The Passage

challenge.

I’m going to give him a hand.

_______________________________

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Red and the old timer, who is scrawny and dressed in a very dirty cover-all,

are in the old barn of the original homestead at Bridgewater. The barn is

tilting badly to one side, but has fallen against some trees so did not topple

entirely. The old barn has lifted off its foundation, on the opposite side, so

the light of day is giving the barn workroom plenty of light. Red is

inspecting tools laid on the workbench and casting his eyes along the rack of

tools hung on the wall, taking an inventory.

A gas, you say? Never heard of it.

The old timer is now seated on a low stool at the front of a small tractor.

The tractor is almost antique, many decades old with the paint almost entirely

worm off or covered in grime, rusty in places. The tilling blades in the rig

drawn behind the tractor are held in the raised position, some dried grass

stuck to them here and there. The tractor engine cover is lifted up. Red grabs

a pail and turns it upside down to use as a stool, squatting next to the old

timer. Both their heads are almost pushed into the engine, side by side, along

with the old timer’s right hand, pointing, his elbow stuck out into the air at

a right angle. He says,

Put the fire bin here, and just kinda heat the wood

slow, that’s the ticket. It’s a gas! We need a coil

here, and a cutoff . .

_______________________________

Big Tom is standing in the doorway of the tilted old barn, leaning against the

raised side of the door with his arms folded over his chest. He now looks as

though he’s had a bath, and is wearing some fresh clothes, borrowed from

others at the camp. The borrowed shirt is too tight, too small, and the pants

too short.

Need a hand?

Red looks up from his work, an almost ecstatic look on his face.

I believe we got it!

Red gestures back toward the work bench where a square metal container has had

a door cut into the top for loading wood chips. A hose is looping out from one

side to collect the wood gas, with a collection jar below the loop to collect

the distilled wood gas. Wood gas is dripping into the collection jar. There

are slits cut into the side of the firing chamber, toward the bottom, for air

intake. There is another drain on the other side where steam has condensed

into water and is dripping out.

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The old timer rises to dismantle the apparatus, eager to bring the firing

chamber over to Red. He pulls his hand back quickly, realizing it is still

hot.

Damn!

Billy appears in the doorway, alongside his father. He quickly brightens into

an ecstatic look that mirror’s Red attitude.

Cool!

_______________________________

The camp folks have their backs to some woods with a fallow field in front of

them. The faces reflect skepticism. A chugging motor is starting up very

haltingly. Finally, the motor is doing a steady chug-chug. The faces of the

camp folk reflect astonishment, some blinking, one a bit teary eye’d, some

just gap jawed.

The antique tractor is slowly plowing a row in the fallow field, the camp folk

to the side along the woods. The wood gas apparatus can be seen stuck to the

side of the tractor engine on one side. A couple camp folks, men, have come

forward to talk to Billy and Big Tom who are squatting on the stool and

upturned pail from the barn, energetically chopping some branches gathered

from the nearby wood into chips with an ax.

_______________________________

Mark and Brian have floated rapidly from the Rockies to an approach to New

York City. The strong wind is obviously dragging them along at a fairly rapid

70

clip, the parachutes ahead of them and filled out like a sail. They have been

traveling for days, are dirty with smeared faces where they have wiped the

dust off but not bathed, when landing for some sleep. A week has passed since

they left, and they appear thinner than when they left. Brian has pulled his

legs up and appears to be pulling himself up into a fetal position, his arms

around his knees. We see his long hair floating out in the wind. Mark is

excited.

Brian, there it is, there's the city! We're home,

home! Lets find a good place to bring this down.

Mark is looking up while he positions his hands on the ropes. When he glances

down, to mentally prepare his descent path, a grim look comes over this face.

The Statue of Liberty is seen tilted at a 45 degree angle, with the remnants

of a sailboat caught in and dangling from the flame, seaweed shreds up to her

chin. No high rises remain standing, but the city skyline looks like a rubble

instead, black in outline against the gray skies. Bridges are disconnected

with most sections down. No boats are seen on the water, but a couple large