaine took Kurt off someplace before we could, well…I wanted to talk to Kurt. And Felix wanted to meet Kurt.  Blaine announced Kurt as his fiancé there.”

“Don’t be silly, David. I was with Blaine and Edwin the next day and they decided to see each other then.”

“Like it would matter at all to Edwin if Blaine was engaged or not.” David said “I am not kidding, Wes. Kurt and Blaine are engaged.”

“No, Blaine is with Edwin. They go out about three times a week in the evening. They hang out on weekends during the day.  And Edwin’s not as wild as he used to be, he promised he’d stopped the behavior that got him suspended way back then.”

“And you believed him. He never changed, Wes. He just stopped screwing with kids with enough clout to do anything about him. When did Blaine and Kurt break up?” David asked, throwing his hands in the air.

“I don’t know.”

“And where does Blaine live?” David asked.

“He lives with Kurt, remember?  He moved in when Kurt’s roommates left…” Wes said.

“Ok.  So…you know Kurt…do you think Kurt would have Blaine move in with him after they broke-up recently?” David asked, very slowly.

“Well, no.” Wes said. “but maybe it wasn’t recent?”

“Ok…Let’s play with that idea.  So…we all know and accept that Kurt and Blaine broke up early October of Blaine’s senior year, right?” David asked, still drawing out the sentence like he was talking to a very small child.  Kurt had his bag up to his face to stifle any laughter.  The guy David had brought with him wasn’t even trying.

“Yes.  Trent said Blaine was devastated.” Wes said.

“Did he? Huh, Sebastian said Blaine was only upset when he wasn’t chasing that blond kid Sam around and if people mentioned Kurt.”

“Well, Sebastian is an ass, besides, how would he know?” Wes said.

“Yes, well Blaine spent months and months with Sebastian the year before on the phone and at coffee shops and skyping and texting and going to Country Club gatherings together, so I figure he probably knows Blaine’s behavior well.”

“He drugged them!” Wes shouted.

“Hunter, the guy YOUR godfather brought into the school, drugged them.  Sebastian was one of TEN who were completely clean, and it was Sebastian who brought forth the evidence after Blaine and Sam took their story to the board and nearly got all of them expelled and jailed. Including the blackmailing and threats Hunter was using against half the kids he was drugging. The other half…the ones not being blackmailed or threatened… were your godfathers minions brought in to prop up Hunter.  Besides, the reason Sebastian knew how Blaine was acting is because Sebastian’s role in Hunter’s regime was to keep tabs on Blaine, so they could either get him back like YOU wanted or nullify the threat that several saw Blaine as, for some reason.”

Wes growled. “I thought you said you agreed with me about everything that went down.”

“Again, you weren’t listening. I have argued with you about this since we graduated and I met older Warblers, ones who weren’t under your Godfather’s reign of terror. I argued with you THEN that you needed to go to the school and replace YOUR council choice when Blaine left, which you refused to do because if you couldn’t have Blaine replace you, you didn’t want anyone else to take his spot.  I agreed we should have set up the council more solidly before we left…I should have listened to others and picked a choice truly my own instead of following your advice… and we should have drilled Blaine on his intentions before summer.  He was talking about leaving before he left to his summer job, he wanted a Nationals title.”

“He went for Kurt.” Wes said. “Thad said so.”

“And the Warblers who weren’t so enthralled with him to let him push and shove them around said he spoke about Kurt’s old Glee Club and nationals and the opportunities that Kurt’s school would provide him with, including being top of his class without much work and main lead vocal of a winning choir that was not acapella and thus would allow him to shine more.”

“Because they were jealous.”

David rolled his eyes and his whole head.  “I forgot how much of a Blaine worshiper you were and how all your brains leak out your skull when he comes up or is nearby.  Is he good, Wes?  There has to be some reason you are so up his ass!” David asked.

Wes nearly flew at him with the intent to hit him when the guy with David grabbed his arm.

Kurt watched the whole bit with wide eyes.  Suddenly a lot of Warbler things made a whole lot more sense, like why the talk always seemed to not quite match the actions. And why although a great deal of the school worshiped the ground the boys walked on, there was a substantial subsection that did not and who Blaine kept Kurt away from very aggressively.

“Don’t forget, Wes,” the other guy said in an accented voice that Kurt couldn’t quite place. “I learned a lot the year I spent working for the headmaster while we figured out finances for my third year of University. I watched you let that boy cheat off you his full first year. You handed him papers you had done and walked him through changing them just enough. You gave him solos over everyone else every time he hinted he wanted one.  You let him pick the music, even though his choices took us out of competition. David might have guessed you favored the boy…but I know and have proof.”

“How dare you Ravi!” Wes yelled. “Besides the reason you had financial issues was because your family was caught laundering money.”

“An uncle through my great great great grandfather was laundering money. It just took a year to prove we had nothing to do with him and hadn’t for decades.”

“So, it soiled your name. You have no room to speak or nothing to say!”

“You forget, Wes.  The Warblers existed before you and our gatherings and traditions existed before you and even with the taint that has befallen them…taint attached to YOU and YOUR family…they will exist long after you die!”

“We were going to make them great!” Wes said.  “Bring glory to Dalton again.”

“They are no longer on the show choir circuit. And we were great.  MY sophomore year we took nationals at acapella, when it was a true acapella group. They will be again.  We have instructors taking over who will not let the chaos you and your kin introduced during your years on the council remain. When things have been restored, the council will be brought back.”

“Yes, well….none of this has anything to do with right now. And I don’t see why we are arguing about this again David.” Wes said, leaning back into a sullen stance with his arms crossed over his chest.

David sighed. “We will argue this every time it comes up until you acknowledge what you have done, Wes. I understand the whole ‘legacy’ issue, but your family abused it and used your godfather’s appointment as Head of Student Activities to run rampant over everyone else.  You cost other members their legacy appointments to the council, Wes.  You all obstructed the traditions of the council and the Warblers.”

“My Godfather promised my Grandfather that all of us would hold our rightful places for a long as we wanted.  Father and Uncle Lawrence just made sure of it.  They all resented that they could only claim one year of council. Grandfather doesn’t care if other legacy children lost out.  None are as important as we are.” Wes said.

Ravi chuckled. “Your godfather has lost his position as head and is now coordinator of intermural sports. Your younger cousins and younger brother will not be on a Warbler council, either.  Your junior year, a young man came and requested a council voice, do you recall? The first year Blaine was there?”

“Yes, blond kid. Didn’t want to claim his spot yet, which he insisted he should have without anything to back that insistence up, but wanted a council voice on song choice.” Wes said.

“Yes.  Edgar Dalton.  You refused and instead gave Blaine input.  Blaine bragged about it.  Edgar stopped attending meetings and then moved schools during winter break. Your insult was excused, as Edgar believed the tradition of a single year of council membership was being observed and as he hadn’t forcefully explained who he was.  The next year, when you were still on the council, his father brought up issues and started a search to find other insults and aggravations. Your godfather’s introduction and backing of Hunter was his last mistake. Dalton wanted him roasted, but the Headmaster and Board decided quiet removal of power was better. Your family was important due to funding and legacy, but no more really than many others. They should have remembered that.”

Wes growled. David snorted.

“I can’t believe you would support those people over me, David. Your best friend!” Wes shouted.

“Yes, best friend…who didn’t speak with me after I told you to make a new council appointment when Blaine skipped out for over a year.  I connected with Ravi and others at Yale, like I was told to when I graduated from Dalton and found out a lot that we had lost.  Much of which I was sad we had missed out on.”

“We thought it unnecessary for our goals, David.” Wes said.

“Goals never shared with the rest of the Warblers or your fellow council members. Shall we get back to the topic? Are we agreed that Blaine and Kurt got engaged in March at Dalton, before Blaine graduated?”  David asked.

Wes huffed. “Since it seems half the guys knew about it, then I guess. But I didn’t know about it and am still not sure it really happened.  They could have misinterpreted it.”

“But something happened and Blaine and Kurt were together again?” David said.

“Fine, Sure.”

“So…When did they break-up again? And if they are broken-up…why does Blaine live with Kurt and how in the world do you think KURT would ALLOW that?” David asked.

Wes just looked at him.

“Yeah, I thought so.” David said.

“I didn’t say you were right!” Wes said.

“But you can provide no logical answer.” David said.

“I still think there is some logical explanation and that Blaine wouldn’t do that.” Wes said.

“Well, I suggest you do the logical thing then and march on into the house and ASK Blaine the status of his and Kurt’s relationship and then figure out where Kurt is…because I don’t know about you, but Kurt’s dad will not be happy if he has to come out here to find his son and YOU have done nothing and I for one want to have some sort of answers for him.” David said.

“Kurt’s dad isn’t very wealthy and is in Ohio. Why should it matter?” Wes said.

Ravi started to laugh and David took a huge breath and sighed.

“Kurt’s last name is Hummel. Like…Burt Hummel?” David said.

“And?” Wes said.

“And you are fucking flunking all your courses, aren’t you?  Or did you switch majors?” David yelled.

“I don’t see why you are yelling again, David.” Wes snapped.

“Congressman Burt Hummel?” David said.

“Don’t be silly,” Wes said. “That is not Kurt’s dad.  He was something like a plumber or electrician or something.”

Kurt smothered another laugh as David started to slowly slam his head against the top of his car.

“Like a mechanic, possibly?” Ravi asked.

“Yeah!”

“Like Congressman Burt Hummel is?” Ravi asked.

“Is he?” Wes asked.

“Yes.” Ravi said.

“Oh. Ok…fine. Let’s go inside and figure out what is up and see what we need to do and like maybe talk to people more and like build a time line?  But stop picking on me!  You can’t treat me like this in front of the others.  It is just not right and it’s not fair.”

“Fine.” David said.

“We’ll see.” Ravi added.

David popped the trunk and Ravi went and grabbed a large duffle bag from within.  Then they all headed to the house.  Kurt moved forward a little bit farther and could see that most people still up seemed to be in the large dining area that was off the kitchen. He figured the others were probably asleep.  He moved across the yard to the side of the house and then snuck towards the back.  No one was out at the hot tubs. Kurt ducked into the pool house, which was also blissfully empty. He showered and did his night routine.

He made it back to his camp without notice.  His sleep was not nearly as restful as it had been the nights before, but he finally settled into a deep sleep.

It was late when he got up.   It was nearly 10am.  Kurt grumbled, but went about getting ready for the day at the camp.  There was no way he could get to the pool house for a shower without being noticed that late in the morning. He ate breakfast; fruit and yogurt and a granola bar he crushed up on top.  Kurt pulled out his laptop and checked his email. He had a note from the school saying his registration was official and a note from Carole saying she’d marked his days off and would figure out a time for them to visit and for him to visit and to have fun being lost. No one else had emailed him. He decided not to deal with Facebook or any other social media site.

He gathered the last of the cheeses and the last of the breads and bagels, some fruit and trail mixes and two bottles of water for his lunch and then set out into the woods with the camera to take more pictures.  If a great deal of his late morning adventure took place near the edge by the yard of Wes’ place, it was surely a coincidence. Really.

He found wildflowers he hadn’t seen yet that he got pictures of and some cool close up of trees and bark and strange knots and light filtering through leaves.  He took close-ups of as many different mushrooms as he could find, thinking of trying to use photo shop to make himself a woodland elf…or maybe a fairy.  He took photos of the few moths he saw; surprised any were out yet at all. Finally he found a little tiny clearing where he could see and hear what was going on in Wes’ yard and settled down to eat …and spy.

Again his luck held. Jeff drove up as he was eating his banana.

“Where’s Kurt?” He yelled as he got out of the car.

David came out of the garage, holding a clipboard.  “Where’s Nick? What time did Nick first call?”

“Nick left about an hour and half before I did, but he had errands to run.  He’ll probably be about another half hour. Nick called Blaine Sunday night about 8pm.  Kurt had said something about a place he works that has singing waiters and Nick’s mom said since her vacation was being cut short, she was bringing some of her girlfriends back with her and wanted fun things to do that were not the usual. Nick wanted more info about that place.  Where’s Kurt?”

“I am trying to format a timeline.  It is nearly impossible.  Would Kurt ever ride a dirt bike?” David asked.

“I don’t see why not.” Jeff said.

David nodded as he marked something down.

“I think he left when he said he was going to go lay down.  You guys left right after that. Someone might have talked to him Sunday night, but they aren’t certain.  It doesn’t help that it was one of Wes’ friends from university and it was dark and everyone is stupid because when he described the boy he talked to they all insisted it couldn’t be Kurt because the guy’s hair wasn’t all fancy. If Kurt had hidden somewhere I doubt he was doing his hair all that much.” David said.

“He left Saturday?”

“However if Wes’ friend saw him and if it was indeed Kurt Rocko talked to, then he was seen Sunday night and Monday morning.”

“Still,” Jeff said. “That is a whole two days without contact!”

“Wes thinks Blaine and Edwin are dating.” David said.

“Kurt and Blaine are engaged.” Jeff said.

David nodded.

“Blaine didn’t go to the shooting range with us.  He stayed here with Edwin and Ricky and their shadow.  Kurt left the range early to come back and check on him.  Blaine cheated on Kurt less than a month after Kurt left for New York.  That was the reason they broke up.  If Kurt walked in on something, he’ll be devastated.” Jeff said.

David nodded.  “I spent the evening and morning watching Blaine. He is doing something with Edwin and maybe even with Ricky and Chez.”

“Shit.” Jeff said. “Have you asked Richards if he saw anything unusual?”

David’s head snapped towards Jeff. “No….and Kurt would be someone who would speak to him.  Let’s go.  We haven’t really searched the house either.  Ravi and I got in past midnight and have had a hard time getting anyone even moving this morning.  Lunch is breakfast.  Seriously no one was even awake other than Ravi and I until half past 10 and Wes said we couldn’t fuss around and look about until everyone was up.”

“What do you expect, they are all camping.” Jeff said. “Hmm…has anyone asked Blaine what he explained about camping here to Kurt?”

“No.” David said. “Wes wouldn’t let us disturb him and he did not come out of the room he was in with Ricky and Edwin and Chaz until about 10 minutes before you got here. He was ‘too upset’ over the big fight last night.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Let’s go do those two things. Nick is going to want some solid answers when he gets here and as stressed as he has been the last week, I suggest we have something.”

Jeff and David walked back to the house and Kurt moved back to his camp.  He left his electronics tucked away and pulled out his book.  He sat in his deluxe camp chair and put his feet up. If his peace was going to crumble, he was going to get the most use of it he could.  He did start timing.  It took another 40 minutes before Nick got to the house, and Kurt, even as far into the woods as he was, heard the ruckus.  He couldn’t hear the words but he could hear the sound and tell it was an angry sound.   The wall of noise lasted only about five minutes. Kurt walked over to his drink cooler and pulled out one of the specialty sodas and settled back into his chair to wait on being found.  He just hadn’t decided if he was going to answer when he first heard voices or wait till they came pretty much to him.

In the end the calling of his name didn’t start until he could hear voices.  He heard the arguing first, in fact.

“I can’t believe it took you all so long to ask the butler dude.” A voice that sounded familiar but Kurt couldn’t quite place said.  “I’m pretty sure Kurt said he met Blaine at a posh private school with great academics.”

Kurt was trying to figure out who he knew that he wasn’t expecting to be around here that he’d talked about Dalton who might possibly bother to show up to find him.

“Well, we never claimed what Kurt would call street smarts,” Jeff said.

“Mostly Kurt would say we all lacked logic as well.” Nick added dryly.

“Yes, well I would have to agree, at least for half the guys I’ve met so far.” The voice Kurt hadn’t placed quite yet said.  Then the voice shouted and Kurt could hear it more clearly.

“Kurt!  Kurt!”

“It’s Elliot!” Kurt said out loud, jumping up from his chair and putting his book on the table as he passed it on the way to the game trail leading out of the clearing and to the main trails.

“Kurt!” Jeff and Nick joined with Elliot in shouting.  Kurt could see them coming around the bend to the section of the trail where the game trails branched off.  

“Elliot!” Kurt shouted back, waving his arms so the guys could see him at the edge of the trail where his path broke off at.  

Elliot broke into a run and swept Kurt into a hug, while Nick hurried over as well. Jeff followed a bit more slowly, on his cell phone.

“David said he’s glad you’re located and he’ll tell Richards.  He hadn’t decided if he’s telling Wes yet.  I think he is starting to enjoy the panic Wes is getting in as Richards reminded him that if you aren’t found by tonight they’ll have to call his parents and inform them a kid went missing on the property.”

Kurt chuckled. “Come on back.”

Kurt led them down his little path into his campsite.

Nick started laughing.

Elliot joined in.

“What’s funny?” Kurt asked.

“I told them that you’d have no problem camping, but that you’d also have it set up as nice as a hotel room.” Elliot said.

“Your camp chair has the ability to be a recliner!” Jeff said.

“You’ve been cooking out here?” Nick asked, poking around the edge of the table by the camp stove and peeking into coolers.  

“Yes.”

“Haven’t you got bored?” Jeff asked.

Kurt shrugged. “Not really. I have been reading some novels I’d hoped to read during dead week, I’ve been out hiking and taking photos and making sketches. I have my IPod, and cell phone with games, and my laptop with movies and internet. I have been up to the house every day except today, twice a day pretty much. I would not have been good company.”

“So, I’ve got to know,” Nick asked.  “Did you take out the dirt bike?”

“Yes!  That was so much fun.  When I called my dad yesterday I apologized to him.  He wanted to buy me one when little and I always said no.” Kurt said.

“Wes owes us 20 bucks a piece.” Jeff said.

“Why wouldn’t you have been good company?” Elliot asked.  He’d been looking around the camp site, peeking into the tent and flipping through the sketch book Kurt had had sitting on the table.

“I walked in on Blaine being fucked by one of his pals.” Kurt said.  “I know if I have to look at him, I will not be able to keep the scathing lecture I desire to unleash upon his being to myself and I have decided that it is best delivered a bit more private than in front of several dozen other guys whom Blaine desires to maintain a good image with.”

“Oh, Kurt.” Elliot said softly. Elliot held out his arms and Kurt rushed into them.

Jeff and Nick wandered around the campsite pretending to look at things in detail while Kurt cried in Elliot’s arms.

Kurt’s tears weren’t as long lasting as any of the other expected.  He removed himself from Elliot’s hug and wiped his face with his sleeve, before apologizing to everyone.

Jeff and Nick just shrugged.

“So,” Kurt said. “I suppose I have to be found.”

Jeff looked at Nick who tilted his head in thought. “Found yes, but I don’t know if that means you have to come back to the house…” Nick started.

“I mean,” Jeff continued. “At least not to stay.  I know David would be really glad to see you and he really wants you to meet some of the other’s up there.  Ravi, in particular seems to be highly interested in you.  And I think Rocko would like to formally meet you as well.”

“Rocko?” Kurt asked.

“Yeah, the guy you apparently talked to about the dirt bikes.” Nick said.

“But Rocko?”  Kurt asked.  ‘That just so does not sound like a name from Dalton.”

Jeff laughed. “Oh my God, I forgot you missed Rocko’s years there.  He graduated the year before you got there. But you are right.  We were actually penalized for use of Rocko’s first name.  Everyone was commanded to call him Mr. Rochester.”

“His name is Rocko Rochester?”

“Rocko Rude Rochester. The headmaster couldn’t handle people calling him by his middle name either.” Nick added.

Kurt shook his head. “What were his parents thinking?”

“His folks are rich, not smart.” Nick said.  “They named his sister Bunny Muffin.”

“Anyway, as long as you came up to the house a few times a day and maybe sleep up at the house and were seen you could maybe be allowed to stay out here for the most part.” Jeff said.

“I’m fine out here for sleeping.” Kurt said.  “It’s actually quite comfortable.”

Kurt walked the three over to the tent and unzipped the door.

“The air mattress in the one Sam slept on at the loft, so Blaine has slept on it several nights when he opted to stay out with Sam instead of with me. Blaine is not one to forgo his creature comforts, as I’m sure you all know.  I have plenty of covers and pillows.  I have plenty of food, in fact I haven’t even broke out the camp food yet.  I have books and my laptop has movies and games uploaded to it.  I even had card and board games to bring, but I left those in the SUV when I realized it was going to be just me out here.”

“I could stay out here, too.” Elliot added. “I mean I will need a ride back to the City at some point and I didn’t plan on making anyone take me back until the weekend.  I know Blaine would be much happier if I were not up at the house.  So, Kurt wouldn’t be alone.”

“And we could bring camp chairs out here from the house.  There were tons more tucked in the garage and I have three more in the SUV, another one like the one out here and then two basic ones like the one by the table in case we had to hike to the camp spot too far. They are lighter. People who wanted to could come out here and hang.” Kurt added.  “I mean, we could certainly bring anyone actually worried out here to see the set up.  They could make certain themselves.  I just….I don’t really want to be up at the house around Blaine for long periods.”

Nick and Jeff nodded. “At least come to the house and talk to David.  I would say talk to Wes, but he’s being an ass.  I’d think David would probably see your point.” Jeff said.

“I bet no one would argue with you staying out here if you can convince Richards you are safe and well.” Nick added.  “If he knew exactly where you were at, any legal type issues would probably be covered as well, you know, in case any of the other guys like called their folks or something.”

Kurt sighed and rubbed his forehead. He really didn’t want to spend too much time anywhere where Blaine might be. “Fine. Let’s go now.”

Elliot walked over to Kurt and draped his arm over his shoulder. “Isn’t there anyone up there you’d like to see?”

“I guess Conner is still there, and I did want to spend more time with Nick and Jeff.” Kurt said. “Let me grab my phone and put things away.”

Kurt put his book and all his art materials away in the tent.  He grabbed his phone and his soda.

“So, I heard there is an epic music room up at the house.” Elliot said as the guys all headed back to the main trail. “We could give them all a little show.”

Kurt chuckled. “Elliot, pretty much every guy in that house sung with the Warblers at some point.  We could try to give them a show but they would join in.  Seriously…these guys…they could just stop a whole school for performances.  No one fussed!  It was magical to me.”

“Those were the ones who sang A Capella, right?” Elliot asked.

“Yes.”

“Yes!  We need to find the beatbox…I have something I’ve always wanted to try.”

“You have your pick,” Nick said.  “There should be three at the house.  There are some non-warblers at the house though, like Conner and Felix. And a few friends from different universities that aren’t even associated with Dalton. Not everyone will butt in on your jam session.”

“But enough will.” Kurt said. “Although, not many will try to take lead…so we are more likely to end up with background music than fighting for the front and center spots, especially if it is obvious we are just trying things out and not practicing for something that lots of people will be watching. Hmm…remind me to call my dad when we get back to the house.”

“So, I know you know Nick and Jeff here, and from what they have said you know the Wes kid whose family owns this place and David…who I think was one of the guys who we met out front?”  Elliot said, looking to Jeff.  “And of course Blaine.  Who else do you know?”

“Yes, David was the African- American who met us out front.  He was with Ravi, who Kurt doesn’t know.  Ravi graduated a few years before Kurt was there. Wes hasn’t ever liked him because Ravi made it into the Warblers as a first semester freshman and was front man for two years. Wes didn’t make it in until the end of his freshman year and all he heard was about how Ravi made it as a first semester freshman and his making it as a freshman wasn’t that big of a deal.  Of course Wes made it in just to be immediately put on the council and started putting in a dozen or so freshman a year so we wouldn’t have such a hard time keeping numbers and training singers so…” Jeff trailed off and Kurt answered.

“Hmm…I know Conner and I’d seen his boyfriend at the school, but never met him.  He was the same year as Blaine and not into music much. I think that one dark haired baritone that Blaine would not let me speak to at all who was in David’s and Wes’s year was there.”

“Braydon.  Blaine didn’t like him.  He thought Blaine was given too much leeway and too much focus. He also thought Wes was an idiot for not taking advantage of having a countertenor in the group. There were about four of the older guys like that.”  Nick said.

“That explains a lot.” Kurt said. “I always wondered why Blaine would not let me near some of the guys. Heck, Thad was seriously the only one my age I was ever introduced to and he did a good job of making sure I didn’t meet too many other kids my age while there.  I hung around with Blaine and his crew and was handed into Wes’s care when Blaine couldn’t be with me.”

Jeff nodded. “Wes and Blaine were very proprietary about song options and so wanted to keep you and what you could do away from the others who didn’t think they should be so controlling and then there were a few who wanted to get to know you well enough to date you and Blaine hated that idea too.” Jeff added.

“Even though he didn’t want to date me?” Kurt asked.

“Oh, yes.  Blaine couched it in terms of not wanting you scared or harassed or bothered after your horrifying trials in McKinley, but most of us knew Blaine long enough that was understood it was also one of those ‘this is mine and not yours’ things.  Blaine is very possessive of his people…friends or relationships.”

“It was horrid the year before you came when he was a freshman, because he decided that Jeff was HIS friend and would not let me or Trent talk to him for about half a year, even though we’d known Jeff for years before that.” Nick said.  “I had to sneak Jeff into my room while Blaine was supposed to be doing his homework to spend any time with him!”

“We resorted to weekends at either mine or Nick’s.  In the end it worked out for the best though…Blaine was soooo mad when we got together before Valentine’s day that year and I kept answering his ‘Jeff is MY friend’ statements with ‘but I’m Nick’s lover boy’.” Jeff said.

“So his ridiculous tantrum at me wasn’t an oddity.” Elliot said.  “I don’t know if I feel better or worse knowing that.”

“No,” Kurt said. “I probably ought to have told you that long ago.”

Kurt sighed as he could see the edge of the tree line up ahead.  Elliot reached over and grabbed his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“It will be fine.” Elliot said.  “I’ll stick by you and if Blaine tries to start anything, I won’t let him.”

Jeff snorted. “I bet Blaine doesn’t even show.”

“He was holed up in the bedroom you two were supposed to have with Ricky, Edwin and Chez when we started out looking for you.” Nick added.

“So Chez is the dark haired one who whines?” Kurt asked.

“Oh yes.” Nick said. “He is actually your age, but he was tossed out of Dalton at the end of Blaine’s freshman year, so he wasn’t around during the time you were there.  He had a fondness for destruction…the cupboard that held half our sheet music and the loss of tons of sheet music was the final straw for him. And what got him tossed.  He was mad because some girl told him no when he asked for a date.”

“Huh.” Kurt said. “I always thought you all didn’t have to deal with that kind of thing.”

Nick shrugged. “Oh we didn’t have to deal with bullying in the physical or blatantly vocal sense, but other stuff we still had to deal with. You were actually there at a good time. We’d had a mass amount of kids thrown out the year before when they cracked down on the rules and regulations and kids refused to deal with that.  Those left knew we were being watched closely.  But the professors keeping the tight watch went off on sabbatical during that next year and so kids like Sebastian weren’t reined in so much and then you get the Hunter debacle…but the teachers keeping standards up were back and willing to do something.”

“I’m glad I was.  It was what I needed right then.  Somewhere physically safe for me to regroup.  I just ended up with way too much baggage coming out.” Kurt said. “And I really liked the classes and the school.  We just couldn’t really afford it and I missed being able to be me.  I was going NUTS in the uniform. Although I would have waited till the end of the year if we could have afforded the last quarter.”

“Blaine always said you left because you wanted to sing with your choir at nationals.” Jeff said.

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Part of Blaine‘s problem all together is that Blaine doesn’t listen and can’t comprehend anything outside his immediate experiences. Blaine’s family never had money problems…never had to make hard choices or  make ends meet or even just put anything on hold till the next paycheck.  We got a six month emergency scholarship because my life was considered in danger and there was enough physical proof on my body when Dad called Dalton to ask about it. It does not cover six full months of school…it covered the few weeks in November and the few weeks of December. It covered the few weeks of January, February, March and we switched the first week in April because that was when the quarter there was over and I’d not have to start a few new classes and then be pulled out when the emergency scholarship was up.  That scholarship waived two thirds of Dalton’s fee.  With having to buy a new house and my dad’s medical fees and him not being able to work as much in the garage as he had before his heart attack earlier in that fall…we just could not afford it.  I wasn’t even sure I’d be allowed to sing with the New Directions at Nationals since I hadn’t sung in any of the qualifiers, but I was hoping to be able to. I said I hoped to be able to sing with my friends again and join the club again, yes. But I said all that after telling him over and over about the financial worries and my doubt we’d be able to pull off fees till the end of the school year.  That bit about hoping to sing with the New Directions again was all Blaine heard.”

 Nick nodded. “He does have issues with hearing what is really being said and comprehending past what he wants to have been said.”

 “And it doesn’t help that for the two years he was at Dalton, he was never expected to have to do anything other than that.” Jeff said.

 Kurt snorted. “McKinley really didn’t make him have to listen to others either.  He was still able to just do what he wanted and hear what he wanted and pretty much get everything handed to him on a silver platter.”

 Kurt stopped as they hit the start of the trail into the woods and just stared for a few minutes at the house before sighing so hard that Elliot felt it and Jeff and Nick heard it from the few steps they were ahead.  Elliot reached over and grabbed the soda from Kurt’s hand and grabbed the hand that had held the soda.

 “Have I mentioned how ridiculous I find you all’s definition of camping?” Kurt said.

 “No and I advise not doing so to the masses…they get cranky.” Nick said.  

 Kurt laughed and the tension eased out of him a bit. Jeff smiled and turned to Elliot.

 “So what song did you want a beat-box for?”  Jeff asked.

 “Beatle’s Come Together…right now.  I’ve been thinking about it for ages.”

Kurt smiled. “Oh…that would be good.  If we get the band back together we should consider theme nights.  Beatles would be great…avoiding certain songs of course.  I used to sing a mean Blackbird.”

 “What songs would we avoid?” Elliot asked.

 “All You Need is Love is Forever Ruined.” Kurt said. “Got To Get You Into My Life might be as well, although I still have an insane desire to sing it in public ALL BY MYSELF!”

 “Is that what he serenaded you with at that proposal?” Elliot asked.

 “ All You Need Is Love? Yes.”

 “That is too bad…but there are plenty of other Beatles songs which I think would fit us better anyway,” Elliot replied. “I would love to hear you sing Imagine and Hey Jude and we could have fun with Yellow Submarine.”

 Kurt beamed. “And we have never done a real Madonna night. We’ll have to make some lists.”

 David was waiting for them as the cleared the woods.

 Kurt was pulled into a hug and patted down before he could say anything, even ‘Hi’.

 “God, I am so sorry I didn’t even realize you were missing. I was fighting with Felix all Sunday and that always distracts me and at odds with Wes and then I left on Monday to pick up Ravi and I was just a horrid friend and…” David babbled as he patted Kurt down.

 “David, I am fine.” Kurt said. ”No bumps or bruises or anything…all body parts accounted for. Who is Felix and why were you fighting?”

 “Oh, God.  I forgot to introduce you to Felix.  And I’ve got to introduce you to Ravi…but word of warning now, he like worships your dad. You will be drilled.”

 Elliot chuckled.

 David looked at Elliot. “Who are you?”

 Nick and Jeff laughed.

 “This is Elliot Gilbert. He messaged Nick the moment he saw Kurt was lost with a phone number to call and demanded one of us drive him up here.” Jeff said.

 Kurt smiled.

 “I’m surprised you didn’t have to bring Dani as well.” Kurt said.

 “Dani is in Minneapolis at a roller derby exposition or she would have been tagging along. I was at a Yoga training retreat but made it to the city before these guys left.” Elliot said.

 “Dani?” David asked.

 “She is the other member of my band.” Kurt said. “By the way, where are our beat boxers this weekend? Elliot wants to try something.”

 “You have a band? We so need to talk.  I’m David.  I knew Kurt when he was a wee little junior who’d been chased from his school by bullying.”

 “He started it a little over a year ago…right after he started work at the diner.” Elliot said.

 “About three weeks after I got engaged to Blaine and two after Finn died.” Kurt said.

 “Finn died?” David nearly shouted.

 “I thought you knew that?” Kurt said. “Blaine was in contact with the Warblers at that time. He set up the engagement just the week before.”

 “Yeah, he promptly ignored everyone as soon as they sung to you except Trent and one of Hunter’s little friends who was close to Edwin.” Nick said.  “He even stopped talking to Sebastian and he called Sebastian every single day from the moment you left to the moment he convinced the Warblers to allow him back to Dalton to propose, even though he’d help ruin them. However, Sebastian heard from his dad. We sent flowers and put together a small fund which we sent to your dad at the end of the school year to help with whatever he thought it should.”

 Kurt smiled.  “I remember him saying something about that. I just wasn’t aware you Dalton boys were who he was talking about.  He called you the bird boys.  It makes sense now.  I suppose we ought to head in and at least reassure Richards I am fine.  Let him see it and not just hear it.”

 “He’ll be easy.” David said.  “I mean he was worried but not frantic. Conner…well, I’m sure the only reason he wasn’t out searching is because he got a concussion in the fight over you being missing and hasn’t been able to talk his boy into letting him off the couch until he stops throwing up if he moves to fast.”

 “Conner has a concussion?” Kurt asked.

 “Yes.  He was way furious because apparently Blaine told him you were too busy to talk to him and it was too dangerous for him to talk to you and besides you didn’t like him anymore and so he shouldn’t be potentially damaging his relationship trying to talk with you.��

 “Of course he did.” Kurt said. “Still, I’d like to apologize to Richards first.”

 “He’s been in the Kitchen since the fight.  I think he doesn’t trust us enough to go far anymore.”

 “Geez, I wonder why?” Nick commented.

 “This week has been way worse than spring break the year Kurt was at Dalton.” Jeff said.

 “Hmm, you think?  I mean six girls got pregnant and half the people here had to get tested for STDs for the next year, several needing treatment.”

 “What?!” Kurt shouted.

 “Wes didn’t check before we all headed out here and his cousin Juliette had also decided to use the lodge…anyway, we decided to share…more or less successfully.”  David said.  “That’s why Blaine couldn’t watch your Born This Way performance.  He was up here camping with us. We left pretty much right after we sang at your school.  Anyway, so Juliette was out here with like 20 girls from her boarding school and Wes pulled all us Warblers up and brought up several old Warblers and several guys from the soccer team and polo team and well…I think there were four babies that ended up born.  Luckily no warblers were the daddies.”

 “Ah.  I thought he went somewhere with his folks for Spring Break.” Kurt said.

 “He spent the last three days in New York with them…they went to a few shows and shopping.  He had Wes drive him down so they didn’t come up and find out we were with girls all week.”  

 Kurt rolled his eyes.

 “You guys are ruining my image of private school boys.” Elliot said.

 “You thought they were all sweet and innocent didn’t you?” Kurt asked.

 “Well, mostly.” Elliot admitted. “Especially like the prep school type and not the catholic or religious school type.”

 “Oh God.  I never even thought about that option.” Kurt said. “Hopefully my dad never did either. At that point of my life I would not have been able to cope.  I would have run away or killed myself.  I could NOT have done a religious school and my dad would not have been aware of that at that point because we had not yet discussed what had gone on while he was in a coma after his heart attack.”

 “Wait, I thought you were at Dalton due to bullying?” David asked as they entered into the kitchen.

 “I was.  The bullying changed during the summer…or near the end of the school year before, because they were some instances even then. Anyway, so instead of dumpster tosses, probably because I was too tall for them to be easy…I started being pushed more and pushed harder. Of course the slushies never stopped.  Then my dad had a heart attack right after Labor Day. And that same week the glee club went off on a religious rampage and spent most of the next little while telling me I was horrid and wrong for not believing in God…and no one DID anything to help. I stayed at home, with no one there, made all my own food and did all the chores, took over work at the garage so the others wouldn’t be too overwhelmed, went to school and did all my homework, and was the only one who really spent any time at the hospital…and was still bullied by the regular bullies every day. And the stupid glee club just harped on and on about praying fixing things and god fixing things…like prayer or god was going to make sure the paychecks got out on time or finish the rebuild on Martin Lewis’s 68 convertible that Dad was almost done with or fix dinner or do the dishes or patch up the gash where I caught the open locker while falling after Nelson pushed me, let alone be what actually helped with my dad.  Although I ended up at my friend Mercedes church, mostly so she would stop ignoring me and so people would stop telling me I wasn’t trying to work with them all, I came out of the whole experience even more jaded against religion than I started.  And in the weeks after my dad waking up, when I was the one caring for him all afternoon and evening and still keeping everything else going, the in school bullying shot up significantly, with Finn and others in glee club adding to it even though theirs wasn’t physical mostly.  And at home wasn’t better. Finn and Carole had dad’s ears then, even though they spent like NO TIME at the house helping out. Everything exploded that first week of November and the death threats started and my dad found out about some of it and I ended up at Dalton when the guy threatening me didn’t stay expelled.  I even was able to board for that first bit of time I was at Dalton, which ended up a godsend because My dad had just married Carole and so Finn moved in again but they hadn’t found a new house yet, so Finn and I were supposed to share a room but Finn couldn’t handle it any better than the first time we tried. With me in Dalton, Carole was able to get dad to have me just come home during Thanksgiving and Winter Break and stay at the dorms most the rest of the weekends. We couldn’t afford boarding after the semester started again though, so I drove to Dalton every day. But by then we had moved so Finn and I didn’t have to share.  Heck, our rooms weren’t even on the same level of the house.  Why is everyone staring at me?”

 Jeff wrapped an arm around Kurt. “We just didn’t realize everything you had going on.  I mean Wes and David knew a little about the bullying and I knew after that first PE class that the bullying had had a physical side because you were still all bruised. But I don’t think anyone knew about all the rest.”

 “In fact Blaine insisted it wasn’t really physical at all, but a sexual assault that you were getting away from.  That was why he wouldn’t let certain guys near you.” Nick said.

 Kurt tilted his head. “Hmm, I guess the inciting incident was. One of the Jock bullies kissed me after pushing me, and then he threatened to kill me if I told anyone.”

 Elliot wrapped Kurt in a hug and squeezed.

 “Elliot, I need to breathe.” Kurt squeaked.

 “Sorry, can’t let go.”

 “I’m fine now.  In fact, most everything surrounding that time is OK.  Things were hashed out in the family, with the main bully, even within glee club to a certain extent.  I just still am not big on religion.  Didn’t gain any more liking for it when my dad had cancer, or when Finn died, or when I was bashed.  Nor did it call for me when Blaine cheated the first time or at any point when living with Rachel. In fact, Rachel sort of put me off Judaism as well as Christianity. Elliot, don’t squeeze harder.”

 A deep chuckling came from behind the guys.

 “So YOU are the one missing?” Richards asked.

 Kurt detangled himself from Elliot’s arms. “I am so sorry. I didn’t think at all about the situation this would put you. I just could not be around a certain someone without losing it.  I should have at least like….told you what I was planning or something, though. I mean it’s like the first rule of going out someplace….let someone know where you are and when you should be back and how to be contacted. Like, seriously. I could have left a note or something.  So I am so sorry and I promise if you don’t make me stay up here, I’ll take you out and show you where I’m camped and you can even check for yourself that it is safe and fine and whatnot.”

 “You left the hotdogs and ground beef?” Richards asked.

 “Yes, but I swiped some stuff in exchange.” Kurt said.

 “You came in for breakfast and washed your dishes and left them in the drainer?”

 “Yes.  Except this morning.”

 “Yes, you probably should have left a note, but how old are you?” Richards asked.

 “20, almost 21.”

 “So in your third year of university?”

 “Second, I was held back in elementary the year my mom died, I missed too much school and my dad wasn’t willing to fight the decision.”

 “Still…you are an adult. The only reason you needed to let anyone know was because you were at someone else’s place and there could have been issues if something was really wrong.  But, I understand. I still don’t understand where you got the camping gear. We don’t have any here.”

 “I thought we were going camping.  I was put in charge of all the stuff and he said he’d set up the place. MY version of camping has a tent…I came with the camping gear.  The version these guys run off is NUTS, no offence.” Kurt said.

 Richards chuckled. “I would like to see everyone up at the house at least once a day…just write a note to let me know you stopped by.”

 Kurt nodded.  “So I can stay out at the camp?  It is in that little clearing about 10 minutes out.”

 Richards nodded. “It is still inside the property so I don’t think there will be a problem. However if you were out in a tent, I need to figure out who has been holed away up in the loft in the pool house.  I thought that was you.”

 “Oh, I know that one!” Jeff said.  “Caleb Andrews.  He came out with Felix but needed to finish some papers before he could have fun. Nick told him about the loft Friday night after he kept getting interrupted in the library. He was out with us for most the time Saturday, at least.”

 “So are we good?” Elliot asked. “Because I need to find some beat boxers.”

 Richards nodded. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour; it would be nice to be here for it so everyone can see you are found.”

 Kurt nodded. “Let’s go find you some beat boxers.  And go see Conner.  And who the hell is Felix!”

 David yelped. “I’ve got to introduce you to Felix!”

 Kurt waved as he was drug through the kitchen deeper into the house.  He settled next to Conner on the couch and told Conner all about his set up in the woods, which he and Jake wanted to see, as soon as Conner could stand without feeling sick. He brushed of Kurt’s worry, mostly because he assured Kurt he had been to the ER nearby and they assured him that he’d be fine in a day or two.

 David and a boy who looked very much his double came barreling in from one side of the room while Elliot and several guys came chasing in with Jeff and Nick from the other.

 “I’ve got Felix!” shouted David at the same time as Jeff shouted “We got beat boxers!”

 “Ok. First, Felix.” Kurt said.

 David smirked at the other guys and pulled his double next to him. “Kurt, this is Felix.  He’s my little brother and he went to Dalton with us, but he was in Europe on an exchange program for the whole time you were at Dalton, which wasn’t fair!  He’d have been in your grade!”

 “Felix, nice to meet you. Were you a Warbler?” Kurt asked.

 “I do not sing.  I like acting, though. I participated in academic decathlon and debate and speech competitions. And BPA and the young astronauts program.”

 “Oh, I wish you had been there when I was then, I know you could have helped with some of my classes that I had issues in.  I was generally behind in sciences, mostly because McKinley doesn’t teach science well, at all. I think I ended up talking to David and Trent.”

 “He was good once he understood what concepts he was missing and we liked helping Kurt because he caught on quick and never wanted us to DO the work for him, just explain what he was getting wrong.” David said.

 Felix smiled. “I would have been glad to help you then.  I am not fond of helping some people.  They think helping means doing it for them.  I do not approve.”

 Kurt nodded. “My step brother was that way. Nearly cause World War III at our house when that issue came up. He thought it unfair that I wouldn’t do his work for him.”

 Before the conversation could go farther, another guy came chasing into the room.

 Kurt recognized him from the night he spied on David.

 “Kurt Hummel?” the guy asked, his hand extended for a handshake. “I’m Ravi, Ravi Patil. I am a huge fan of your father’s.  I saw him speak once.  He was brilliant, so down to earth.”

 “It’s nice to meet you.” Kurt said, shaking Ravi’s hand. “I do rather adore him. OH! I had better call him and tell him I’m found!”

 Kurt pulled out his phone and dialed his dad.

 The call wasn’t long but long enough for Kurt to wish he’d done it while alone.   He thought Ravi was going to melt into a puddle of awe struck goo when his dad said to tell him hello and his was thrilled the young man had enjoyed his speech.

 Luckily Jeff and Nick thought it was as funny as Kurt did.  Elliot was confused and then swatted Kurt upside the head.

 “You could have mentioned your dad was a congressman.” Elliot said.

 “I’ve told you about my dad.” Kurt insisted.

 “Yeah, he owns and runs a garage in Lima, Ohio and is often away from home.” Elliot said. “He likes Melencamp and wears ball caps. And he was one of your biggest supporters in school, but you often didn’t let him know what was going on.”

 “Oh….umm sorry. I just don’t often remember it myself. I mean, he didn’t start doing a whole lot in Washington until January my senior year and so sometimes I forget.” Kurt said. “I just think of him at home in Lima.”

 “That makes sense.” One of the guys Kurt wasn’t sure he knew said. “My folks travel a lot and I usually only think of them at the home I grew up in, even though they are rarely there anymore.  Jonas, beatboxer.  Who wanted us?”

 “Elliot wants to try out some songs.” Kurt said.

 “Beatles. Come Together.” Elliot said. “To start with.”

 “Oh. Yes.” Jonas said. “Paul, do you have the Beatles version on your iPod?”

 “Of Course.” Paul answered.  “That will be easy, too.”

 “Kurt, front man or background vocals?” Elliot asked.

 “Backing in this. I know it. Go work up the vocals needed and then come get me when you need to add me.” Kurt said.  “I’m going to chat with some of the others for a bit. I would like to try Hey Jude or Imagine though.”

 “And we should totally have a reshow of Blackbird.” Jeff said.

 “I’ll consider it.” Kurt said. “I am on the edge of that being one of those ruined songs.  It was well done though, so…”

 “Take that one back.” Nick said. “You sang it stunningly. Don’t let Blaine lay claim to that.”

 Kurt smiled. “Fine. I’ll sing Blackbird as well, and decide then.”

 Elliot and about eight guys huddled in a corner of the music room, by the piano, and worked out music. Kurt could tell by the excited look on Elliot’s face that he was learning a lot from several of the guys.

 Kurt talked with Conner and Jake, David and Felix and Ravi.  Nick and Jeff wandered between the two groups, depending on what topics were being talked about in the group of boys surrounding Kurt. Other guys wandered in and joined with the two groups.  Kurt said hi to Braydon and met several others who he recognized from classes but never really interacted with.  They were talking clubs and sports differences in public and private school systems when Wes wandered in, followed by Blaine and his stooges.  Blaine, whose hand was encased in Edwin’s and who had bite marks covering his neck, was giggling and simpering as Ricky whispered something in his ear.

 “I thought you all were out looking for Kurt.” Wes said, glaring at David. Kurt nearly laughed as Wes’s gaze passed right over him, like he’d forgotten how Kurt looked.  

 Kurt snorted. “I’ve been located, Wes. I was camping.”

 “Camping?  Were you in the loft?  I haven’t seen you out in the hot tubs?” Wes said.

 “Camping.  You know…tent, sleeping bag, communing with nature? Hikes?” Kurt said.

 “Don’t be ridiculous.” Blaine said, looking at Kurt for the first time since entering the room.  “What would YOU know about any of that?”

 Conner growled. Kurt put his hand on his knee and Jake put his arm around him.  David kicked back, as if waiting for a show.

  Kurt turned his attention from Wes to Blaine.  He noted the hickeys on Blaine’s neck, he noted Ricky’s hands still on Blaine’s shoulder and Blaine’s hand still in Edwin’s, with his fingers running over the back of Edwin’s hand.

  “Blaine, how wonderful to see you…fully dressed and not in a compromising position, unlike last time I laid eyes on you for any length of time.” Kurt said with a sneer, that Blaine didn’t even seem to notice. “Why do you question what I know of camping?  I’m sure you remember my father. You know, the man that is supposed to be your future father-in-law. The guy you asked for my hand in marriage like I was some sort of simpering princess.  That guy.  You spent a great deal of time at my house hanging with the guys, even after I’d gone to New York. I figure you know him rather well.  Do you really think he didn’t take me camping and hunting and fishing every chance he got? I mean, sure…I worked full time at the garage most of high school, so he didn’t get me out as often as he would have liked, but you have got to be delusional if you think he didn’t take me out at least once or twice a year.”

 “You worked at the garage doing like…secretary stuff.” Blaine said.

 Kurt rolled his eyes.

 “How do you figure?” Kurt said.

 “Well, I know you SAID you worked on the cars there, but I never saw you working on cars there and you aren’t exactly…built to work on cars, you are more – you know…and whenever I saw you at the garage you were answering the phone and dressed nicely. What was I supposed to think?” Blaine said.

“You picked me up from work exactly twice, Blaine. Twice in the whole time we’ve known each other. You’ve been to the garage another three, maybe four times.  Once to tell my dad I had no idea about Sex…before you started dating me…after you basically told me I was unsexy and you had no interest. Which was very creepy mind you and which wasn’t even really true.  I probably knew more about SEX than you did at that point…just mine was more of the boy/girl nature and more of the book learning aspect and more of the view of sex from listening to girls…so lots about menstrual cycles and sore boobs and stretch marks and things like that.  Then you didn’t bother coming to the garage again until AFTER I had graduated.  Hanging with Finn and Sam was just peachy.  And then you went to ask my dad my hand in marriage.  Even after you went to McKinley for school, you couldn’t ever be bothered to come to work with me and hang out or anything, so we saw each other AFTER I was done and had gone home and showered and changed. I guess I expected you to take my word for it when I told you I worked at the garage. How would you actually KNOW anything? I certainly didn’t get receptionist pay, which you enjoyed the fruits of more often than not. I mean when it came to paying for dates and things, I certainly generally took the provider role even though I wasn’t the one from an ‘extremely wealthy’ family ---your words, not mine---with a never ending allowance. Therefore, I never expected that you thought I was LYING to you the whole time. It is utterly insane for one to assume someone is LYING about their job. Unless of course, that someone spends so much time himself lying that he assumes everyone else lies all the time…just like him.  What kinds of lies did you tell me, Blaine?  What lies have you told me that everything I know is based off of?”

Blaine just glared at Kurt and crossed his arms over his chest.  Kurt stood and walked towards Blaine and his pals.

“Shall we start with the big one right now, Blaine?  Why are we here at Wes’s place?” Kurt said.

At first Kurt wasn’t sure Blaine was going to answer.  Edwin whispered something in his ear and the Ricky leaned in and whispered something in his other ear.

“Because I wanted to come and I knew you would be awful if I just headed out for dead week without you.” Blaine said. “You would have said no just to spite me if I’d wanted to come on my own.  And the formal invite was to both of us since David sent them out.”

“See, the truth wasn’t so hard there was it.  Might have been nice to tell it to me before I spent the money I did for this week, but I’m sure you’ll find it in your oh so truthful heart to pay me back at least half, if not more.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kurt.” Blaine said.

“I’m not kidding.” Kurt said.

Blaine rolled his eyes. “We’ll discuss this later at home.  You’ll see my point after we discuss it there.”

“You mean, I’ll drop the topic after you’ve screamed at me for hours on end just so I don’t have to hear you hollering any longer? My dad already agreed you need to pay back at least half the money I put out due to lack of communication, so it is not going away as easy as you generally manage to make issues disappear.” Kurt said.  “However, I guess we could discuss it at home.  Paying me back for what I put into a trip that you lied about will work in nicely with other topics, I’m sure. Of course, I suggest we do so after you’ve done your school work that you have been slacking off on and maybe even after finals. I would hate for you to actually flunk out because you chose to go camping instead of do your work…or rather I’d hate for you to blame me for your failure when you decided to choose camping over school work. And I will make sure your professors know what you have been up to this week, make no mistake about that.”

“I can’t believe you are being so mean to Blaine! What has he ever done to you?” Chaz sneered.

Jeff and Nick snorted as David held Conner down.

It was Elliot who laughed though. “Are you kidding me?”

“And just who are you?” Ricky asked, turning towards Elliot.

“God’s sakes, why are YOU here?  Kurt, are you cheating on me?  Did you sneak HIM here to have sex with him behind my back?  How dare you?  I KNEW you were cheating on me with him. I knew it. I didn’t for one moment believe he was just a friend and band mate.  How long have you been having sex with him, huh? I can’t believe you would do this to me!” Blaine started hollering.

“Has anyone ever had you tested for personality disorders?” Elliot shouted back.  “You are delusional and a hypocrite.”

“I am not! I know you’ve fucked him. I know it.  You wouldn’t accept my friend request on Facebook or any other social site and you were always calling. I can’t figure out why you want him more than me, but I know you’ve had sex with him and he is cheating with you.” Blaine continued. “And I’m NOT a hypocrite. I’m not wearing the ring; he is, so that makes him mine.  I can do whatever I like, he cannot. I asked for HIS hand in marriage, he didn’t ask for mine.  I’m the alpha male and so I can sow my seed.”

“You’re an idiot is what you are.” Elliot said. “A hypocrite and an Idiot. And delusional and an ass.”

“Blaine, I suggest you stop speaking before you further prove just how stupid you can be.” Kurt said. “And frankly, everyone here knows which of the two of us has been having sex this week so far…you haven’t taken any care to hide the proof.”

“But I can have sex.” Blaine said.

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Men in this room, how many are Gay or Bisexual, or any other identity on the spectrum?”

About half the room raised their hands and Kurt started to cough.

“You Ok there?” Elliot asked.

“Maybe Dalton was a gay school and I just never knew.” Kurt said.

David started to laugh.

“Anyway…” Kurt continued. “IF you are in a monogamous relationship, is it perfectly all right for your other half to have sex with other people?”

Most of those who had raised their hands shouted no.

“Straight men, if you are in a monogamous relationship with a girl….say engaged…is it all right to have sex with other people?”

Most of the straight guys said no.

“Those of you who did not say no to that…IF I asked your GIRLFRINDS the question would they say it was all right for you…the guy…to have sex with others while in a monogamous relationship?”

Only two tried to insist that their girls understood that men must be men and have sex with anyone their nether regions wanted.  Kurt asked for numbers of their girlfriends to ask.  Neither still had a girlfriend.

“There you go, Blaine.” Kurt said.  “The majority of the people here KNOW YOU ARE WRONG.  Not that it really matters. Do you know WHY it doesn’t really matter? Because I, the other half of this supposedly monogamous relationship, think you are WRONG!”

“So?” Blaine said.

The majority of the others in the room looked at Blaine in confusion.

“So?  So I think that BOTH people in a relationship that is monogamous only see each other…that is what monogamous means.  That means when one of those is NOT just seeing the other in the relationship, he is CHEATING.  I told you when I took you back…I would not be cheated on. I don’t give a flying rat’s ass if YOU don’t think you are cheating for whatever STUPID rationality you have concocted…I think you are cheating and I am THE ONLY ONE who matters in that.  I will not live in a world of double standards, Blaine.”

“Now, Kurt,” Blaine started, in a tone of voice that instantly grated on Kurt’s nerves even more. It was that condescending tone Blaine used when he thought Kurt was too naive or too poor to understand.

“We’ll speak of it at home.” Kurt said. “My dad might even join us. For now…I do believe Elliot has managed to work something out with his beatboxes. You are boring me, Blaine. You should go find something to do away from the rest of us….like you have all week, I’m sure.”

With that Kurt turned and stalked over to the piano. “Play me my part, boys.”

Paul smirked and started playing the notes he wanted Kurt to take on “come together”.   Most the guys who’d been sitting with Conner and Kurt by the couches moved over to the piano as well, Jake dragging an armchair over for Conner to sit in. Blaine just stared. No one was paying any attention to him, or Chaz or Ricky or Edwin…or even Wes.  Kurt smirked as Edwin and then Ricky whispered into Blaine’s ear again and Chaz pulled them all out to the hot tubs, Blaine frowning the whole way.

“I still don’t know who He is.” Wes stated, pointing at Elliot.

Kurt paused in his vocals. “Elliot Gilbert, my bandmate and friend.  Apparently there are people out there that care about me, Wes. So when he read the Facebook blow-up, he contacted Jeff and Nick and came out to help locate me…as in as soon as he read the Facebook blow–up he made efforts to come find me…he didn’t fuss about and ignore that I was ‘missing’. Your…nonchalant…manner of dealing with a missing person is, I hope, because it happens often enough with positive results that it wasn’t a real issue.  I shall have to ask Richards about that.”

Wes paled. “I’ve got…things…to do.” Wes said as he turned and headed towards the kitchens and Richards.

Kurt smirked and turned his attention back to singing.

They hadn’t got far in putting together the song before dinner was announced.

It was a much different experience than the first night, when Kurt felt like no one noticed him. All sorts of people came up to him and spoke to him.  He met the guys who’d taken out the motorbikes after he’d gone for his ride; he met several of Ravi’s friends, who spoke with him about his dad and politics. He met a few of the older Warblers, who had been working with Elliot on the songs right before dinner.

It wasn’t like Blaine was alone…he had his little harem and a small posse of pals who gathered around them like moths to a flame.  But Kurt was included in a group as well, and comments from said group made Kurt wonder how much of his being left alone at first was at Blaine’s suggestion.  He’d heard more than one person say they’d hoped to talk to him but that Blaine had told them Kurt would prefer they not.

After dinner they went and worked on the songs Elliot wanted to try, getting ‘Come Together’ to a level that Conner recorded it for Elliot. Then Jeff and Nick talked Kurt into doing Blackbird for them.  Like Kurt had predicted, more guys than they started with moved into the music room to participate.  Kurt could see about nine guys out in the hot tubs, where Blaine and his group were holding court, but the majority of guys were in with Kurt. Several of the guys who’d sung with Ravi and the older Warblers showed off some of the songs they’d done in the days…and won with.  Kurt was especially fond of the medley of John Denver songs they did and their ‘Ring of Fire’ arrangement.

When it started to get dark, Kurt and Elliot headed back to the camp. Jeff and Nick and Conner and Jake were to spend the next day at the Kurt’s campsite…or at least part of it. Elliot grabbed the knapsack of clothes from Jeff’s car as they headed out.

They chatted on the small hike back to the camp.  Kurt pulled out sodas to drink and they retired directly to the tent.  

“You’ll have to share the mattress.” Kurt said. “But you can have your own sleeping bag. I’m changing, I hope you don’t mind. I have extra blankets in the corner if you need some; it is still a bit chilly at night.  I haven’t been cold, but I bought extra thick fleece pajamas.”

“Can I brag to one and all tomorrow that I got to sleep with you?” Elliot asked. “I’ll be fine; I packed what I have been wearing at night at the retreat.”

Kurt shrugged.

“Kurt?”

“I was hoping to wait to actually break-up with Blaine until after finals….I know he is going to fail and blame it all on me as it is. With a break-up added to that?  I’ll be lucky if they don’t toss me out on me ear…for making the poor darling so stressed and broken hearted he couldn’t do his work. And the teachers will buy it….they always do for him and Rachel.”

“You are forgetting something.” Elliot said.  He made sure to hunt around his bag while Kurt changed his pants. “There is a whole day of you being lost broadcast all over social media and a whole day of Blaine not caring being broadcast just as loudly.  There are three dozen guys here who will mostly vouch for the activities that Blaine did here…while you were lost.  And also probably about how NOT heartbroken the brat is.  I’ll come with you and talk to the powers that be if need be. You know I will.”

“And yet, somehow I doubt it would make a difference.” Kurt said.

“Then make it make a difference.  Is it everyone who seems under their spell, or just certain people?  Go to other department heads if you need to. Had Rachel charmed them all? Are those under Blaine’s spell also those under who had been under Rachel’s?  Or did he do his own schmoozing?” Elliot asked.

Kurt tilted his head as he thought.  “You know…I don’t think she had.  She rather alienated the dean who oversees the drama classes…and who overseas most the non-practical courses like script analyses. She’s upset most the staff who teach on the tech side of the program and all the staff who deal with dance…all the staff, not just the instructors. She was rude to most the other vocal professors. Blaine is harder to gauge…there are people who praise and adore him who don’t seem to have ever met him or know much more about him than he has to be wonderful because he is in sophomore classes. Or maybe his folks put sooo much money into getting him in the classes he is in that they are enamored with that.  I don’t know how to prepare for that.”

“His folks gave money to the school to ensure his class choices?” Elliot asked, pulling out his pants and sleeping shirt now that Kurt was mostly changed.

Kurt shrugged and turned around to pull out the small speakers for his IPod so they could listen to music and Elliot could change pants. “His first semester he was in regular first year freshman classes and he just did OK…there were no As…but he passed the things he took with Bs and Cs.  He was like Rachel, though…he took voice and a private voice section, acting, dance and a lecture course on auditioning for different formats that he wasn’t supposed to be able to take but his brother knew the guest lecturer and got him into that one.  He carried just enough credits to be full time.  He dropped dance with Ms. July and changed into a lower level course within the first week taught by someone else…which he also skipped about ¼ of. He skipped out on his acting course half the time.  Then second semester starts up and he is in 6 of my 8 classes….all 6 of his classes are with me.  My classes are sophomore level…I spent the time attending everything I needed to move ahead with the amount of credits needed to be a sophomore.  He hadn’t even taken any of the first year of script analysis, or English 101, which were supposed to be the prerequisites for script writing.  He hadn’t taken the dance courses or the movement course which was supposed to be needed to take stage combat. The same for everything.  I asked how he was in my classes.  His first response was that he was just so good all his teachers recommended he skip ahead. Then I said I was going to ask around to see which teachers said that. He huffed and puffed and whined before saying that he just signed up and then pull strings to stay.  It was during a chat with Rachel I learned his dad was donating several good sized scholarships for the years he was in the school and that his mom was donating to help fund some instrument updates so he could have the best for accompanying his star performances. I simply concluded that was how he got himself into classes he wasn’t suited or prepared for.”

“Please tell me you are kidding?  That is absolutely horrible.”

“I only wish I were. And I suppose I could be wrong, but it is the only explanation that makes any sense…well, there is the people are hypnotized by his puppy dog eyes and hair gel theory, but generally I only indulge in that one when I am a bit tipsy on cough syrup and pain meds and still running a high fever…or concussed.” Kurt said.

Elliot snorted and tucked the clothing he’d changed out off into his knapsack, making sure he’d pulled out the thick socks he’d packed when he saw Kurt pull out his own. He handed Kurt the knapsack and Kurt passed it off to the side of the tent where his own was resting.  He flopped back onto the air mattress.  Kurt settled beside him.

“This is ridiculously comfortable for an air mattress.” Elliot said.

Kurt blushed. “I didn’t want Sam to be uncomfortable. My dad would have been upset.  He sees Sam as one of us most the time.”

“Do you ever wish to see what would happen if you had that kind of money to pour into things?” Elliot asked, staring at the top of the tent.

“No.” Kurt answered. “I decided once I started school that I wanted to gather as much experience as possible.  I never want a lack of knowledge or experience on my part to be the reason a production has issues. I didn’t get the parts that Blaine and Rachel always did. I didn’t get the summer jobs performing, or the summer voice lessons or fancier dance classes outside Lima, which both had even if they didn’t take as much advantage of what they were given as they could.  I have time and learning to catch up on.”

Elliot snorted. “Why is it always the ones who had everything who never appreciate it?”

Kurt smiled. “I don’t know, but seriously…there is one huge thing I learned at Dalton; Appreciate the things you have and don’t go looking for something better all the time. At first I was jealous of all those kids and their never ending cash, but then I realized that half couldn’t even make themselves a sandwich…let alone wash their clothing or fix their car or bike.  Lose a button?  Toss the shirt out and go buy a new one. However fine that was for a uniform shirt, I watched so many boys whine or get into a rage over loosing favorites because they lost a button.  Drop paint on your shoe?  Write home for a new pair to be sent and some extra cash for emotional turmoil, while whining that now you have to break in new shoes and your favorites are ruined forever and can’t be worn.  Miss lunch due to a meeting with a teacher?  Even with options of an open kitchen for student use after lunch was over and each dorm having a stocked kitchen, half of them would starve instead because they had no clue how to even find a snack.  Not all of them were that bad, but most were close. Our uniform shirts were 60 bucks, due to being so well made and tailored, supposedly. I actually made a killing off kids who would lose a button, bring their shirt to me to mend for 30 bucks, while writing home them needed money to buy a new shirt.  Their parents would send the money and they’d pocket the remainder for sneaking out clubbing or some other dumb thing.  I charged twenty to make grilled cheese, 10 for peanut butter and anything and 10 for meat sandwiches.  I charged three to peel oranges.  Often I made 60 bucks a day from just peeling oranges throughout the day. On the other hand…I realized that if needed, I could survive on my own even then.  I had the life skills needed, and had work experience that would have allowed me to be fine, even if I wasn’t happy.  I could have had full time work as a mechanic with little problem.”

Elliot laughed.  “Did any of them ever realize how much you were overcharging them?”

Kurt smirked. “The few who did were so desperate that they paid anyway.  I am hoping most of them NOW realize it, due to the fact they are all supposedly adults living in adult worlds.  It sounded like most the boys up at the house were managing Ok.”

Elliot laughed. “I suppose so.  What are you going to do about things?”

“I’m going to enjoy the rest of the time here with the guys…and take you out on those dirt bikes with me tomorrow.  I am going to then go home and study and take my finals and finish presentations and whatnot next week.  I am going to call my dad and have him help get back half the money I spent for this week from Blaine…and the rent and other expenses Blaine is supposed to be helping with but really hasn’t.  It’s only been a month since Rachel moved out and he moved in, so the expenses aren’t insurmountable if he doesn’t manage to get Blaine to pay up, but I’m going to try.  I am going to inform Blaine he has a month to be gone from the loft. I am going to have Chase come in with his buddy and help me create a spate space for someone else to live with me and find a roommate.  Not sure where I’m going from there…I’ll tell you after finals.”

Elliot reached over and grasped Kurt’s hand.  “I’ll keep you to it…and to your immediate plans.  Do you think you can make it through the next week?”

Kurt nodded. “As long as I focus on finals, yeah.”

“I can be done by next Friday, even with taking from now until Monday off.  So I can be around when you need backup when moving Blaine out or going to the school about his complaints if they happen.  Dani said she’d return next week if you need her. She got a bit extra in a paycheck and they don’t compete until next weekend after Sunday…she could use it to fly home and be there for you after Sunday.”

“No.  I’ll be good. I would feel so guilty if she used that money to fly to New York just because my world can’t stay stable for any length of time.” Kurt said.

“Yes, well….we both still feel guilty for not being around when you got bashed earlier this year.” Elliot said.

“I am sorry you didn’t know about it until weeks after.  Rachel and Blaine suck at telling people anything…My dad wouldn’t even have known if the hospital hadn’t called him, and he was the one to call the school.  Both were asked about me, but both just said I ‘was indisposed’ and couldn’t make it to classes. They never even turned in the notes I made for them to take.  If I hadn’t needed to reassure myself I could still present my performance assignment, I have no doubts I wouldn’t have any misses excused because my dad wouldn’t have called and got the doctors to talk to the teachers.  I should have tossed Blaine’s sorry ass to the side then. I still wouldn’t have gotten to do my performance if I hadn’t gotten out of the hospital the day before the last day of performances and my dad hadn’t marched into the school and demanded to see the written policy on medical emergencies and then taken it straight to Madame T.  He gave her a lovely lecture on not holding me responsible for Blaine’s behavior, which she forgot she heard before he’d even headed back to Washington DC.”

“I am not joking, Kurt. I want you to promise to go speak with the other deans and discuss Blaine and Rachel and Madame T’s response to them and you.  I swear you should transfer somewhere else.”

Kurt chuckled “I have thought about it. But…I got into NYADA and I don’t want to quit because of Rachel or Blaine. I don’t want to give either the satisfaction. And they would both be quick to rub it in and make sure everyone we ever met knew I had failed…I had quit.”

“Then get the help to make it through that school that you need.  This past semester has been ridiculous.”

“To be fair, the June issue is mostly my fault.  I caved to Blaine’s need to be the focus of all around him and it was my apology for making him feel badly about himself.”

“It wouldn’t have been an issue if the lady had any taste.  Blaine was outlandish and annoying the whole song…and it wasn’t even a good performance because he was not working as a group with anyone.  He over sang and over acted everything.  And before you say anything the whole performance was posted to blogs…so yes I saw it.  AND people there said the video didn’t even do justice to Blaine’s over done attitude. As to the apology bit, I still don’t see anything YOU needed to apologize for.  YOU didn’t make him eat all the fattening food he ate, YOU didn’t prevent him from exercising, I doubt YOU ever even told him no except for the time you were under doctor’s orders to not do anything too strenuous. ”

“I didn’t.  In fact he was always telling me NO, even before I was bashed.  You are right. What makes it worse is the choreography that I stuck with was Blaine’s idea and how we practiced it.  He didn’t want me to ‘be too loud’ in my actions of motions and he wanted everything ‘subtle’ and yet ‘a bit comical’.  I should have done what I wanted as soon as he started his own thing. Or just taken off with my original song counter to him and left him story of our lives to sing on his own.”

“What did you have planned?” Elliot asked.

“Outlaw of Love…or Let Me Entertain You.”

“I would have paid to see either.” Elliot said.

Kurt laughed. “I considered a full Glam For Your Entertainment, but I decided against that after Madame T nearly had a coronary when I came into school with nail polish still of after a spa afternoon with Isabella when I was recovering from the bashing.  They weren’t even too out there…just deep blood red glitter with a high gloss shine. For the head of a theater school, she is very conservative.  I think that is why the Apples had such a hard time…and some of the other kids.  Kids that are her stars are those students that are great but also completely ‘normal’…the ones who would be leads without anything about them standing out in any way that could be negative.  I heard the Dean of Tech yell at her once that NYADA was a school for the arts, the kids were supposed to feel free to be artsy.”

Elliot snorted. “I heard the other vocal teachers actually put out students who have higher hiring rates.”

“Master Franko does. I finally looked those stats up. Madame T has pushed out more ‘stars’ from her classes, but Master Franko teaches students who are hired consistently. And has had a fair amount of stars come out of his classroom as well.  I am taking courses from him this summer and next fall. I haven’t looked into the other two yet.”

“You should take courses from those as well.  I seriously think that if given the option one should take courses from as many different teachers as one can. I mean, yes…classes from the head of the costume department at NYU were fantastic, but when I took construction techniques from Martin Mayers, who worked with the museum as well as working as one of the head costumers for NYU shows, I learned so much more.  Not because he was better, but because his focus wasn’t exactly the same and so he had a different perspective.”

“There was a class that was on writing music that I thought about taking…it dealt not only with creating original works but also transposing songs into different keys and mash-ups and legalities. I think I’ll fit that in next year somewhere. I did well enough in music theory to take it.”

“I think you be brilliant at it.” Elliot said. “Well get you through this, Kurt.  I think you’ll find so many more doors opening up once we’ve got this door with Blaine nailed shut.  I think you’ll find so many people just waiting to pounce in and take up space in your life as so as they knew they can…friends and lovers.”

Kurt squeezed Elliot’s hand. Images of Jeff and Nick and Conner and Jake and David flitted through his head.  They were chased by thoughts of Adam and his Apples, the guys from stage combat, and other in different classes who always were friendly but seem to hold back…and look around as if to see who was about.  Then Chase and Sal’s laughs passed through his mind. Kurt looked at Elliot’s smiling face and thought of what he had said about Dani…and about the other from the band.

“I think you might just be right.  We should turn off the lantern and watch a movie before trying to get some sleep.  I have got to take you out on those dirt bikes.  I think you will love it.  I am so kicking myself for telling my dad I didn’t want one when I was little.”

“Your dad offered you a dirt bike? I thought you just meant lessons or something.” Elliot asked.

Kurt laughed.

“I was entering JR. High and didn’t want to give into what I saw as pressure to be ‘normal’ and ‘fit in’ and be just like all the other rude horrid boys I knew.  And as much as I had enjoyed riding a 4wheeler the summer before, I wasn’t absolutely gaga over it, so I didn’t figure a dirt bike would live up to the hype my Father was giving it.  I’m pretty certain he wanted me to race them.”

Elliot laughed as well. “Blow that candle out, then.”

Kurt’s breath caught before he turned and turned off the light.

“Blow the candles out, looks like a solo tonight,” Kurt sang softly as he pulled open the laptop. “But I think I’ll be all right.”

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Accomodation in Nepal

Finding a place to sleep is hardly ever a problem in Nepal, although only the established tourist centres offer much of a choice. Prices vary considerably, depending on where you stay and when. You can pay anything from a couple of dollars per night in a trekking lodge to more than $350 in a wildlife resort, but guesthouses, where most travellers stay, typically charge between $5 and $35.

Continue reading to find out more about...

Lodges

Guesthouses

Hotels and resorts

Village stays and homestays

Outside the high seasons (late September to mid-November and late February to late March), or if things are unusually quiet, prices can drop by up to fifty percent: the simple question “discount paunchha?” (“any discount?”) will often do the trick. Note that official tariffs don’t generally include the government and service taxes (13 percent and 10 percent respectively); rates are usually quoted as “plus plus”, meaning both need to be applied. Offers made on the spot at ordinary guesthouses, however, are generally all-in – make sure you check.

Most places have a range of rooms, from budget, shared-bathroom boxes to en suites with a/c and TVs. Single rooms are usually doubles offered at between half and two-thirds of the full price. Hotels and guesthouses take bookings, and reservations are often necessary in the busy seasons, during local festivals or if you’re arriving late at night.

Lodges

Off-the-beaten-track lodges are aimed at Nepali travellers, and are usually known as “hotel and lodge” (confusingly, the “hotel” bit means there’s somewhere to eat). Some are reasonably comfortable, but more often than not you’ll have to settle for something fairly insalubrious. Stark concrete floors, cold-water showers and smelly squat toilets are the rule, though you’ll rarely pay more than Rs350. It’s a good idea to bring your own sleeping-bag liner to protect against bedbugs and lice, and earplugs to block out the inevitable noise. In the Terai, try to get a room with a mosquito net and a working fan (or a/c).

This is not to say that Nepali lodges are to be avoided. Often the most primitive places – where you sit by a smoky fire and eat with your hosts – are the most rewarding. Trekking lodges on less-travelled routes can take this form, though there are some remarkably comfortable ones out there too.

Guesthouses

Many tourist-oriented places to stay in Nepal call themselves guesthouses. This category covers everything from primitive flophouses to well-appointed small hotels. Most places offer a spread of rooms at different prices, and sometimes dorm beds too. By and large, those that cater to foreigners do so efficiently: most innkeepers speak excellent English, and can arrange anything for you from laundry to trekking/porter hire.

Despite assurances to the contrary, you can’t necessarily count on constant hot water (many places rely on solar panels) nor uninterrupted electricity (power cuts are a daily occurrence, though some establishments have generators). If constant hot water is important to you, ask what kind of water-heating system the guesthouse has – best of all is “geyser” (pronounced “geezer”), which means an electric immersion heater or backup.

All but the really cheap guesthouses will have a safe, and the smarter places sometimes have security boxes in each room.

Budget guesthouses

Kathmandu and Pokhara have their own tourist quarters where fierce competition among budget guesthouses ensures great value. In these enclaves, all but the very cheapest places provide hot running water (though perhaps only sporadically), flush toilets, foam mattresses and clean sheets and blankets. Elsewhere in Nepal, expect rooms to be plainer and scruffier. Most guesthouses also offer some sort of roof-terrace or garden, a phone and TV. They’re rarely heated, however, making them rather cold in winter. Rooms in most budget places cost Rs300–1000, and standards vary considerably; the cheapest options often have shared bathrooms.

Mid-range guesthouses

Mid-range guesthouses (for lack of a better term) are increasingly popular. Rooms tend to be bigger and come with a fan (or even a/c), and often a phone and TV. Toilet paper is provided in the bathrooms, and the hot water is more reliable. The better ones will provide a portable electric heater in winter. Expect to pay Rs1000–3500 for a double room of this sort. Most mid-range guesthouses quote their prices in dollars, though you can pay in rupees and sometimes even with credit cards.

Hotels and resorts

It’s hard to generalize about the more expensive hotels and resorts. Some charge a hefty premium to insulate you from the Nepal you came to see, while others offer unique experiences. Prices for international-type features begin at around the $50 mark, but you should expect to pay in the region of $100 a night or more for a genuinely classy place. This guide also recommends several smaller resort hotels that offer something unique, like a breathtaking view or historic building. Jungle lodges and tented camps inside the Terai wildlife parks are typically the most expensive options of all, charging $250 plus a night.

Village stays and homestays

A growing number of programmes enable visitors to stay overnight in private homes in traditional villages far from the tourist trails. Village stays (also called village tourism or homestays) offer a unique opportunity for comfortable cultural immersion, and could become a good way to disperse visitors and spread the economic benefits of tourism into rural areas. The idea is that a tour operator contracts with a whole village to accommodate and entertain guests; rooms in local houses are fitted with bathrooms and a few tourist-style comforts, host families are trained to prepare meals that won’t disturb delicate Western constitutions, and a guide accompanies the guests to interpret, if necessary.

There are numerous village tourism programmes, including one in Chisapani, southeast of Pokhara near Rup Tal, run by the reputable Pokhara-based Child Welfare Scheme, and others that can be organized in and around Tansen and Bandipur. A few language institutes and other organizations in Kathmandu and Patan also organize homestays with families in and around the valley. Outside of Kathmandu, Ghalegaun, Ghandruk, Panauti are famou for organizing private as well as community homestays.

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IELTS Practice Cambridge 7 General Training Reading Test B C7GTB

IELTS Practice Cambridge Book 7 General Training Reading Test B C7GTB

Section 1 Read the text below and answer Questions 1-7 CALL ANYWHERE IN THE STATE FOR ONE LOW SHORT-DISTANCE RATE! You have a choice of three Supafone Mobile Digital access plans: Leisure time, Executive and Highflier. They are designed to meet the needs of light, moderate and high-volume users. Calls in each plan are charged at only two rates – short-distance and long-distance. You enjoy big savings with off-peak calls. LEISURE TIME Your mobile phone is mainly for personal use. You use your phone to keep family and friends in touch. You don’t want to strain your budget. With this plan you enjoy the lowest monthly access fee and extremely competitive costs for calls. However, a monthly minimum call charge applies. EXECUTIVE You’re in business and need to be able to call your office and your clients whenever the need arises. You value the convenience of a mobile phone but need to keep a close eye on overheads. For frequent users: the monthly access fee is slightly higher, but you enjoy the savings of a discounted call rate. HIGHFLIER You are always on the move and communications are critical. You need to be able to call and be called wherever you are – world-wide. As a high-volume user you pay an access fee of just $60 a month but even lower call rates.

Question 1-7 Classify the following statements. A the LEISURE TIME plan B the EXECUTIVE plan C the HIGHFLIER plan D ALL three of the plans 1. The monthly access fee is the highest but the call rates are the lowest. 2. Calls are charged at short-distance or long-distance rates. 3. This plan is NOT primarily intended for people who need a mobile phone for their work. 4. This plan is a cost-effective choice if you spend just over $100 a month on calls. 5. It costs 21 cents for a 30-second long-distance call at 2 p.m. 6. The connection fee is $30. 7. You will have to pay a minimum amount for calls each month. Read the text below and answer Questions 8-14 WESTWINDS FARM CAMPSITE Open April – September (Booking is advised for holidays in July and August to guarantee a place.) Jim and Meg Oaks welcome you to the campsite. We hope you will enjoy your stay here. We ask all campers to show due care and consideration whilst staying here and to observe the following camp rules. • Keep the campsite clean and tidy: – dispose of litter in the bins provided; – leave the showers, toilets and washing area in the same state as you found them; – ensure your site is clear of all litter when you leave it. • Don’t obstruct rights of way. Keep cars, bikes, etc. off the road. • Let sleeping campers have some peace. Don’t make any noise after 10 o’clock at night or before 7.30 in the morning. • Dogs must be kept on a lead. Owners of dogs that disturb other campers by barking through the night will be asked to leave. • Disorderly behaviour will not be tolerated. • The lighting of fires is strictly prohibited. • Ball games are not allowed on the campsite. There is plenty of room for ball games in the park opposite the campsite. • Radios, portable music equipment, etc. must not be played at high volume. The management reserves the right to refuse admittance. Do the following statements agree with the information given in the text? TRUE                             if the statement agrees with the information FALSE                           if the statement contradicts the information NOT GIVEN                if there is no information on this 8. The campsite is open all year round. 9. You should book ahead for the busier times of the year. 10. The minimum stay at the campsite is two nights. 11. The entrance to the campsite is locked after 10 p.m. 12. No dogs are allowed on the campsite. 13. You are not allowed to cook food on open fires. 14. The owners of the campsite may not allow you to camp there. Section 2 Question 15-27 Read the text below and answer Questions 15-27 THE LAW ON MINIMUM PAY Who is entitled to minimum pay? Nearly all workers aged 16 years and over, including part-time workers, are entitled to the National Minimum Wage. Amongst those to whom it does not apply are those engaged in unpaid work and family members employed by the family business. What is the minimum wage that I am entitled to? The National Wage Act specifies the minimum rates of pay applicable nationwide. Since 1 October 2007, the adult rate for workers aged 22 and over has been £5.25 per hour. The development rate for 18-21 year olds and for workers getting training in the first 6 months of a job is £4.60 per hour. The rate for 16-17 year olds starts at £3.40 an hour. There are special provisions for some workers, for example those whose job includes accommodation. Pay means gross pay and includes any items paid through the payroll such as overtime, bonus payments, commission and tips and gratuities. I believe I’m being paid below the National Minimum Wage Rate. How can I complain? If you are being paid less than this, there are various steps you can take: • If you feel able, you should talk directly with your employer. This is a clear legal right, and employers can be fined for not paying the NMW. • If you are a trade union member, you should call in the union. • If neither of these is appropriate then you can email via the Revenue and Customs website or call their helpline for advice. You have the legal right to inspect your employer’s pay records if you believe, on reasonable grounds, that you are being paid less than the NMW. Your employer is required to produce the records within 14 days, and must make them available at your place of work or at some other reasonable place. If your employer fails to produce the records, you may take the matter to an employment tribunal. You must make your complaint within three months of the ending of the 14-day notice period. Question 15-21 Complete the sentences below. Choose NO MORE THAN TWO WORDS AND/OR A NUMBER from the text for each answer. 15. The law on minimum pay doesn′t cover you if you are working in your………………..or if you are a volunteer. 16. You may be paid under £5 an hour if you are receiving………………………at the start of a job. 17. There are different rules for people who are provided with…………………..with their jobs. 18. If you earn extra money, for example for working longer hours or in tips, this counts as part of your wage when you receive it via…………. 19. Anyone being paid below the National Minimum Wage should speak to their…………………………if they can. 20. According to the law, you can ask to look at your boss′s……………………………….. 21. You have a period of………………………….to complain if your boss does not co-operate within the specified period of time. DEALING WITH YOUR OFFICE EMAILS Email has completely changed the way we work today. It offers many benefits and, if used well, can be an excellent tool for improving your own efficiency. Managed badly, though, email can be a waste of valuable time. Statistics indicate that office workers need to wade through an average of more than 30 emails a day. Despite your best efforts, unsolicited email or spam can clutter up the most organised inbox and infect your computer system with viruses. Here we give you guidance on protecting yourself. Prioritising incoming messages If you are regularly faced with a large volume of incoming messages, you need to prioritise your inbox to identify which emails are really important. If it is obvious spam, it can be deleted without reading. Then follow these steps for each email: • Check who the email is from. Were you expecting or hoping to hear from the sender? How quickly do they expect you to respond? • Check what the email is about. Is the subject urgent? Is it about an issue that falls within your sphere of responsibility, or should it just be forwarded to someone else? • Has the email been in your inbox for long? Check the message time. An initial scan like this can help you identify the emails that require your prompt attention. The others can be kept for reading at a more convenient time. Replying in stages Having prioritised your emails, you can answer them in stages, first with a brief acknowledgement and then a more detailed follow-up. This is particularly advisable when dealing with complicated matters where you don’t want to give a rushed answer. If you decide to do this, tell the recipient a definite date when you’ll be able to get back to him or her and try to keep to this wherever possible. Some emails are uncomplicated and only require a brief, one line answer, so it’s a good idea to reply to these immediately. For example, if all you need to say is, ‘Yes, I can make the 10.00 meeting’, or ‘Thanks, that’s just the information I needed’, do it. If you are unable to reply there and then or choose not to, let the sender know that you’ve received the message and will be in touch as soon as possible. Question 22-27 Complete the flow chart below. Choose NO MORE THAN TWO WORDS from the text for each answer.

Section 3 Question 28-40 Read the text below and answer questions 28-40 THE IRON BRIDGE The Iron Bridge was the first of its kind in Europe and is universally recognised as a symbol of the Industrial Revolution. A The Iron Bridge crosses the River Severn in Coalbrookdale, in the west of England. It was the first cast-iron bridge to be successfully erected, and the first large cast-iron structure of the industrial age in Europe, although the Chinese were expert iron-casters many centuries earlier. B Rivers used to be the equivalent of today’s motorways, in that they were extensively used for transportation. The River Severn, which starts its life on the Welsh mountains and eventually enters the sea between Cardiff and Bristol, is the longest navigable river in Britain. It was ideal for transportation purposes, and special boats were built to navigate the waters. By the middle of the eighteenth century, the Severn was one of the busiest rivers in Europe. Local goods, including coal, iron products, wool, grain and cider, were sent by river. Among the goods coming upstream were luxuries such as sugar, tea, coffee and wine. In places, the riverbanks were lined with wharves and the river was often crowded with boats loading or unloading. C In 1638, Basil Brooke patented a steel-making process and built a furnace at Coalbrookdale. This later became the property of Abraham Darby (referred to as Abraham Darby I to distinguish him from his son and grandson of the same name). After serving an apprenticeship in Birmingham, Darby had started a business in Bristol, but he moved to Coalbrookdale in 1710 with an idea that coke derived from coal could provide a more economical alternative to charcoal as a fuel for iron making. This led to cheaper, more efficient iron making from the abundant supplies of coal, iron and limestone in the area. D His son, Abraham Darby II, pioneered the manufacture of cast iron, and had the idea of building a bridge over the Severn, as ferrying stores of all kinds across the river, particularly the large quantities of fuel for the furnaces at Coalbrookdale and other surrounding ironworks, involved considerable expense and delay. However, it was his son Abraham Darby III (born in 1750) who, in 1775, organised a meeting to plan the building of a bridge. This was designed by a local architect, Thomas Pritchard, who had the idea of constructing it of iron. E Sections were cast during the winter of 1778-9 for a 7-metre-wide bridge with a span of 31 metres, 12 metres above the river. Construction took three months during the summer of 1779, and remarkably, nobody was injured during the construction process – a feat almost unheard of even in modern major civil engineering projects. Work on the approach roads continued for another two years, and the bridge was opened to traffic in 1781. Abraham Darby III funded the bridge by commissioning paintings and engravings, but he lost a lot on the project, which had cost nearly double the estimate, and he died leaving massive debts in 1789, aged only 39. The district did not flourish for much longer, and during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries factories closed down. Since 1934 the bridge has been open only to pedestrians. Universally recognised as the symbol of the Industrial Revolution, the Iron Bridge now stands at the heart of the Iron bridge Gorge World Heritage Site. F It has always been a mystery how the bridge was built. Despite its pioneering technology, no eye-witness accounts are known which describe the iron bridge being erected – and certainly no plans have survived. However, recent discoveries, research and experiments have shed new light on exactly how it was built, challenging the assumptions of recent decades. In 1997 a small watercolour sketch by Elias Martin came to light in the Swedish capital, Stockholm. Although there is a wealth of early views of the bridge by numerous artists, this is the only one which actually shows it under construction. G Up until recently it had been assumed that the bridge had been built from both banks, with the inner supports tilted across the river. This would have allowed river traffic to continue unimpeded during construction. But the picture clearly shows sections of the bridge being raised from a barge in the river. It contradicted everything historians had assumed about the bridge, and it was even considered that the picture could have been a fake as no other had come to light. So in 2001 a half-scale model of the bridge was built, in order to see if it could have been constructed in the way depicted in the watercolour. Meanwhile, a detailed archaeological, historical and photographic survey was done by the Iron bridge Gorge Museum Trust, along with a 3D CAD (computer-aided design) model by English Heritage. H The results tell us a lot more about how the bridge was built. We now know that all the large castings were made individually as they are all slightly different. The bridge wasn’t welded or bolted together as metal bridges are these days. Instead it was fitted together using a complex system of joints normally used for wood – but this was the traditional way in which iron structures were joined at the time. The construction of the model proved that the painting shows a very realistic method of constructing the bridge that could work and was in all probability the method used. I Now only one mystery remains in the Iron Bridge story. The Swedish watercolour sketch had apparently been torn from a book which would have contained similar sketches. It had been drawn by a Swedish artist who lived in London for 12 years and travelled Britain drawing what he saw. Nobody knows what has happened to the rest of the book, but perhaps the other sketches still exist somewhere. If they are ever found they could provide further valuable evidence of how the Iron Bridge was constructed. Question 28-31 Answer the questions below. Choose ONE NUMBER ONLY from the text for each answer. 28. When was the furnace bought by Darby originally constructed? 29. When were the roads leading to the bridge completed? 30. When was the bridge closed to traffic? 31. When was a model of the bridge built? Do the following statements agree with the information given in the text? TRUE                         if the statement agrees with the information FALSE                       if the statement contradicts the information NOT GIVEN            if there is no information on this 32. There is no written evidence of how the original bridge was constructed. 33. The painting by Elias Martin is the only one of the bridge when it was new. 34. The painting shows that the bridge was constructed from the two banks. 35. The original bridge and the model took equally long to construct. 36. Elias Martin is thought to have made other paintings of the bridge. Question 37-40 The text has nine paragraphs, A-I. Which paragraph of the text contains the following information? 37. why a bridge was required across the River Severn 38. a method used to raise money for the bridge 39. why Coalbrookdale became attractive to iron makers 40. how the sections of the bridge were connected to each other Show Answers

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Three Days To Animal

He has to make it to the lake. He has to make it a dozen city blocks to the lake. Go southbound afoot. Easier said than done. A phrase beats his cranial drum - "three days to animal"... one look at his entrance door would hint at this dark truth. Two sturdy chain locks. The eerie phrase was coined to describe what would happen to humanity once deprived of potable water for 72 hours and beyond. Let us take it farther; no water, very little food, all hydro knocked out across the world grid for seven days and counting, banking systems fully crashed, money useless, humanity disconnected but for small pockets of family and friendship who have banded together... if three days to animal became a full week, what then?

He has to escape the immediate madness of his high-rise apartment building, now a potential and literal death trap. Through the Sheetrock and that fire-rated metal-clad entrance door, the wails of doom paint a hallway, thirty floors stacked. Smoke detectors taking turns on the cry, too, as various neighbors attempt to heat their space with small controlled fires. His sixty year old ears have heard the beauty of children in laughter, a loon calling out across morning's misty lake, his departed wife in the throes of lovemaking, rest her fortunate soul not to be alive for this particular winter solstice. Now his ears are starved for contact with his son and daughter, out there somewhere in the meltdown of society and hundreds of miles across a great lake. He has to make it to the lake.

Several friends and neighbors have knocked upon his door since the predicted but unthinkable came to pass. NASA had confirmed in 2011 that the following year was sure to be one of high solar flare activity. These, at first calm in tone statements, had fit like a puzzle piece into the amped up fear mongering about Mayan calendar end times with that alarmingly specific final date of December 21, 2012. As the new year rolled past another highly anticipated midnight of Gregorian definition, along with it came the increasing awareness that many of the signposts were actually happening. Europe had been blitzed with a lethal winter far out of the ordinary. The polar ice masses were melting and falling away even faster than the most strident warnings predicted. Terrifying tornadic super storms had been tearing up the weather hardened parts of North America in new vicious ways. Mother Earth seemed to grow a belly of lethal intentions as earthquakes and tsunamis had begun to meet the wrathful sky, to join the atonal encompassing doom song. This was just the natural anomaly warning knell. What of society?

Lost amid the tweets and Facebook status updates, the trolling and scrolling, porn surfing and hacking, humanity had been equally stormy. Tyrants being overthrown by pissed off citizenry in the streets; that should have been a good thing. One by one they began to topple as the vast interconnected cyber-vascular world-heart thumped to a new rhythm, but far too many weren't noticing. Too many were contented in their daily routines. It was a me-first mirror gazing that supported the great undoing. As 2011's warnings grew strident under the weight of gravitas from increasingly in-the-know voices, it was a mere pittance of humanity that took note and began to prepare. Of those preparing, most were painted as whack jobs in the mass media; either trying to profit from the looming uncertainty or spun out on baseless what-ifs. Here, however, in the white knuckle now, he has been caught with pants down and apathy up. No larder. No stock of drinking water. In a life filled with control measures and guiding bodies of governance, so quickly and thoroughly did the matrix threads come loose.

This story's protagonist, the ever pragmatic sixty year old Glen Loach, had entered 2012 with a niggling concern that grew throughout a prematurely warm Spring and swampy lethal heatwave Summer. His home is Toronto, an alpha city, an economic engine, a multicultural how-to model, and a place not high up on the list of world consciousness where alleged alpha cities are listed, analyzed, rated. Now then, as everything he can hear coming through slightly opened windows is a horror wash of human suffering and property damage, Glen knows he must get to the lake. He is parched, dizzy, ravenous, desperate, cold. The electric baseboard heater that used to overdo itself unless he fiddled with the thermostat, now a useless wall attachment. It had taken two days for his one bedroom apartment to cool down into the discomfort zone. By day three he was wearing layers; t-shirt, sweater, winter jacket. Beneath his casual slacks, he wore white long johns and doubled up wool socks.

When he ran out of water and had drunk the toilet tank and bowl dry, Glen began to spend more time staring out at the city through a large picture window in the living room, which his mind-voice had begun to call a "dying room"... by day five he was witnessing acts of raw violence on Sherbourne street as once polite Canadians devolved into pure survival instinct. Evidently law enforcement had all but vanished. "Katrina, my ass" Glen croaked into the window pane as he watched three men beat down and unmercifully head-kick a fellow citizen. They stomped him to death and took his backpack. Not a cop in sight. They were all with their families now. "Jobs" were no longer jobs. Glen cursed himself for having no batteries in the drawer; an old AM/FM portable radio would sit mute during the endless hour crawl of not knowing. Up and down the building's halls during day one of null electricity, not a person owned a portable battery powered radio; such was the dependance upon wall sockets and the holy internet. There are a lot of seniors in this housing complex, and few of them were going to venture forth into the suddenly lit urban fuse with its sirens and disjointed honking horns en masse.

This day, the one that compels him to defeat primal fear so that he can intend to strike out toward the waterfront, has him a nervous wreck. He paces the apartment and tries to ignore shouts from the hallway, various fists pounding on doors, the cries of names once familiar and meaningful but now emptied. Without the overpowering shadow of 2012's forecasted calamity, would a week-long global blackout carry this apocalyptic taint? Would he have been watching night times aglow with the various burning buildings and cars that he could see from his tenth floor perch? The body of a stomped-dead man would not have lain ignored in the street, would it? Utter shock had crippled the self anointed kings of a world filled with life, once the loudly proclaimed became fact. Glen was cut off and had no way to know what was taking place in other locations. Based on the endless terror of what he could see and hear in a once safe city, after just a week, it wasn't a stretch to imagine the scale of undoing on a global stage.

There would be a collapse of "government", of course. So-called leaders would be hunkered down in their apocalypse bunkers, as varied and effective as each nation's preparation and the fiscal attentiveness to it. Chiefs of Staff, military might, emergency laws; how to know what was happening? It shocked Glen to the guts just how quickly his entire perceived world collapsed inwardly, leaving only a shaky starving thirsting widower to stare with raccoon eyes through the protective glass of a window. There were no dispensers of information, now. No talking heads on the flat screen to tell him what to wear tomorrow, how to find food, which locations might provide emergency shelter... no people came knocking with helpful words. Sirens wailed and went silent after three long days. Satellites in orbit had been deep fried. Humanity's rigid reliance upon its technology created a perfect brutal confluence. Glen has never been a man of religious faith, and therefore his isolation is absolute during the last hours of this unraveling coil. Early on when huddling in the pitch dark hallway with a few neighbors and their candle dancing shadows, the consensus was to stay put. Sooner than later this would be fixed. Someone would show up. Building management didn't live there but surely it was just a matter of time before help and information arrived... wrong. A lot of people left, took their chances on the crazy fear filled streets. Some returned to say it again - "stay where you are, it is insanity out there."

He is down to a couple of tins of kidney beans, some soda crackers, croutons, sweet mix pickles with the juice already drained... the trending of winters in his city has been one of diminished snowfall, and here in the disastrous embraces of December 2012 his balcony is dry as a bone. No melting flakes for drinking water, sir. Bad luck for you that the power grid was destroyed when you were just about to go grocery shopping, sir. Glen has considered attempting to capture a pigeon, for the protein, but they are now not landing where they did for a decade in their usual taunting shitting way. He is dying and feels mocked in the act. So, to the lake. Or death. How will he fare? What form of animalistic madness waits out there in those city blocks that separate him from open drinkable water?

Oh, to be the strapping man of his younger years. Of the open violence now gripping his metropolis and indeed the world entire, how much of it was based on survival? How much stemmed from the blown open fabric of law, control, deterrence? There lived the actual terror ; that Glen's belief in his fellow man as a generally decent creature could be so wrong. That, given the opportunity and enough catalyzing fear, blood would so easily flow, buildings would burn, a species rife with its collective incompleteness of spirit would so devour itself. Indeed, the proof had been in the rancid pudding all through the summer months of 2012, when cities around the planet reported extreme spikes in criminal behavior. It had been Glen's consistently vocalized opinion and fear that the Mayan foretold apocalypse was to be an emotion fuelled prophecy born from the minority. The loud minority. The criminal, primeval, fearful, the predatory, despicable minority. Aside from they, also the people of weaknesses. They who would binge on their drug of choice to cope with escalating worry. An irony not lost on this man who relies upon the sweetened sting of whisky. That potent energy available to each human mind, once collected amplified and siphoned, tick tock tick tock.

To risk death in order to clutch at continued life, or to stay in these walls until it no longer matters? It has to be the choice of life. He has children and grandchildren, siblings and their children, friendships, love, so many reasons not to perish in this apartment. It is possible, isn't it?, that out there in the streets he might find pockets of sanity. There may be groups of people holed up in supermarkets, public buildings, doing their best to formulate a plan. Glen shivers and decides that he must leave at first morning light. He pulls a small wooden stool closer to the living room window and watches the still surreal sight of a Milky Way twinkling its belt across downtown Toronto's firmament.

Before attempting "sleep", he visits his face in the bathroom mirror. How many movies feature a bravura acting mirror scene? Mickey Rourke in "Barfly" comes to mind as Glen sets a candle on a dish down upon the vanity top. The amber contortion of his face, old beyond those sixty years, seems to set him up for a release of the tears that have remained mostly dammed. If he thinks about rejoining his potently missed wife, his beloved Pauline who succumbed to cancer after a long battle, then it is within that seething cauldron of inexpressible all-at-once where the dam may fail. Not a day goes by without the empty chamber in his chest reminding him that only his family keeps him here. He has watched the world change. He has been a "peacekeeper" for his country, stationed in a landscape of dirt and the dirt poor, where concealed bombs and sniper attacks took their awful toll. Glen suffers multiple forms of stress, not the least of which being a sense of ultra dislocation. Retired from the forces, retired against his will from an easy loving marriage, and now retired from a world that made at least some form of sense when he was younger.

He looks at his unremarkable face in the flame lit mirror. A shock of white wiry hair emulates the letter 'u' in a horizontal band just above his ears, down to the neck, bald and smooth on top from the ripe old age of 40. His eyebrows are unruly caterpillars, also white. The nose is Walter Matthau's but crisscrossed by the capillaries of a cope drinker, though it must be said that Glen is a gentle drinker. A private one, too. His glasses of Southern Comfort are just that; comfort. His start time, usually a mid-afternoon depending on the mood of a day's heart, issues forth a slow slide into numbness. It is then that his exhausted eyes may deal with CNN, CBC, NBC, ABC, CBS, BBC, and all the other alphabet pimps. Now in the half dark, sick and sober, Glen examines his prodigious walrus mustache which hasn't kept pace with the whitening of other hair, then he feels the latest stab of "I sure could use a drink"... his mind strays to the collective madness that must be gripping a world of addicts now deprived of their fixes. "We were addicted to hydro, too" he speaks to the deadened light fixture above a mirror he can no longer handle.

Glen moves his pear shaped body to the toilet and marvels that he can still produce urine, though it is a mere trickle. The building has grown increasingly quiet and he considers that others, like him, have decided to take their chances outdoors. It was becoming evident that the lights, heat, and water were not coming back on. His Christmas had been most emphatically cancelled. His last evening in this his shelter of quiet grieving and coping, December 28 of a fated 2012. As she shuffles by candlelight to his mess of a bed, Glen worries about leaving the apartment building at a time when his family members might be arriving to find him. He will write a note in the morning, tape it to the door, pray that everyone is alive and stays where they are. He feels old and used up beyond his years, and therefore feels more the expendable one.

In bed, the room so dark with no bleed of city light, Glen's mind does what it has been doing for days... it becomes a worm. It tunnels its way through the same thought patterns, all of them unfinished and colliding overlapping interrupting. What do we do with a blameless catastrophe? Being angry with cancer cells is like being angry with a sun going through natural cycles of flare activity. Like being pissed off at the planet for the way it wiped out two million more Japanese citizens during the summer of the final year. An earthquake, a tsunami, a nuclear meltdown, a domino horror story so inanimate and indifferent as the fragile species daring to play custodian to Earth suffers every consequence. She was so at peace when she died. He held her hand and she went "into" the flowers of the oil painting across from that final bed. For two years he had witnessed the inward vacuuming of her physical beauty, replaced equally with something just as lovely. Pauline's eyes and their fire, never changed. Fear took hold at times but she retained the same strength that had guided them through parenting and the challenges of being married to a military man who spent too much time away from home. That was the key word; "home". Her body withered, her face became a wrinkled mask of itself, but home never left her eyes. "I . Am. Going into the flowers..." her last utterance.

When Pauline's body released her true self, Glen "died" too. He was replaced by a body double and a similar but altered soul. Unlike so many, too many, he was loved and supported by both blood and non-blood family. It meant the world, but the world was horribly different. Routine having played such a role in his life, this was Glen's post Pauline definition of living : the numbed ritualistic movements of a day whose name no longer mattered. The liquor store. The sad hours spent reading, preparing, accepting the feeling that he would not be much longer for this world even though his health had always been excellent despite a two decade need for alcohol. That it would come to pass in such a long-predicted preposterous way...

I will rise with the first light. Take my chances, see what happens, get to water, take it a step and a block at a time.

It becomes his deepest sleep in a week. Wearing a coat and beneath every available blanket, not even his snoring will intrude. His last thoughts revolve around the bizarre feeling of liberation that arrives with calamity beyond control.

Glen Loach awakens gradually. The weight of life is there waiting for him, sitting squarely on his chest, and yet now a clarity permeates his upset world. His thickly muscled legs swing free of the bed and he hoists his pear shaped torso to a standing position by gripping a nearby window sill. He may not look it, but Glen is a powerful man even at sixty ripened years. That stout midsection and his general demeanor carries a history of surprise. Those who sized him up, made visual assumptions, then challenged him...

His tongue is a raspy stick. To the balcony he shuffles where he opens a can of kidney beans for breakfast, breathing through his mouth as he chews. The sun will be rising up through a dense curtain of shapeless cloud cover. He hears very little out there, and the hallway seems muted as well. Sitting on the edge of a sofa cushion, slowly scooping beans from a can, grateful for the juice even as it causes him to retch, Glen senses that he will be meeting up with his beloved Pauline soon. He may be thirsty and exhausted beyond describing, but there has been a greater thirst spanning the long years without his partner.

He spoons the last portion of disgusting kidney beans into his mouth and aches for a hot shower. It is remarkable how many years have passed since the loss of his wife, and also how far from his military tidiness and preparedness he has fallen. The flashlight contains three half dead D cell batteries. There are no others in the apartment and he must use the torch judiciously; ten years ago Glen would have kept extras on hand. Pauline would have made doubly sure of it, though he can count on the fingers of one mitt how many of these long lasting power outages... ah, but this one is different. His plan for the day is to reach the lake unscathed, fill a large plastic jug with water, and hopefully find other citizens who haven't regressed to a primal state of being. If he can fill a canvas shopping bag with food items, anywhere it can safely happen, that will be enormous. The word "safely" brings his thoughts around to the Browning.

Glen unlocks a hallway storage closet door, then a small metal safe within. He removes another tin box, unlocks it, and retrieves his old service pistol along with a single 13-round magazine. Preparedness; what he wouldn't give now for a second ammo clip. At the dining room table he arms his weapon, inspects it as he has done countless times. Popular with military personnel the world over since its introduction in 1935, this is a Browning Hi-Power. A single-action 9mm handgun that holds 13 rounds and is lethal up to 50 metres. Heavy of trigger, "single-action" means that the hammer must be manually cocked prior to firing. In combat situations, or with Glen's example as a peacekeeper stationed in a hostile environment, it was typical to keep the hammer cocked and the safety catch on.

This Browning has never been fired in the field. He was an expert shot on practice ranges, but had been fortunate not to require the weapon during active duty despite heavy casualties to Canadian forces in Afghanistan before and leading up to his retirement. Glen holds the ever familiar grip and stares down at the gun barrel. That dull metal has been on the inside of his mouth, exactly once. After a particularly pitiful night of drinking, dreading that empty bed, reeling anew from his children lecturing him across the telephone miles that he must leave Toronto and join them in upstate New York, that there were no reasons to stay... Glen had considered the unthinkable. Even flushed with whisky and its perverse dark logic, he knew that suicide must be a cardinal sin. Without those ever valid reasons to continue living and coping, his children and grandchildren, it would still amount to a craven disregard for the miracle-gift of life... should he bust a cap on himself...

He tucks the pistol into his jacket's inside pocket, zips it shut, sighs a lifetime's worth. How will he think of that trigger in a few more days? When does the offing of oneself become justifiable? Over a million souls per year exercise that most drastic option, most of them male. As balanced as Glen likes to think himself to be, in a world so alienating to his age bracket, he could easily opt out if not for the loves in his life. If it hurts, why stay? The kidney beans churn in his belly and for a few minutes it feels like he might need to vomit. It has been days since his last bowel movement, and that was taken into a dry toilet bowl. The bathroom's door remains closed for obvious and necessary reasons. The toothpaste and toothbrush have been in the kitchen; Glen squeezes some Crest into his mouth, uses what little saliva he can manage to brush his teeth. Disgusting. He spits into the sink and feels the pistol rubbing on his ribs. There are estimates of up to 900 million firearms in active rotation on planet Earth, 270 million of them in the United States. When all the other guns are factored in... the amassment of an arsenal... staggering numbers come to mind. Now here is Glen Loach; an expert shot with a licensed weapon, about to rely upon his Browning 9mm for personal safety.

He tucks his flashlight into a right front coat pocket. He reaches into cupboard space beneath the sink for a plastic jug that may hold nearly a gallon of water. This, he places into a large canvas shopping bag that should afford him extra room in case he finds food items during his walk. In the entrance hall he picks up a set of keys that give him pause. Locks, keys, alarm codes, laws, law enforcement, judicial systems, prison systems, military systems. The safeguard of a species against its own kind, because the species is at odds with itself. It wants to live as though removed from the natural cycle of survival. Predators and prey. Glen slowly unchains his door, keeping it quiet, and steps into a dark pungent hallway. Urine, excrement, fire smoke, dust, terror.

The hallway is windowless and almost pitch black. Glen flicks the flashlight to life and after quietly locking his door, moves quickly to a stairwell exit several dozen yards away. Passing apartments and thickly layered odors, he can hear weeping from a unit near the darkened elevator lobby. This is someone new to the building. For an intense second he wants to stop, knock, enquire. Can't. No time. At the stairwell exit he can hear a menacing moan of wind on the other side; it seems to mimic the emotional feel of a society collapsed in fear. Glen pushes the heavy door open, plays his flashlight along the grey concrete steps, then begins the ten floors of descent. Kitchen garbage bags have been discarded in several of the doorways where the staircase does its dogleg turn, and the air is ripe. In the primal stem of his brain, Glen is relieved not to find another person on the way down. He knows, or used to know, quite a few residents of the building who may not resemble their true selves now.

A pale leaden morning light greets him at street level, as does a bitterly cold Arctic wind that pushes at the canvas bag strung over his shoulder. Before moving forward and out through the south doorway, Glen scans everything that he can take in. Only the winds are alive, it seems. His eyes next move across a parking lot to the poor soul who was stomped out of this world for the contents of a backpack, or maybe just for the evil of the act without law constraints to impede it... an unthinkable horror. Glen walks slowly, cautiously away from the building and toward the fallen person on Sherbourne street. He is blown away by the amount of smashed windshield glass everywhere, struck by the idiocy. With the power out so emphatically and all the dire apocalypse predictions seemingly unfolded, what possible use was there for car stereos or any other item that a smash and grab thief would normally target?

The air is tainted with the harsh scent of fires that have burned unchecked. He treads carefully through little cubes of glass, across the parking lot to the fallen citizen in his sad repose. Glen is no stranger to corpses, having witnessed many a tragedy in Afghanistan, and his sense of right and wrong will not be impinged upon by any world ending free-for-all. By the time he reaches the body, his eyes are stinging with tears that rise easily. Coagulated blood coats the poor man's face. A sidewalk has never looked harsher. Glen scans the north and south vista of the street, seeing nobody else; an expanse of vandalized newspaper boxes, broken street level windows in virtually every apartment building, a thin plume of smoke issuing upward from somewhere in nearby Allan Gardens park. He bends at the knees to gently grip the fallen one's jacket, tugs firmly to pull his body into a resting place against a brick wall that acts as the parking lot perimeter. Cold temperatures have forestalled the inevitable decomposition. Glen pushes the man against the bricks, crying freely and shaking his head. Blue eyes. Vibrant even in death. Died with a wince on his face. Fuck.

"I'm so sorry, brother" he says to the corpse, and wonders again if he will be able to emotionally survive this walk to get water and hopefully find others who haven't completely lost it. There is a convenience store around the bend on Carlton street; Glen's first destination although he pre-knows what will await him there. It takes five minutes to cover the distance, his eyes watching that smoke plume from the park which seems to come from within the beautiful domed central greenhouse there. As predicted, his neighborhood variety store has been absolutely ransacked. The window glass is all over not only an adjacent sidewalk but fans out across the empty width of Carlton street. A front door has been torn out of its frame and lays like another kind of corpse in its threshold. Glen can see through the gaping window casings that the store shelves and glass doored refrigeration displays have been entirely emptied. A sign of what will be, no doubt, but he decides with resignation to make his way through the park's diagonal path to have a look at a large supermarket on Gould street. If he can obtain water and any food items without having to traverse the defiled city blocks between he and lake Ontario, that is the vastly preferred option.

Not bloody likely, though. He crosses an eerily traffic free street and passes by the smoking greenhouse dome. All of the window panes are blackened with soot. A large outdoor area that leads into the central dome has been strewn with the tropical contents within; cacti and wide banana leaf fronds, torn up exotic flowers, more shattered panes of glass. It makes him sick, the sheer wanton stupidity. There were months of this manner of vandalism in riots throughout the world during the lethal heat waves of 2012's summer. Precisely what had been worried about in advance, the unravel of a society's self control, the opportunistic inexplicable destruction of a peoples' own home turf, the scary anti-mentality of mobs... it had all manifested to a greater degree than feared, and as usual the majority of good law abiding citizenry had done almost nothing to stop it.

Glen wipes at his eyes and continues through the park. Benches have long been rooted in cement here, this being a somewhat edgy downtown place with split personality atmosphere, and they remain in their locations but now free of people. There are very high concentrations of rooming houses and homeless shelters in this part of town; he knows that the denizens are now at large without supervision, medication, food or water. This park has long been a day pass hangout and he finds it extra peculiar that this particular morning is presenting him with the entire public space, free of other human presence. Glen quickens his gait along the diagonal central pathway, feeling the ominous yet reassuring weight of his Browning pistol. Feeling emptier than he has at any point during the awful week long untethering of his city as seen and heard through walls and windows. Gerrard street is a vandalized mess of an intersection, also void of life. A Harvey's fast food joint has been destroyed utterly. Windows gone, menu panels scattered into the street, the interior apparently set fire to and left to burn. Glen is shocked at a realization that perhaps the entire inner city has been thus grimly assaulted; that hope has no place in this walk of his. On the southwest corner of the intersection, in front of another smashed to pieces glass door that fronted a shabby 24-hour convenience mart, he notices a broad puddle of blood. It seems rather recent, still a luridly bright arterial red, and is telling a tale of someone attacked and probably stabbed. Someone who fell, left for dead, then somehow arose to stagger away in a horrendous trail of sprayed droplets that meander south on Jarvis street.

Down to St.Michael's hospital, probably, in a desperate futile final act. Such mind-blowing madness in a once safe big city. Nice polite Canadians. He decides to cross west on Gerrard street's north side, then down Mutual street to Gould where a gutted supermarket no doubt awaits his stunned eyes. Though he is normally reluctant to make judgments or cast aspersions, Glen Loach cannot help but speculate as to the horror show in some American cities that come to mind... he heads south on a barren Mutual street with its row of parked and vandalized cars, and prays for the safety of his family folk in Watertown New York.

 It doesn't take very long for Glen to reach Gould street and the block wide facade of a surrealist supermarket. An entire sidewalk of shattered glass panes. Every window, tall and narrow but for the main doorway, has been boarded up with big sheets of plywood. It reminds him somewhat of storm preparations down south in the hurricane zones. A large bright red aerosol warning has been spray printed across what used to be the entrance : "Anyone attempting to enter will be HARMED". Glen stands for a moment and surmises that employees are holed up in there, living off the merchandise, though it could just as easily be a horror movie on the other side of that plywood... "clean up aisle eight" taken to new heights of low.

He pivots his gaze to take in a view of Yonge street, two blocks west and an apparent disaster zone. A row of smoke blackened storefronts and not a soul in sight... wait, there. A lone bike rider. Slowly pedalling north with his head down... Glen does not want to be seen and steps in closer to the boarded up entrance doorway. Cyclist rolls out of sight. The garish threat "will be HARMED" is emblazoned directly in front of him, and Glen kicks the plywood hard. His guts churn in hunger but mostly he craves a never-ending drink of cold clean water. "Let me IN" he shouts at the wood sheet, "I have coupons!" He spits and suddenly laughs in an ugly coarse staccato that doesn't resemble who he thinks himself to be; a clinging echo of Afghanistan and the constant fucking terror on patrols...

Oh, these civilians who know nothing of that particular peculiar knife edge of fear. The kind of blood deep fear that carbonates a soldier, police officer, prison guard, surgeon... anyone who goes to work with life and death more palpably present than is "usual". Glen Loach is certainly no robotized jarhead. He is a feeler. His youthful entrance into the armed forces came about due to a lack of connection between his wants and what was realistically available to him for a vocation. His father had been a military man, served with valor and distinction, espoused the noble virtues of a life dedicated to the idea of "country" and "peace". Glen had been a lot less interested in the human aspect, being inherently nihilistic-meets-optimistic (a paradox deluxe), and wanted to "see the world"... how many lifetimes ago was that? Here he stands now in a self-imploded city on a panicked planet with no electrical system, and how does it assist him to have witnessed death up close? To have "seen the world"? The world is now measured in urban blocks that lead to water, hopefully to a food source, but to what purpose?

He gets his boots moving away from the boarded up supermarket, southbound on a narrower street named Mutual, with a plan to travel one block west for Church street and its denser potential to provide life sustaining supplies via retail outlets and restaurants. The temperature seems to dip drastically even as what was a steady wind diminishes to a mocking whisper. Glen hoists the bag strap higher across his shoulder and begins to realize the futility of remaining in Toronto when his gut is saying "all is hopeless here". Back to his apartment in the building of woe, and then what? All the signs had been escalating throughout the summer of this year. A very low homicide average of 60 or less per annum in a city region of nearly six million, rode the fear rails and anything-goes what the fuckism into a record setting 230 killings. That had been a tiny spike compared to "Stateside's" usual killing fields. It was as if the collective All Mind of an already teetering species couldn't survive the negative anticipation of apocalypse. Then the year beginning with precisely what NASA gently (at first) warned of : higher than normal solar flare activity, although it was all part of a "natural cycle"... the initial coronal mass discharges had only slightly messed with satellite systems, interfered minimally with cell phones, and provided people in lower latitudes with some pretty aurora borealis displays.

By June the sun had become rowdier. The talking heads in the know spoke in more direct tones. The world stuttered. A tension hitherto kept under the cloak of control began to amp and ramp. That slimmest of constraints put into place to hold individuals within the confines of "law" and what is "right"; it began to slip, too. Crime waves spread like a hybrid but inevitable cancer, beginning with the predictable places where people have less, through the mass media where responsibility and discretion is a mythic smokescreen, then up through the pecking order into that rarified air where the controllers and "haves" exist. Bilderberg group's 2012 meeting was a particularly secretive one. World policy making was under threat from a nemesis of no conscious imperative. The profiteering and continued manipulation of billions of tiny little components, all walking around with their heads full of wants and dreams and embedded ideas about personal freedom, could not proceed if a life giving star was going to snuff out life.

Glen has to stop for a moment, halfway to Shuter street. His stomach is processing the kidney beans with acidic pain, flexing gas, and he feels quite suddenly ill and hopeless. In his mind so fixed upon turmoil and the fallacy of attempting to survive, he is both cursed by and grateful for those children and grandchildren on lake Ontario's far shore. They will keep him striving. Glen isn't very adept at lying to himself. He knows that the darkness of these thoughts would hold no territory for long, if his Pauline... he squelches the train and begins walking again. At Shuter he turns right, then crosses a normally hectic Dundas street. Nobody else in sight, thankfully, but the morning light is young. Every storefront, it seems, has been relieved of its window glass. He passes used electronics shops that have no stock remaining. The irony tastes better than kidney beans. At a southeast corner where Church street intersects, Glen steps over a small mound of glass shards and sees a bright red sofa in the middle of four empty lanes. The back of it faces him from a few hundred feet distant. He wants to cackle again. At the sheer madness of this shit. The artistic dark manifestation of chaos. The so fragile structure of organized mass-living upon these ancient Ontario acres that for tens of thousands of years provided "home" to various indigenous tribes.

Glen leaves this glass littered sidewalk and begins toward the red sofa, strolling on the white middle line of Church street which is aptly named for these many fine old buildings erected for worship. Here between Dundas and Shuter, every building facade has been marred, some of them firebug charred. It makes him sad beyond healing, to see how widespread and idiotic was the destruction. Somewhere down in the aural mix of diminishing winds and his footfalls, Glen hears a low human moan that floats up from the sofa. When he arrives to see an elderly man curled in a fetal position, face to the backrest cushion, it isn't surprising to also note a blood soaked jacket beneath the self-hugging quivering arms. The poor wretch is rake thin, an evident street person who looks vaguely familiar, and he moans again through chattering teeth, eyelids clamped shut against what must be horrible agony. There are multiple stab openings in the coat fabric. Red cushions, three of them wide, are redundantly colored by what looks to be most of the victim's blood. Glen asks "can you hear me?"

Another low and plaintive moan. Glen sets down the bag and gently grips a bony shoulder. "Can you hear me, sir?" Winds pick up volume as if to mock the question, block the answer, and they are colder toothier winds. The victim's eyelids flutter, open briefly, then wince shut tighter than before, but he mutters into the cushion - "kept, kept, kept stabbing me"... Glen asks "who did this to you?" and his query is overlapped by "he kept on stabbing, no reason". Death is near if the copious blood loss is any indication. Glen firmly but slowly uses his grip on the man's shoulder to turn him onto his back, trying to ignore the sharp intake of breath and a rattling "paaahhhh"... dozens of knife holes from lower belly to collarbone where the unzipped jacket falls open. "What the hell is keeping you alive?" Glen asks, and just then his eyes fall involuntarily across the tall steeple of St. Michael's cathedral. Its ornate needle juts up at the grey moving clouds and a first snowflake hits him on his cheek. Cold and he wants to think, beautiful, but cannot.

"Pleeeeease" moans the red sofa victim. Glen turns his attention back to the now open pale blue eyes, filled with the evidence of a pain beyond tolerance. He moves the man's arms apart, one falling down limp to brush knuckles with asphalt, and sees just how badly this tragic victim has been attacked. Lifts a bright red t-shirt with a heavy exhale, hears the new whisper of "don't leave me like this"... the snow begins to come down then, but in unusual clumps of compound flakes that are very large and clinging together as they drop. That wind is suddenly no more. The would-be magical flakes, were this any other scenario, drift down in a silent magnificent mockery to kiss the dying man's upturned face. Where is God, now? As Glen's tears flowed on the cold curb of Sherbourne street not long ago, this time he wants to collapse into weeping but not one drop of crying comes forth. He does his best to lock eyes with the other pale blues, though he can only guess at what is happening behind them.

That cushion beneath the victim's feet is less blood soaked. Glen pulls at a far corner to tug it free, rotates the square so that both his hands hold bloodless corners. The big ludicrous fairy tale snowflakes drift on down, packed together but separated with more space than usual snowfalls, each one a uniquely breathtaking fractal component of an improbably magnificent world out in the inky nowhere. Many would dare suggest that God is in the works, but Glen isn't having it. He watches them land and instantly begin to melt on an old man's face, hoping that however briefly there is a cessation of pain. "I'm sorry that this has happened to you" Glen tells him. "Close your eyes." The wrinkled eyelids flutter and then obey before two strong hands place a cushion down firmly, pressing hard with palms flat. Instinctive struggle ensues but the man is so depleted that his flailing limbs fall still within a half minute's heartbreak. Glen holds the cushion in place for a long surreal span, watching compound white flakes of incredible detail landing with a soundless cling to the red cloth fabric. He thinks to look up, around, lets go of the cushion. Nary a soul in sight. Is God watching? Has Glen Loach done a merciful deed? Does God save up his apologies for that hoped for meeting at the pearly gates? Divine apologies for the necessity of this compulsory learning experience as a mortal being who remembers Immortal Being? Remembers or thirsts for it.

This thought next reminds him of something else entirely. Glen tilts his face to the morning's pale characterless sky and opens a parched mouth to let the snow enter. For a forever he stands there next to the preposterous red sofa with its corpse; his tongue out, face up, letting Life, or "God", or the sheer indifference of happenstance, put something back into his rapidly emptying reserves. "To the lake, then" he says. His voice has never sounded stranger or more disembodied, but his tongue is cold tingling happy. Glen picks up the bag to re-sling it over a shoulder, peers at the tall steeple with its oversized cross, and mumbles "amen."

After using a red sofa cushion to snuff out the suffering of a stabbing victim, it would stand to reason that the weight of a heart will increase. Glen Loach makes his way on Church street and decides to turn left and then east at Shuter. He can't handle the potential for more bizarre and tragic, which a main street like Church may certainly provide in this post-apocalypse unravel. Acrid smoke taints the air, all the more jarring for the gently falling gigantic snowflakes with their not unpleasant way of hushing sound. Glen's feet feel ten pounds heavier. His stomach ties tighter knots. Cold snow kisses hit his face and linger in the thick whitened whiskers above his mouth. Walking east and planning to use Britain lane for access back to lower Sherbourne, he becomes aware of the brewing rage that is helping to knot his guts. It wouldn't take much, not much at all, for Glen to fire a couple of rounds into the skull of whoever stabbed that poor man.

How can the right/wrong divide be such a variable? For one person, an impregnable wall. For another, one with something awry in his heart, an easy step into the primal and selfish. These takers can justify their methods and leave a stain on their world. Where is the mighty hand to smite them? Why does "good" speak in hushed tones compared to "evil", the ugliest shout? Glen walks and wants to drown out the ugly shout with a song. A bullet's song. He has felt this way before, after losing good people to improvised explosive devices buried in the godforsaken sands where civilians are have-nots and far too many young men have an excess of time and anger on their hands... Glen Loach has a deep unhealed wound in his fabric. He can summon the sting of observational madness, as a memory reliving itself in a broken Toronto morning, and it is here precisely what he felt when watching the sun rise in Afghanistan. With the taste of coffee still strong in his mouth when a young father from Alberta was blown apart by a makeshift weapon cowardly buried in a road at the head of their dawn patrol. One minute spent in quiet awe of a brutally beautiful horizon under early light, Venus and stars still a'twinkle. A subsequent minute watching the futility of medics attempting to stave off the grim reaper.

A question, "what the fuck are we doing here?", resonated then and resonates now. Glen angles through a large empty parking lot toward Queen street, barely "present". It is a miracle at all that people give of themselves, want to become close to others, to love them and be loved in return, because goodbyes are never predictable and can be the deepest wounds of all. Goodbyes can kill. What if a young wife and mother accompanied her husband to the station, dreading her intuition but giving off supportive energy for the man she loves as he heads across an ocean to do his job? What if she knows, inexplicably knows, that he won't be coming home alive? How long will she suffer for that quiet strength and the words not spoken? The cold "what the fuck are we doing here?" Glen reaches Britain lane but his thoughts are distinctly elsewhere, chasing each other, colliding, competing with how poorly his body feels. More storefronts along Queen street have been violated and destroyed. Black smoke still billows up to meet the pretty snowflakes. What a madness, this world. What an impossible paradox. It seems to come down to the life of a moment. One breath, one eye blink, one perception filtered to the best abilities of one person who wants to believe in individuality and yet takes solace in not being alone. What a madness. Always with the teaching taunt of beauty. He sighs the sigh of a mind without words.

A corner shop that has long sold oriental carpets, with a "going out of business sale" sign in the door for ten years, meets the exhausted eyes of Glen Loach. Front window; shards. Sidewalk; a sloppy mound of assorted rugs, some of them burned. At first he doesn't see the rolled up one, nor the small bare ankle and foot protruding from an end. His reflexes lurch, spark, readjust...mannequin. He places a heel on the carpet and pushes hard enough for it to unroll a little. The single leg becomes exposed and at the upper portion he sees that the "thigh" is coated in what appears to be dried blood. Someone, some it pretending to be human, has apparently used the appendage as a weapon. Can it sink any lower this morning? Loach lifts his face to accept more snow on tongue moments. The lake is less than forty five minutes away but it may as well be Antarctica.

He tears himself away from that sad sidewalk, walks a partial block south and then turns left at Britain street, which is mostly a little known warehouse lane from the Victorian era. Real estate speculators have been attempting to "revitalize" (translation : harvest money from) its narrow expanse via loft lifestyle pimping, but buyers are leery of the urban roughness of what exists all around. It is a section of downtown long reserved for the homeless shelters, addiction treatment centres, dollar stores and rock bottom price drinking holes. Glen walks one more short block then turns right on Sherbourne. Nobody in sight. The two blocks leading to Adelaide street are made up of gleaming new towers and high end storefronts, now smashed to 2012 smithereens. Glass is everywhere. Near Richmond street, one of Glen's favorite shops where period lighting is sold, has been thoroughly ransacked. He stops to look sadly through a wide open front window. Everything inside has been either stolen or destroyed. He thinks of the nice lady who owns the place, of her wealth but equal passion for beautiful antique lighting, and it all feels so hopeless now. Ornate gas lamps that were handcrafted with a love for detail and beauty, that lasted well over a century, reduced to the symbolic rubble of a species.

"Heyyy" comes a male voice from across Sherbourne, making Glen's blood jump. He spins to face three youngish men in oversized parkas, one of which has a price tag dangling from its sleeve. Bangers from nearby Moss Park, he guesses. They stand shoulder to shoulder in front of what used to be a Tim Hortons coffee shop, now a smashed open remnant of arson. Glen's eyes scan the unfriendly appraising faces, then stop on the middle one, much taller than his cohorts and audaciously visible in a right hand... a long wide blade. (it couldn't be, could it?) "We're looking for smokes" says the middle face with a chin nod at what must appear to be easy pickings across the street. "Got cigarettes on you?" He breaks their standstill with a step and they all three fall into place, crossing an empty intersection where one way traffic usually hurtles by between the light changes.

Fear isn't a part of Glen's mathematics. He holds his ground and calmly watches them approach, dividing thirteen Browning rounds by three potential thugs, knowing he will not hesitate if this comes to that. He says to the middle guy when the group are in the centre of Richmond street - "Sorry, I don't smoke." On the right, a shorter man with his hair in corn rows says "don't matter, maybe you got something else for us". No sense playing with these three, Glen unzips his jacket and reaches into a side pocket to grip the pistol. The three stop at his movement, perhaps ten feet away, their street sense at odds with how this older white dude looks. Glen looks from the eyes of all three down to the big chef's knife. Snowflakes drift down peacefully to land and melt on the identical dark blue parkas. Everything feels absurdly surreal, but within this feeling there is a deep opening of bliss; nothing matters the way it once did, but a corpse of someone stabbed repeatedly, red blood soaking a red sofa; that matters.

"You boys seen any red sofas lately?" he asks the hard eyes of the tall man holding a knife. Their foreheads furrow, two pair of eyes on each end glance toward the middle pair, and tall guy says "wha fuck, you talkin' about?" Glen knows this isn't the stabber, these aren't the monsters, but he steps one foot back toward the window casement behind him and shows a hand filled with a firearm that he is well trained to use. He isn't some street puke pumped with an empty bravado and a willingness to disregard the preciousness of life in order to gain "respect" with his fucked up tribe. The sight of Glen's unwavering hand, holding a tool of quick death delivery, should be enough. He slowly flicks the safety off, fighting to contain a surge of rage that he recognizes as directionless. "Don't say a single word more, none of you" he instructs, then aims his attention at mister blade. "You, drop that knife right there." For a second he is met with defiance, but it is a front. "You not be using that, bitch, feel me?" Glen lowers the barrel and fires a round into the asphalt directly in front of all three. Before its report has finished rebounding from the glass faced canyon of Sherbourne street, they are in a record breaking sprint mode heading in three separate directions.

He watches them flee, parkas billowing wildly as they vanish into big wet compound snowflakes, then looks at the little crater where the bullet impacted. "They're fucking lucky" he whispers, replacing the safety catch, slowly returning his weapon to its pocket. The knife is a brand new one; a Henckel Five Star probably stolen from the restaurant supplier down on King street. Glen walks over, picks the blade up, turns to throw it in a high wide arc so that it lands on the roof of a desecrated antique lighting store. "They're so lucky" he repeats, with sudden thoughts of his father. Dad would have put a round into that forehead, dead middle. The man walked around embodying a clarity of wrong and right that wasn't always "right", but the younger Glen envied it. Dad had served in the "great wars", and like the famous general Patton, he believed himself a continually reincarnated warrior from eras and battlefields through time; personally chosen to be a soldier even if he didn't mean it to say "chosen by God". Glen senior (and yes there are some observations to be made about those who name their progeny with the same letters) was not a religion buyer. He had seen too much atrocity and insanity to accept a loving Creator capable of non interference when the children are tearing each other asunder. No, Glen senior believed in right and wrong, and in himself.

Southbound on Sherbourne street through the slow drop of fat snow, those banshee winds long gone now, Glen Loach peers around at thousands of windows above him and sees no faces there. Streets normally filled with parked vehicles are almost devoid; a mass exodus from downtown must have occurred during the initial rioting and stupidity. He can't help but wonder about the state of humanity all around this world, today, this morning, with the power not coming back on and chaos supreme. All of the technological conveniences failing or taken away permanently. The potential for malfunction and mania, perhaps even a nuclear warhead being launched for any number of "reasons", all of it feeling like a bottomless pit. Again he boils it down to family. He must find and be with his children and their children, even if what he finds there is no longer alive. Of the countless times where Glen suffered the emptiness of no longer having Pauline with him, at least in the mortal empirical way, this peculiar morning is bringing the keenest aches. He readjusts his shoulder load and picks up tempo, no longer thinking about food or water, but the lake. Just the lake.

The incident with three would-be predators has left Glen depleted on the brink of coping. Anvils for feet. A gaping yaw of a gut. He plunks down one foot in front of the other, inward gone. How did we go from rich Ontario soil and forest flooring to this morass of cement mixer vomit? Heel. Thud. Heave a breath. Feel that peculiar draining of a plan. Away it goes. Where is the wormhole entry, so he can pull himself back just far enough for a restart? Where is all the BEauty that he chased, embraced, retraced? Heel thudding his emptying willpower south to water, he can't summon beauty's memory. It is easy to believe that ALL of the lifetime workings of his alleged "self as mind" have been a smokescreen inside the tool kit of Nature and its preprogrammed "reproduce" instructions. In other words, his best lifetime's work was his children, and so on. Like the colony ant. Like the stubborn little shrimp who live in the deepest hottest ocean vents, resisting impossible odds in order to do what Life says must be done. These are the reductionist thoughts that tighten their repetition loop in Glen's skull as he treads beyond wearily, no longer attuned to what surrounds him.

In the morning light of the mourning light, Loach does what people do very well : he regrets. The maddening thing about it? It is a bland exhausted all encompassing regret without specifics. There are few feelings more troubling than the ones that refuse and resist definition. "Maybe that is where we fail" he speaks to his shuffling feet. In his head the disembodied All-Voice finishes off this observation : we waste too much of our energy in the pursuit of definition. "Just do the fucking job" had been a personal mantra to get him through his soldiering duties. No detail delving and absolutely no seeking the logic behind strategies, orders, political motives. It was a sure detour into madness. At Adelaide and Sherbourne streets, Glen stops for a quick westward surveying : a belch of black cloud rises up from the distant cluster of bank/money/sky towers. Scratch a citizen, find an anarchist. Well, people, you've got supreme anarchy now. From the sun on down.

Glen's crusted eyeballs take in the smoke pillar as it spirals up over emptied streets, and he thinks of all the billions spent on chasing a Higgs particle. "The God particle"... his head turns back to Sherbourne and a now visible lake, followed by his renewed exhausted gait. He can remember being with his wife and kids, camping on a narrow peninsula, enjoying the crackle and sight of a bonfire trance. His mind at the time had been idling, happily empty of focus. Life was a hug in those simple moments. That, was "God". To feel as deeply intrinsic and connected as any towering Oak. To finally and truly relax. For two more blocks, now sloping more noticeably as lake Ontario nears, Glen fixates on the remembered feelings that medicate him best. He is walking out of his life. This is what it is now. He is replacing the physical pain of a body with a sustaining and welcoming revelation. He pictures his years up until this pivotal morning as a relay race. The baton has been handed off to his children. They are strong runners. There is no finish line. Even if the entire societal structure of Earth becomes irrevocably wiped away, it was a natural event and therefore a happenstance beyond question.

After a harrowing beginning to this trek, Glen is subsequently granted a people-less remainder. Yes, there are more smashed storefronts and overturned vehicles along the way. Yes, the air is tainted with the stench of burned wood and wire. But no, there are no more confrontations with the dark side. Perhaps his mind with all of its powerful influencing potential has actually wrought change upon the surroundings. The finding of peace inside his breaking down body is writing the story's final paragraphs. He walks beneath the corroding belly of a Gardiner Expressway no longer in need of tearing down because everything has changed. He comes out the other side of its wide shadow at the top of an expanse of acreage no longer in need of billions of dollars in development for the Pan Am Games of 2015, because that year has been cancelled. He sucks his lungs full of cold air where the snow no longer drifts down, and heads across the barren lanes of Queens Quay toward Cherry Street and Toronto's old port lands.

It is normally a twenty minute walk from the top of Cherry street to the beach named after it. Glen Loach covers this expanse without awareness of its details, for his mind is locked upon a campfire, a pup tent with his kids reading comic books by lantern light, a silent but intensely passionate session of lovemaking with Pauline not long after that light is doused, the parental tent nearby and miles away. The regret vagueness has vanished now. There is a wonderful sensation of treading upon meant ground. Meant. Like reading and acting a favorite script, but really choosing it this time around. He crosses the rusted skeleton of an old iron drawbridge without even seeing it, his right hand sliding along the cold handrail. There, at last and suddenly, is Cherry Beach in its lonely grace. He looks into the thick copse of trees to the east, where picnic tables and fire pits have long given city folk a getaway feeling. Not a soul in sight. This is where Glen turns to walk, angling himself over the partially frozen sand beds so that he can stroll beside the grey gentle chop of lake water.

He has his back to the city skyline, and it seems fitting. Down here it smells fresh and distant. Ancient and unpolluted by the touch of humanity. He walks with the soles of his footwear in water, a soft ice cold slosh. The bulk within his jacket summons a touch of fingers to the pistol grip. So familiar. It no longer reassures or sends any one feeling. Just another invention of a species lost to insanity. Lost in its own reflection. Has there ever been, in the uncountable stars with all of their solar systems, a creature with more spiritual potential unrealized? It feels like a dark query, but no... Glen thinks now that every catastrophic natural event is a part of the growth. It is no different than the roots of trees or upturned faces of flowers, seeking Life and nothing more or less. Glen walks along a gentle arc of shoreline and then looks up to see an empty boat. It is about eight feet long, red wood planks blistered and peeling, with two oars a dangle and also a small Evinrude motor affixed, its blades buried in wet sand.

Clearly, it was left there just for him. This is how it feels. Without any hesitation he lifts and pushes at its stern to free the blades, then steps over and into the empty rib cage. No items of interest other than the oars in their loops. With a big exhale, Glen lowers himself into position, takes up the oars, and begins to slowly row away from the shore. The heft of them feels just right in his hands. Weariness and hunger melt away, but the reminder of a vicious thirst returns as he moves a dozen yards out into the water. He stops rowing, releases the handles. He manoeuvres to retrieve the jug. Gives it a generous dip into the icy coldness. For long throat exploding seconds does he swallow back the lake. Little bursts of pleasure-pain pierce at his temples. "Aaaaaa" he says. "Aaaaa", and renews drinking deeply. Three days to animal? If this is animalistic pleasure, he welcomes it fully. No defining or explaining. Just need and its quenching moment.

Sated for now, Glen dips the jug again until it is half filled. He tightens the cap and tosses it onto the old wooden planks near his feet. He feels a dizzying rush of vigor, even if it makes a promise it can't keep for long, and decides to try the old motor. It takes a dozen good pulls before sputtering reluctantly to life with a belch of gas stink. His nostrils fill and flare with more nostalgia. Cottage country, marine fuel, suntan lotion, burgers on a charcoal grill, ice cold beer. "Aaaaaa" for the third time, and he takes up the oars into the boat in favor of a less demanding propulsion. He cannot recall a time when lake Ontario was this void of other boats or people. Surreality abounds as he guides the Evinrude and its payload out of the Cherry Beach area, west and then north around the perimeter of a Leslie street landfill peninsula literally gone to the birds. It is much colder out on the water as he slips away into its deeper regions, and then as he motors away his eyes find Toronto's skyline for one last time. Smoke pillars spiral up from several locations. All is dead and deathly still. The sky is an uncaring cloak of grey now, with no precipitation. The city seems to shape shift as he places distance between the boat stern and those ever familiar buildings. He will have approximately thirty miles to traverse before finding New York state beneath the bow of his unexpected gift of a boat.

After a time. After an after of time. Indeterminable and lulled by the noisy cadence of outboard motor, wave slap on wood, and a not gentle inertia across the lake's face, Glen wakes up to fading afternoon light. The motor is silent, without a fragrance of fuel, and only chopping waves with toothy white caps make sound against the hull. His eyes are slow to focus and he has been slumped sideways, judging by the pain across his ribs. He doesn't remember falling asleep, thinking of anything en route to it, or waking and sitting up straight to be startled by completely alien surroundings, all water no horizon. He swivels his head around to seek something out there that will place him. He can't find Toronto but it is snowing again, this time a quicker angular tempo with much smaller flakes. More like pellets, really. Something about this three hundred and sixty degree vista seems very appropriate to End Times. A man alone in an old boat, probably in the middle of lake Ontario with nightfall and winter temperatures closing in. He moves around on the bench, shivers a little, and decides that he is going to be sick. It isn't a choice, really, but an acceptance of what his stomach is announcing. With a lurching motion he bends himself over the side and yacks weakly. Bile and bubbles.

Whilst bent there his eyes catch a swooping hand painted script, rather upside down but the word unmistakable in its sky blue color.

He could ask a person, if he had another with him, "have you ever acted immediately on an impulse so strong and sure that you dare not falter to question it?" If that other person were indeed with him, Glen's next action would surely interrupt any answer being offered. He lifts himself, spits once into the wave chop, and retrieves the Browning from his jacket. With no hesitation whatsoever does he fire the twelve round remnant of its clip into the boat bottom around his feet. A dozen flat reports that clap out across the great bowl of lake. Glen bites his bottom lip in a sudden fit of almost glee, and tosses the firearm overboard with a gentle lob. Minus a heaving sigh to summarize all the sighs of his storied lifetime, Glen Loach sits himself down between bench rows into the curvature of hull where ice cold water begins to replace open air. He leans to one side, against the sore ribs, pleasantly indifferent and free of any particular thought. Guided, he supposes, and finally at the conclusion of this particular chapter. His heavy eyelids win out, and he no longer cares to watch the snow pellet and wind show. He merely wonders how long it will take for "Pauline" to sink.

[shannrussell-blog1]

Australia is a giant country, with more camping opportunities spread throughout than you’d be able to explore in a lifetime. Whether it’s in the high country of Victoria, or on a pristine beach tucked away in the southwest of WA you’ll find some world-class camping locations.

However, not all of them have running water, flushing toilets and hot showers. In fact, many have none of the above! In this post, we look at what it takes to be a self-sufficient camper, which allows you to camp in places where the facilities are lacking, or non-existent.

What’s the point of being self-sufficient?

You might think it’s a ridiculous idea to even consider going to a campsite without the facilities you’d get in a caravan park. The thing is though, if you are self-sufficient, you have your own gear and don’t need to be dependent on others providing it. It’s not a case of going without.

This dramatically opens up your options for where you can camp, and has a number of other benefits that we will look into below.

Self-sufficiency means you can experience campsites like this, that are further off the beaten track. Photo: Aaron Schubert

Make sure you are comfortable

I’m not going to suggest for a minute you should be camping like a cave man (although if that’s your style, go for it!).

Camping has this horrible stigma attached to it that’s uncomfortable. Some people firmly believe if you are going camping for the weekend you’ll be cold, uncomfortable and roughing it. The reality is this couldn’t be further from the truth, providing you have the right gear and know how to use it properly.

Nothing will ruin an amazing camping trip than being uncomfortable. Whether that’s getting wet and cold, being blasted by the wind, not being able to go to the toilet comfortably, or having a terrible sleep each night, there’s a huge range of ways that your camping trip can be uncomfortable. I firmly believe you should be comfortable when camping.

What are the benefits of self-sufficient camping?

There are many advantages of camping in a self-sufficient manner. Some are financial, and others are purely for a better experience. Either way, you are able to mix it up as you feel like doing so.

Our self-sufficient set up at Murchison House Station. Photo: Aaron Schubert

It’s much cheaper

There’s no doubt that if you provide your own facilities, the cost is cheaper. Caravan Parks, in particular, are the perfect example. I rang around a few months back and was priced $192 for 3 nights on an unpowered site for 2 adults and a baby. That’s not even on the high end either! Some caravan parks in peak season charge up to $100 per night.

Camping has historically been a cheap way to have a fantastic holiday, but when you’re paying more in camping fees than you would be if you rented a house, something is not right.

In many cases, self-sufficient camping allows for free camping entirely. If it’s in a national park, or shire run site, you will get charged $5 – $10 per person per night, which is still excellent value for money.

Usually, the less available facilities, the cheaper the camping is.

Escape the hordes of people

I like to interact with others, but when it comes to camping I’ve always found it’s much more enjoyable to have your own slice of paradise. I’d rather not be able to see any other campers –  to truly get away from everything and relax with friends and family.

Australia is a big place so there’s no reason why you can’t have your own slice for a few days at a time!

Caravan sites are great, but it’s great to be able to have your own space so you can relax. Photo: Aaron Schubert

Better locations

There’s no doubt that there are some truly spectacular campsites available with the facilities you need. However, in my experience, there’s often a better campsite up the road if you’re self-sufficient. Looking back at our camping experiences, the best ones have been in truly mind-boggling locations that you’d only go to if you were self-sufficient.

What do you need to be self-sufficient?

In actual fact, you don’t need anything overly fancy to be self-sufficient. People have lived off the land for years in a very simple lifestyle. Vary what you have based on how you want to live, but below are the basics.

Drinking water

At home, it’s easy to turn the tap on and get clean drinking water out. When you are camping though, it’s a luxury that’s often not available. Sometimes you can get water from creeks and rivers, and this is easily used for dish washing and showers. The simplest way to have clean drinking water when you’re camping though is to take it with you.

Options start off atwater bottles, which are cheap and straight forward. From there, you move into water tanks and bladders, and finally, reverse osmosis units and filtration systems. Some people split their water storage into drinking and non-drinking containers. Whatever the case, take enough clean drinking water and some more in case something goes wrong.

Our water tank and soap dispenser for washing our hands on the road. Photo: Aaron Schubert

Toilets

There are thousands of toilets in Australia. The problem though is there’s not usually one where you want to camp! Most Shire and national park run sites will have a drop toilet, but if you haven’t got access to one – what are your options?

The simplest and cheapest option is to dig a hole and do your business in it. You need a shovel, some toilet paper and a bit of time. Dig it at least 30cm deep, make sure all toilet paper is well buried (or burnt if safe to do so), and cover it in. Don’t go near creeks, rivers or lakes and populated walkways, and make sure it’s left clean.

Beyond that, you can get a huge array of portable toilets and stands to sit on. It’s not that hard, but it’s something that people need to urgent their attention to, as it’s becoming a massive problem out bush.

Don’t rely on public toilets, make sure you have a few options for going to the toilet when going off the grid. Photo: Aaron Schubert

Shower/bathing facilities

You can go a couple of days without a wash, but it gets a bit feral beyond that. Water is always an issue, as it’s heavy and hard to carry with you. That said, if you can get it from a creek or river, you won’t have any issues having a shower or wash. When water is short, just use a flannel and bucket to clean yourself. Boil the kettle and mix it with some cold water in a bucket. Alternatively, if you have access to a fire you can warm water in a stainless bucket.

When water is short, just use a flannel and bucket to clean yourself. Boil the kettle and mix it with some cold water in a bucket. Alternatively, if you have access to a fire you can warm water in a stainless bucket.

The cheap , which are very luxurious options!

Bathing facilities can be scarce, so a simple and effective option is a solar shower bag. Photo: Aaron Schubert

Lighting and 12V power

Never have we lived in a world where there’s better access to cheap, quality and efficient lighting options for camping. Headlamps, Lanterns and LED strip lighting are amazing, and lighting is no longer an issue when camping.

12V power has come along in leaps and bounds, and you can actually run a wide variety of gear off-grid without much difficulty.

Lighting is no problem, as there are plenty of 12V powered lighting options available now. Photo: Aaron Schubert

Warmth

There’s no doubt about it –  you have to be warm when camping. Fortunately, this is normally fairly easy if you dress appropriately. Bring clothing to suit the location you’re going to and make sure your sleeping bag is rated low enough. If it’s cold, you can usually have a campfire which goes a long way to staying comfortable.

Grey water collection

Some official ‘self-sufficient’ campsites require you to collect any grey water (dishwater and shower water). If this is the case, collect it in a tank or jerry can and take it out.

Knowledge

You have to understand how to use the gear you have, and when a decision needs to be made. If you can see a massive storm front in, perhaps it’s a good idea to delay the camping trip! A lot of this comes from experience. The best way to learn is to get out there and learn it as you go!

Consider how you’re planning on storing and refrigerating food on your trip. Photo: Aaron Schubert

Food

The food you eat when camping off the grid is going to be different to what you have at home. It doesn’t have to be vastly different, just think about your options for refrigeration, cooking, and cleaning. Some food lasts a long time, and others will perish quickly. 12V and gas fridges are easily run today out of a 4WD and open your food options up substantially.

Shelter

There have never been more choices for comfortable, self-sufficient camping in Australia. Tents have come a long way, and then there are more shelters, such as camper trailers, hybrids and caravans on the market than you can poke a stick at. These vary wildly in price and features, so get something that suits your needs and budget.

You’ve got so many options for shelter, here’s our tent set up at the most Western point of WA. Photo: Aaron Schubert

Initial expense vs return

You can’t deny that camping off the grid requires more gear. There is an initial expense required, how much depends vastly on how you want to do it, but if you’re camping regularly away from facilities you will save a fortune. For those who’ve done a lot of camping and travelling, you’d know fuel is usually the biggest cost, with food and camping fees next in line. Do a lot of free camping, and you’ll pay for your gear many times over.

The general guide for travelling around Australia as a family is anywhere from $450 – $1200 per week. If you are self-sufficient, you can easily save several hundred dollars a week in camping fees alone.

Start slow and progress forward

If you haven’t done much camping before, start slow and work your way up. Caravan parks are a fantastic place to camp, and when you know you are comfortable and what you have works, move onto a campsite with only a toilet, and then one without any facilities at all.

We’ve got an amazing country to explore, so see you out there! Let me know what you’ve got to make self-sufficient camping easier!

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