Welcome back to Flash Fiction Friday, on a Saturday. This story is turning out longer than expected so I decided to break it into short weekly segments. Technically, in its entirety, this wouldn't be a flash fiction piece. Please note, the premise is from my imagination and is in no way suggesting any sort of impeding doom. Please also keep in mind it is a work in progress.
Target: Cox Junction
Part I
By,
Jennifer E. Miller
Sockeye Ripton
rubbed his temples, rose from his computer desk, and stretched. He finished
reading the latest department memo about the continued threats to dam
integrity. Various environmentalist groups attempted using legal action to get
dams removed from the nation’s river. Ignoring the fact that dams provided
affordable power and prevented floods, they were convinced free-flowing rivers
in their natural state were more environmentally conscience, particularly to
the salmon.
After the
recent federal ruling to maintain them, the groups banded together threatening
to perform the removals themselves. It was in honor of the salmon, they said.
The memo included a photo of protestors blocking employees into a prominent
dam. They were holding signs, shouting, and using inappropriate finger gestures.
Security was
almost instantly increased at every location, including, Cox Junction Dam. Too
quickly, Sockeye felt. Having worked for the federal government for several
years, he was surprised at how quickly new agents were hired. Were background
checks thorough enough in a short amount of time? But demand was at an all-time
high.
His radio
crackled.
“Socky, you
making the rounds?” came the voice of Jay Bordman, who had been hired a couple
months ago.
Pushing the
talk button he responded, “It’s Sockeye; like the salmon.” He released the
button, annoyed at the mispronunciation.
“I could call
you by your other name, if you’d prefer,” Jay teased.
“Don’t.”
He never cared
for his given name: Dickson Sockeye Ripton. He described his parents as rich
hippies. Not live in-a-mansion-and-drive-Lamborghinis, but certainly not
frugal. They loved nature enough to, apparently, name their son after a fish.
Unfortunately, they didn’t foresee the consequences of their choice of his
first name.
After
relentless teasing and bullying in elementary school, the counselor recommended
using his middle name. At the time, it seemed an equally ridiculous name. But
to his surprise, Sockeye was so uncommon his classmates found it interesting,
and things settled down. He decided to keep it. Unfortunately, Dickson was
still his legal first name and it still appeared on most documentation.
Locking the
office door behind him, he pushed the radio talk button again. “I’m headed out
for the perimeter check, Bordman.”
“Roger,”
squawked the return communication.
Sockeye’s boots
echoed in the cement corridor as he made his way to the exterior door.
Unlocking it with his coded key card, he swung open the door and was met with
the autumn afternoon’s cool air, and the thundering roar of the water rushing
through the dam’s gates.
Stepping out
onto the maintenance catwalk, the door’s large deadbolt clicked into place. He
expected this to be a routine walk, like any other shift. Cox Junction Dam
supplied power to a small town, and no one was all that interested in a small
cement structure. Once in a while, there was a classroom or family who came to
tour it. Otherwise, it was the giant dam in the middle of the state that
tourists flocked to.
Despite the
remoteness, Sockeye like his job here. He like the small-town atmosphere and
the fact that not much happened. Other colleagues would say a boring job
doesn’t keep one on their toes, but Sockeye felt the opposite. He felt more
connected to his routine and knew when anything seemed out of place.
He walked along
the catwalk, his hand gliding over the cool metal railing. Everything was in
its place until he arrived at the stairwell. A dead raven lay at the foot, its
yellow legs sticking straight out from rigor mortis. Resisting temptation to
kick it over the edge into the river, Sockeye scooted it aside. He planned to return with a garbage sack and take care of
it.
Up the stairs
he climbed, his heavy-duty boots rattled the metal-grated steps on contact. An
enclosed ATV waited at the top. Normally, Sockeye would drive it across the
concrete top of the dam to the other side, but today he felt like walking.
Atop the dam
was different than the lower level; Sockeye braced himself against the wind. A
fifteen minute walk separated him from the opposite side of Cox Junction Dam.
Concrete safety barriers ran parallel along the straightaway; vertical metal
supports protruded in partitions here and there. He scanned back and forth as
he patrolled the area, looking for anything out of place.
Shortly, he saw
the edge of tall chain link fence that kept trespassers out of the restricted
area. Nothing looked tampered with from here, but he had several more feet to go. Then, he could descend the stairwell on the opposite side, and make his way back to his office.
Sockeye reached
the fenced gate, subsequently finishing his trek across the dam. He jiggled the
gate, verifying it was locked in place, and let out a sigh of relief. The department memo had him nervous, although he shouldn’t be. It’s a small
town, he thought.
After
collecting himself, he headed for the stairwell by walking along the fence,
pushing on the posts as he went. A repetitive mundane movement helped ease his
tension. Each was solid, until he came to the fifth one. It wobbled when he
pushed it, causing Sockeye to nearly lose his balance.
“What the
hell!” he said.
(To be continued)
Copyright 2017 by Jennifer E. Miller
No comments:
Post a Comment