[stylist] {Spam?} first chapter to share

[Tessa]

Hi,
This is the first chapter of one of my novels. About half my stories have 
characters who are blind
Anyway I'm interested in any comments. I wrote this for NaNoWriMo 2014 and 
am currently editing it. So basically it's finished but only the first 
couple chapters have been cleaned up. Right now the whole thing is 60,000 
words but as I edited new scenes occur and new people pop up so I have no 
idea what the final size will be. My first NaNoWriMo piece was 50,000 and is 
now over 80  so who knows.
Anyway this is about 3500 words perhaps too long for a chapter but it works 
for me.
Thanks for reading and I hope you like it.

Tessa

SUMMER WAGES  BY TESSA SODERBERG

COPYRIGHT 2014-2016

 CHAPTER ONE

The Greyhound sighed as the driver released the air brakes. He opened the 
door, and canned air was replaced by a cool breeze heavy with the smell of 
dust and diesel. Fran sighed too, she hated taking the bus. Oh sure, for the 
first hour she loved it. It was an adventure, going somewhere she'd never 
been. By the time she arrived, she was crabby, hungry and needed a pee. 
Every muscle ached. Her nose was sick of the stink of the chemical toilet. 
She wanted to stretch and breathe fresh air. Ruby lifted her head to see 
what was happening.

"Lie down," Fran said as she scratched the pointed ears. "Let me get my 
stuff together." She fastened a fanny pack around her waist, and checked the 
seat for forgotten items. She zipped zippers, and closed pockets, before she 
eased into the straps of her backpack. She waited while the other passengers 
staggered onto the platform for a smoke break.

"This is your stop," the driver said.

"Yes thanks, just avoiding the stampede."

"You got anything underneath?" the driver asked.

"Yes, two large, red duffels." He just grunted and followed his passengers. 
Fran eased into the aisle and grabbed Ruby's leash.

"Let's go," she said. Ruby, tail wagging, led her onto the platform.

She smiled. She wanted to make a good impression on whoever had come to pick 
her up. Francis Marie Maclean, five foot four, one hundred and forty pounds 
of mostly muscle on a sturdy frame. She had short dark hair, brown eyes, and 
pale skin, yet to acquire a summer tan. She wore faded jeans, coffee
stained 
after a rough stretch of highway. She would bet she wore more of her coffee 
than she drank. The red fleece she wore over her pink "CANOE QUETICO" 
T-shirt felt too warm for this six a.m. bus station. At her side was Ruby: 
German Shepherd by breeding, Labrador by nature. She hadn't told her 
employer she was blind, that she had a guide dog. She hoped if there was 
going to be a scene, they'd wait until the bus left.

Ruby guided her around the stretching, smoking, grumbling passengers and a 
sprawl of packages being delivered. Fran spotted her bags immediately, which 
was why she had chosen that colour. She wasn't totally blind. She saw 
colours, objects and people, but she didn't see fine details. For example, 
she couldn't read or recognize faces. She could see well enough to get 
around in familiar places, but she relied on Ruby for safe travel in new 
areas. Besides, people were more helpful when you had a dog.

She dragged the heavy bags over against the building where they'd be out of 
the way. They contained everything she'd need for a summer of cooking and 
camping. There was a tent, clothes, sleeping bag and camp cot, a weeks’ 
worth of dog food, toys and grooming tools for Ruby. She also had her 
cooking gear: measuring cups and spoons, pre-made mixes and spices she 
preferred, and an assortment of talking devices, thermometer, measuring jug 
and scale.

Fran Maclean was a cook, and a good one if she said so herself. She had 
spent years cooking for assorted outfits. She began cooking as a teenager, 
under the watchful eye of her father's sister. Hannah brought her out to 
camp one summer to get her out of her parents overprotective influence. She 
had been bored until Hannah suggested she help in the kitchen. Fran learned 
to cook by doing rather than going to school. She worked lumber camps, 
lodges, and construction camps, large and small. She worked by herself and 
with a staff of ten and she loved it. Hannah had mentioned that the 
University of Calgary's Palaeontology Department was looking for a cook for 
a dig in the Alberta Badlands and Fran had jumped at the opportunity. She 
didn't know anything about dinosaurs, but she knew how to cook and that was 
what counted.

The Passengers climb back aboard, the engine roared, and the bus pulled 
away. She was alone. She had confirmed with Dr. Ross that someone would be 
at the bus station to pick her up. So, where were they?

She hadn't told Dr. Ross she was blind, because she was certain she wouldn't 
have gotten the job. She didn't need the job, most of her previous employers 
would be glad to have her back, but she liked to work new places. She 
switched jobs every summer for the new scenery and the new people. When her 
new employer learned she was blind, sometimes things became awkward. 
Generally she enjoyed the discussion which followed. Now, standing here, 
breathing old diesel fumes and dust, she wasn't so sure.

There were only two long distance buses in here a day, one at six in the 
morning, and the other, ten at night. The later bus was lousy for her prior 
connection, so here she was. She shrugged out of her backpack and pulled out 
her note-taker to double check her e
mail. She reread the note from Dr. Ross 
confirming her day and time of arrival. She didn't start work officially 
until Sunday, but she always liked to arrive several days early to get 
familiar with the area. She liked time to set up her tent and relax before 
starting into a summers’worth of work. She was here, where were they?

She heard a door open, and turned to see a figure approaching. Ruby stood, 
her tail beating a tattoo on the metal down spout.

"You waiting for someone?" a man asked. He was close enough now that Fran 
could see he was tall, wearing what might be jeans and a checked shirt.

"Yes. I was supposed to be picked up. I'm going out to the dinosaur camp."

"Ummm," he grunted. "They know you're comin'?"

"Yes." 'Of course they knew she was coming.'

"Maybe they slept in," he said.

"Maybe."

"You want a cup of coffee?"

Fran smiled. "I'd just about kill for a cup of coffee. I don't want to leave 
my stuff . . . "

"I'll bring you one. What do you take?"

"Just cream. Thanks." She fumbled in her pocket for change but he was 
already gone.

Fran ruffled Ruby's ears. "I'll kill them," she muttered. "I'll put pepper 
in the coffee, or salt in the sugar dispensers." But maybe they had a flat, 
or like the man said, slept in. They'd better have a good excuse.

She took the mug and sipped the steaming liquid. "This is wonderful," she 
said. It was amazing what coffee could do for you. "What do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Okay, thanks. But, if you should happen to come out to the dig, I'll treat 
you to the best cinnamon buns you ever had."

He laughed. "You workin' out there?"

"Supposed to be. If my ride ever shows up. I'm the cook. They hired me for 
the season."

"You cook?" she knew what he was really asking. 'You're blind and you cook?'

"I do. I'm a pretty good one too."

"Hmmm," he said. She heard the phone ring inside the station. "Got to get 
back to work. Hope they show soon." And with that he was gone.

She drank her coffee, savouring every drop. When she was done, she wished 
she had a tongue like Ruby so she could get that last drop which refused to 
roll into her mouth. Finally, she set the cup on the window ledge beside 
her. Across from her, was a bit of green space. She'd take Ruby over there 
to do her business.  Her bags would be safe enough.

Seven o'clock and they still hadn't come. Surely they'd have called the 
station to say they'd be late? Dr. Ross had told her they didn't have cell 
service, but they did have a satellite phone. She used the Voice Over 
feature on her iPhone to find the contact information for Dr. Ross. She sent 
him an e
mail reminding him that she had arrived and needed to be collected. 
Of course, she had no idea when they checked the mail. Surely they couldn't 
forget anyone as important as the cook? But why not, they'd been cooking for 
themselves since they opened. She wondered if there was a pay phone in the 
station.

She dragged her bags inside, then went back for the cup. The station was a 
large, open, dimly lit room to her. She could see a few benches and hear the 
muted buzz and rattle of a pop machine from the shadows.

"No one come yet?" he asked from the far corner.

"No. Not so far. Where's your washroom? And what do I do with this cup?"

"First door on your left. I'll take the cup."

The first door on her left proved to be small and less squalid than she 
expected. It smelled chemical, strong enough to make Ruby sneeze. God it was 
good to use a regular toilet again. She washed her hands and face then 
brushed her teeth. She brushed her hair and changed her T-shirt to something 
which didn't have food stains on it. Eating on the bus was a challenge. She 
fed and watered Ruby then washed the bowl and stashed it in her pack.

"Is there a pay phone I can use to call out there?" she asked the far 
corner, not certain if he was still in the building.

"Only pay phone's across the street at the restaurant. You can use my phone 
if you like. Do you have the number?" Fran read it for him and he dialled, 
then handed her the receiver. She listened as it rang five, ten, fifteen 
times before she hung up. Where were they? Could they be out at the dig 
already? What was she going to do all day if they didn't show up?

She sat on one of the slatted wooden benches. Ruby stretched out at her 
feet. Fran waited and fumed. The station master rustled papers, made calls, 
telling customers their packages had arrived. She wished someone would tell 
Ross his package had arrived. She heard keys rattle and things being locked 
up. The station master came over to speak with her.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to wait on the platform," he said. "I'm 
closing up. Place don't open again till six."

"Oh hell," she muttered. "I'll kill them!"

"No doubt," he agreed. "I've got to get off to my day job. Want me to see if 
I can find someone to take you out that way?"

"That would be great,” Fran said. “Thank you for all your help."

"Have you got water?" She shook her head. "Better buy yourself a couple 
bottles. It gets pretty hot here." He pointed to the machine but she 
couldn't tell what was water. She gave him five dollars and he handed her 
four large bottles of water.

"Do I need that much?"

"Probably not. Your ride will likely be here soon, but you never know."

She hauled her bags out to the shady side of the platform. It was already 
warming up. She and Ruby settled down to wait.

Eight o'clock and the little town came alive. Cars moved lazily down the 
street, people talked and laughed and the heat climbed. Fran was glad to be 
in the shade. She played a couple dozen games of King's Corner on her 
iPhone. She checked her e
mail, nothing from Dr. Ross, damn it!

Nine o'clock, and she was seriously annoyed. She drank some water and gave 
Ruby some. Her shade was shrinking and she was hungry.

Ten o'clock and she broke into the emergency stash in her backpack. She 
always carried food on the bus. Nuts, raisins, sunflower seeds, dried fruit 
and of course chocolate, which wasn't going to last in this heat anyway. But 
her rations needed water, lots of water. The smell of bacon from the 
restaurant made her mouth water, but she didn't want to leave her bags.

Ten thirty and she finished her first bottle of water. She wondered if she 
dared leave her bags to go to the restaurant for a pee. A dark green truck, 
hauling a trailer loaded with a piece of heavy equipment, pulled up beside 
her.

"Tom Peters says you're goin' out to that dinosaur camp?" the driver called.

She walked over to the truck. "I am. Are you the one who was supposed to 
pick me up four hours ago?" She tried to smile, but she was pissed.

"No ma'am. I'm the guy who Tom asked if'n I was going home, would I give you 
a ride out that way. If you want the ride I'm ready to go. If you don't, you 
can sit here and wait till they come."

"I'm sorry," Fran said. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm tired of waiting 
for people who don't show up. Yes, I'm going to the camp. I would appreciate 
the ride."

He climbed out and swung her bags into the back. "What you got in there, 
rocks?"

"No, just feels like it when you're hauling them around. Camping and cooking 
stuff. I'm a cook." He didn't comment. "Is it far?"

"Hour and a half. I can't take you right in though, not with the trailer. It 
won't make the turn. I'll drop you at the turn off. You'll have to walk in. 
It's not far, a mile maybe two."

A mile, in this heat? "Can I refill my water?"

"Guess you'd better."

They walked across to the restaurant. Fran used the bathroom and refilled 
her water bottle. She bought apple juice and doughnuts to share. She was 
having second thoughts about the ride. She didn't know the man, but he did 
know where she was going. The station master hadn't told her his name, but 
he did offer to try and find her a ride. Was she making a big mistake? If 
her body turned up somewhere, would people remember her leaving with this 
guy? God she was getting morbid. Oh hell! She touched the knife tucked in 
her fanny pack for emergencies. She'd never used it. She never even had it 
out in uncomfortable situations. She wasn't sure if she could, would use it, 
but it was a comfort to have. She climbed into the cab and settled Ruby at 
her feet. He didn't comment just rubbed Ruby's head and put the truck in 
gear.

His name was Mike Davies and he liked old country music. Hank Williams 
Senior moaned away on the cassette deck the whole trip. Mike talked, could 
he talk. He had a wife and six kids, all boys.

"Wanted us a daughter," he said. "But never got one. Wife's put out about 
that but me I don't know. She's past it now, so there's no more comin' thank 
Christ. A girl now, that would have been nice. Boys, they're handy to have." 
He had a small place, beef cattle, but not many. "Land won't support em, not 
in the numbers we need to make money. We make do. I work the roads, 
construction in the summer, ploughing in the winter. The kids do the ranch 
work." And on and on. But she was grateful, at least it was a ride.

The truck slowed, then pulled over. "Turn off's just ahead on your right," 
Mike said pointing. "Just walk in. Road don't go no where’s else."

"What about my bags? I can't carry them that far."

"Haul em' up the road a little, cover em' with rocks. No one comes along 
here cept maybe two, three vehicles a day." That would have to do she 
supposed.

She climbed out of the cab. The sun beat down on her unprotected head and 
reflected back at her from the barren waste of rock in which she stood. She 
didn't see a trace of green. The only sound was the wind and the rumble of 
the truck. The air tasted of dust and she was glad for the weight of her 
water bottles.

Mike got out and grabbed her bags. "I'll carry em'. Sorry I can't take you 
all the way." He walked with her to the turn off then twenty yards up it to 
where a culvert crossed under the road. He put her bags on the far side. 
"Can't put em' inside," he explained. "Might rain. Water runs pretty fast 
through here at times. You got a tarp to cover em,?"

"They're waterproof," Fran said.

"Good. People on the highway won't be able to see em' because of the 
culvert, but your folks comin' from camp will see em' for certain."

"Thanks," Fran hitched her backpack higher. With all the water and juice, it 
weighed a ton. "Let me pay you?"

"No, it's alright. I had to drive out this way anyhow. Takin' the backhoe 
home for the weekend. Goin' to do some ditchin'. Hope you have a good 
summer." And he turned, walked back to his truck and drove away.

Fran stood in the middle of the rutted gravel road. She listened as the 
sound of the truck faded into the distance. It was so quiet out here. The 
wind moaned, and pebbles rattled. The heat was oppressive, and she was 
already covered in alkali dust. She opened one of her water bottles and took 
a drink, then poured some for her dog. Ruby drank half and Fran poured the 
rest back into the bottle. She'd have to remember to open a fresh bottle the 
next time she wanted a drink. She adjusted her pack and started to walk.

The road was a gravel track between banks of jumbled brown and grey rock. 
She had left green, growing things behind in town. Her shoes were 
comfortable, the kind she wore in camp all summer. But they weren't made for 
hiking. A hardened hiker would consider the road to be no more than an easy 
afternoon walk, or would have, if not for the heat. Fran baked under the 
relentless sun. The sweat on her skin dried almost as soon as it formed. 
Within moments of setting out Ruby was panting. Fran decided they would walk 
fifteen minutes then stop for a rest. She wasn't made for long term hauling 
in the heat, neither was Ruby with her fur coat.

At their first stop Ruby drained her bowl. Fran opened the apple juice and 
drank a half dozen swallows. She was definitely going to give Dr. Ross a 
piece of her mind, but she had to get there before she could do that. Maybe 
there was a good explanation why they hadn't come for her, maybe. It had 
better be good. She soaked a kerchief in a little water and pulled it on 
over her hair, she stuck a baseball cap on over that. It felt good for a few 
moments.

Fifteen minutes and they stopped for another break. More water for Ruby, and 
more juice for her. She wondered how far she'd walked, probably not as far 
as she thought. She had read that people walk about three miles an hour. She 
didn't think she was making two, with the road as rough as it was. If the 
camp was only a mile in, her next stop or the one after should be her last. 
If it was two miles, then all bets were off. Was she certain the driver had 
dropped her at the correct turn off? That thought gnawed at her. Was she on 
the right road? Was there a camp ahead?

At the next stop she had to sit down, take off her shoes and rub her feet. 
They had begun to blister. She rubbed them gently, wishing she had some 
cream to put on them. She sat in the meagre shade of a boulder, and drank 
the last of the juice. Ruby drank a quarter of the second bottle of water. 
Two and three quarter bottles left. Fran hoped they got to the camp before 
they ran out of water.

At their next stop, Ruby emptied her bowl twice. Fran took a long drink from 
a new bottle. Ruby's bottle was almost empty, but Fran couldn't have her 
keeling over from heat exhaustion, she was too heavy to carry. Fran took 
another drink, she'd do Ruby no good if she got sun stroke. Seated in the 
shade resting, she heard a strange sound. It was a buzzing, rumbling, 
distant sound. For a minute she couldn't figure out what it could be. Then 
she realized that it was a generator. The camp would have a generator. She 
wondered how far the sound of a generator could carry on the wind? At least 
now she had some evidence that the camp was out here. She re
packed the 
bottles and got to her feet. At least her pack was lighter, thank God for 
small mercies.

Ten minutes passed and the generator sound was louder. She wouldn't stop. 
They could push on, another few minutes. Surely it wasn't that far now? They 
could do another ten, if only to get out of the sun.

She crossed a bridge over a deep gully. There was a sign, but the letters 
were so faded she couldn't read them. The horizon had become oddly 
geometrical with triangles and straight lines. She tried to make sense of 
the shapes, then realized she was seeing buildings. They had made it.

"Hup up!" she called to Ruby. "Let's go." She wanted to get off the road, 
get inside, out of the sun. She wanted to find Dr. Ross and tell him what 
she thought of him and his disorganization. She smiled at the prospect.

Ruby whimpered. Fran ignored her, and hurried forward. She went sprawling 
over something lying in the middle of the road. She swore and pushed herself 
to a sitting position.

"Ruby!" she snapped, then hesitated. It wasn't Ruby's fault. She hadn't been 
paying attention to her dog. She was too damn fixated on giving Ross a piece 
of her mind. What the heck had she fallen over? And God she hoped no one was 
watching.

She reached out and touched the obstruction. "Oh sweet Jesus," she whispered 
as her hand touched skin. It was a body, a naked body so far as she could 
tell. The smell was awful, the sickly sweet stench of dried vomit, and worse 
the throat clogging sour reek of diarrhoea. God, she'd fallen on it! She 
scrambled away on hands and knees. She ran frantic hands over her front but 
she seemed to be clean.

She dropped her backpack and fanny pack. Whatever was wrong here she didn't 
want any of that stink on her things.

"Ruby," she called. Ruby whined and nudged her gently with her nose. Fran 
hugged her friend. "Good girl," she murmured. "You're a good, good girl. 
Your owner's an idiot, but you knew that. Now, just lie down a minute while 
I figure out what's happened here."

She went back to the body. She didn't want to touch it, but she needed to 
know if it was alive. She touched it. Bare legs, hips and buttocks covered 
in filthy cotton shorts. Just the touch of them had her scrubbing her 
fingertips raw in the dust. Naked from the waist up, the skin of legs and 
back was sunburnt and blistered. A bearded face, a man, a nearly naked man 
lying in the middle of the road. Where was everyone? When she was hired, she 
was told she'd be cooking for a group of a dozen, so where were they? Why 
had they left him out here?

She touched his neck to feel for a pulse. "Thank you," she whispered as 
blood moved beneath her fingertips. She couldn't smell alcohol or the fruity 
scent of diabetes over the other odours on him. What was wrong with him? Was 
it contagious? Nearly naked suggested that he had been in bed when whatever 
it was hit him. Why was he out here? Had he been trying to get to the 
outhouse, or was he trying to go for help. Had he been lying out here in the 
sun all morning? She pinched the skin on the back of his hand into a fold 
and waited for it to collapse, but it remained upright for much too long. 
Dehydration, and it was bad. He'd need more help than she could offer, and 
soon.

She shook him and he groaned. He's got to have water. She grabbed a bottle 
from her pack and poured water into her thermos cup. She eased him onto his 
side, resting his head on her thigh. She trickled water into his mouth. She 
felt him swallow, once, twice, three times. He lay still for a minute, then 
gagged and threw up all over her.

"Son of a bitch," Fran muttered as hot puke soaked into her jeans. "I should 
have known that was going to happen." She moved the cup and bottle away and 
held his head as he continued to throw up. Finally he lay coughing and 
sputtering weakly.

"I'm going to give you some more water," she said. "I don't want you to 
swallow it. Just hold it in your mouth for a bit." She held the cup to his 
lips and he took a mouthful. "You're badly dehydrated," she said. "I need 
you to talk to me, to tell me what happened here. Let that water soak into 
the tissues in your mouth. If you swallow it you'll throw up again." He 
swallowed and in moments he was christening the other leg.

"My kids," he gasped, his words so garbled she could hardly understand him. 
"Help my kids."

"Oh my God,” she whispered. Kids, dehydration killed little kids. "How many 
kids?" she demanded. "Where are they?" She shook him sharply when he didn't 
answer and that brought on another bout of vomiting.