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<strong>Jack</strong> <strong>kilborn</strong> <strong>SErial</strong> <strong>blakE</strong> <strong>crouch</strong><br />
yaw. When capsizing ceased to be a fear, Sal squinted at the<br />
helicopter for a tag, a marking, some sort of iD, but it lacked<br />
both writing and numbers. it might as well have been a black<br />
ghost.<br />
Three heartbeats later the helicopter had crossed the<br />
thousand yard expanse of lake and dipped down over the tree<br />
line on the opposite shore. What was a helicopter doing in<br />
Safe haven? Especially at night? Why was it flying so low?<br />
and why did it appear to have landed near his house?<br />
Then came the explosion.<br />
he felt it a moment after he saw it. a vibration in his<br />
feet, as if someone had hit the bow with a bat. Then a soft<br />
warm breeze on his face, carrying mingling scents of burning<br />
wood and gasoline. The cloud of flames and smoke went up at<br />
least fifty feet.<br />
after watching for a moment, Sal retrieved his pole<br />
and reeled in his lure, then pulled the starter cord on his<br />
7.5 horsepower Evinrude. The motor didn’t turn over. The<br />
second and third yank yielded similar results. Sal swore<br />
and began to play with the choke, wondering if Maggie was<br />
scared by the crash, hoping she was all right.<br />
Maggie Morton awoke to what she thought was<br />
thunder. Storms in upper Wisconsin could be as mean<br />
as anywhere on earth, and in the twenty-six years they’d<br />
owned this house she and Sal had to replace several cracked<br />
windows and half the roof due to weather damage.<br />
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