Cinder and Ash - a novel
First draft started November 2005
Final draft completed May 2009
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overview:
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In a sequel to Twenty One Days to Nowhere, Man, Mark Delaney finds himself embroiled in the conflict of the times. As the Vietnam War swirls out of control, so do the responses of Mark and a cadre of young antiwar protesters, as they struggle to find a way to take meaningful action against what they view as an illegal and immoral war being waged on an undeserving people eight thousand miles away. Two battle-hardened Vietnam veterans join the cadre and raise the stakes far above what the others anticipate, and an innocent man falls victim to their violent actions. Mark becomes involved in a long tense chase through the Front Range as a Rocky Mountain snowstorm rages. With both local law enforcement agents and the FBI hot on his trail, Mark returns to the only place he can call home, Ruby Gulch, an old silver mine tucked high along the Peak to Peak Highway, where, separated from the cadre, he and his best friends make their stand as best they can, pitted against the powers of the Establishment.
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synopsis:
Mark Delaney, an eighteen year old college dropout, becomes embroiled in stateside conflict during the Vietnam War era. Though his avocation as singer/songwriter motivate him early in the tale, he is drawn to protests and streetfighting of the antiwar movement at Colorado University.
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When Mark's girlfriend, Kyra Clark is arrested in a rough skirmish with University Police and her parents yank her immediately out of school and home to Tennessee, Mark, already a loner groping for meaning in his life, gravitates toward a newly formed cadre of antiwar protesters, who deign to take stronger actions in protest of what they view an illegal and immoral war waged on an undeserving people eight thousand miles away. The cadre is joined by two battle hardened Vietnam Veterans and the stakes and tactics escalate quickly.
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A partially successful bombing of an outlying railroad yard whets the appetites of the cadre and they plan further actions. While continuing to participate, Mark struggles with his commitment to the cadre, fearing innocent victims could fall at the hands of the increasingly violent group.
When just such a victim is killed in a firebombing of a University office involved in weapons design for the military, Mark's angst becomes secondary in importance to escape, as the FBI quickly responds, with Mark and one of the Nam vets, Moe Kandilakis, in the crosshairs of their investigation. The twosome is forced to make a hurried escape from Boulder in Moe's Jeep with law enforcement agents in pursuit.
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The chase leads up into the mountains as a Rocky Mountain snowstorm rages. The Jeep is able to stay ahead of the pursuit, but in an attempt to obtain needed gasoline from a rural resident, a shooting ensues, leaving Moe badly wounded. Forced to drive through treacherous and unfamiliar roads with his wounded friend barely conscious, Mark manages to evade the clutches of the FBI and the local sheriff.
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Realizing that without aid Moe will bleed to death, Mark is forced to make a difficult decision to leave his friend at a rural veterinary hospital. Alone again, he returns to Ruby Gulch, his former home in the mountains. Though his old cabin has since burned to cinder and ash, he and his friend make their stand.
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Mark and Benny Norris run for it after a confrontation with deputies in the forest. Afoot and barely ahead of the heated pursuit, they reach a previously arranged rendezvous point with Kyra, who is rejoining Mark after running off from her parents. But lawmen arrive and take Mark and Benny into custody. A desperate counterattack frees Mark but Benny and a cop are killed.
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At a macabre funeral pyre in the frigid dusk of Ruby Gulch, the final startling scene plays out and Mark is forced to escape, barely clinging to slim hopes of a meaningful future for himself and his lover, alone in the west.
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an excerpt:
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The higher into the mountains we went, the thicker the snow fell. The Jeep's engine roared, revving higher and higher, still in four-wheel drive. I could feel all four wheels gripping the road, particularly around curves. Whenever the rear end shimmied and threatened to break loose, Moe retained control skillfully. Despite the danger that pursued us and likely lurked ahead, for the moment I felt surprisingly secure.
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Under any other circumstances it would have been an enjoyable and captivating ride up the canyon. Old snow lay thickly in shaded nooks and small valleys, new snow blanketing the rest of the vista. Alongside the highway, the river pounded from boulder to boulder, splashing and playing as it found its way down the mountain, freshened by meltwater from higher up. Dense stands of aspen, interspersed with dark groves of evergreen, stood sentinel through the rising wind and blowing snow.
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I asked Moe, "So I'm guessing you've got a gun?"
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".45 caliber. Military issue. Smuggled it home from the Nam. You got a problem with that?"
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"Just hoping you don't have to use it," I said. "You got more C4 in back?"
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"Nah, I only brought enough to town to do the lab. The rest I keep stashed up at Arnie's."
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"You got a lot more?" I asked.
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He didn't answer. As dusk grew thick around us, he switched on the headlights, the twin beams illuminating a fantasia of snowflakes. It looked like we were driving through a tunnel. The effect was markedly psychedelic; I found my eyes playing tricks on me, gaining and losing focus as we pushed forward through the twisting, swirling snow. Even though I'd driven through snowstorms in the Midwest, I was glad Moe was behind the wheel for this one.
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An orange dump truck with a huge steel plow blade appeared in the eastbound lane, skimming snow from the road surface and dumping a thin layer of salt or sand behind it. Behind the truck a short line of traffic had formed, following closely behind one another in haste to get down the mountain before the storm worsened. As closely as they were spaced, it would only take one losing control to cause everyone a serious problem.
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Darkness fell swiftly in the mountain park outside town. Further west a few houses stood alongside the highway, their lights muted by the dense curtain of snow. When we came to Orodell, a tiny hamlet perched precariously on the canyon wall, Moe pulled over.
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"I'd been thinking we should jump off the highway here," he said. "But we're making such good time that maybe we should go all the way to El Vado, then cut off onto Sugarloaf Road. Kinda thought our friends in the Ford would be coming up behind us by now, but it looks like we're holding our own."
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"Pulling away is more like it," I said. "No way their big tub keeps up with your Jeep in the snow."
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Moe nodded, then gunned the Jeep back out onto the main road. Bit by bit I relaxed, mindful that things could change in a heartbeat, but for the moment feeling confident things might play out to our advantage. So far they were.
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