The cold October sky felt heavy and near. Sean hadn't seen a cloud since six p.m. when he started the drive from New York's Fort Drum. He had wanted to leave earlier in the day while the blue sky begged for a brisk drive in his new Mazda 3, but the time had gotten away from him and he had dragged through his packing duties. He had left just before the south gate had officially closed for the weekend. Fifteen more minutes and he would have had to drive almost twenty miles around the base from the upper east side.

Now, at 10:15 p.m., still on his way to Watertown, he had little idea of how he could have wound up on Cemetery Road. The road had been aptly named due to two cemeteries that encroached upon the narrow lanes of traffic. Sean would have to take Rutland Hollow to Watertown now, an idea that radiated little warmth on this night. Rutland Hollow was as close to a demolition derby as a Southerner like him could find in New York.

This was ridiculous. How could he have gone in a complete circle? The black ice on the roadways was as treacherous as he had seen in several years. The Army said he'd get to see the world, but he'd been stationed at Fort Drum for almost three years now, since his 21st birthday. What a birthday that had turned out to be. He thought he had been transferred to Alaska or Iceland - and it had only been late August. For a Florida boy, it was a bit much to ask of a young man who had just wanted to serve his country overseas. The desert heat would have been a second home compared to this intolerable cold each year.

Worse than the cold though was the slow feeling of confusion blanketing his mind now - like a steady snowfall late at night. He had seen the cemeteries, but he wasn't so sure he was on Cemetery Road after all. Cemetery road had a weird curve before Rutland Hollow, but this road was banking left - heading away from Watertown and toward Black River. Black River was not where he wanted to be - not on this night. Not ever.

The town of Black River was a mere jut in the nearby river and was surrounded by icy bridges, closed shops, and, on a night like this, filled with more than its share of darkness. You'd sooner find life on Mars than you would at Black River at midnight. These were the times when Sean would recall his prideful boasts at the mess hall where he bragged about the $80 a month he was saving by not having a cell phone. Ridiculous. He'd pay $800 for a cell phone right now.

He'd never hit I-81 at this rate. He'd never get home at this rate. Hell, he'd never even find a motel at this rate. He would turn to go back to base if he knew which way to turn. Sean had been at the wheel nearly five hours and could swear he was hearing the base play Taps in the distance.

Ahead, he saw what appeared to be headlights. It was the first car he'd seen in thirty minutes. As he approached, Sean noticed the headlights weren't moving toward him. It looked to be a small pickup truck. As he got closer, he saw a dog-like animal dart across the road into the tree line nearby. Or was it a wolf? He had heard of timber wolves in upstate New York, but had never seen one. But it didn't look quite like a dog though. Not in the way he'd describe a dog.

He slowed and peered at the silver truck as he passed. He couldn't tell if there was anyone inside, but the passenger door on the opposite side seemed to be open. Sean drove a short distance, then u-turned, and pulled up behind the truck.

Thank God! An Army Rangers logo reflected brightly off the rear window of the truck. Sean put on his gloves, wrapped the scarf loosely around his mouth, and put on his wool cap. No. He took the cap off and reached down on the floorboards and found his BDU field cap. Battle Dress Uniform. Let's make this go easy, Sean thought. He pushed the door open against the wind and headed toward the truck, leaving his Mazda idling in the cold.

He glanced across the street where the animal had ran. Nothing but trees - trees and way too much snow for any bird or beast to make this its home. He trotted toward the silver truck. As he approached he could see the driver side window was down an inch. "Hallooo", he called.

The door opened suddenly and so abruptly he almost slipped backward while trying to avoid its swing. "What do you need, boy?" its occupant called from within.

Sean distinctly smelled alcohol. He could always smell it a mile away when it had been a month since he had tasted any. "I'm a bit lost and was hoping you could tell me where I am - or how to get to Watertown from here", Sean said haltingly.

"Watertown? I haven't the slightest", the man said. Sean couldn't see him. The man was keeping inside the truck, except for his left leg hanging out.

Sean tried again. "Um, I'm a new staff sergeant at Fort Drum and just got lost coming from there. Is this Cemetery Road?"

The foot swung out further and the other foot followed, covered in standard-issue military boots. The man leaned out, spit something into the ice-covered roadway, and looked at Sean, squinting a bit from Sean's headlights. He was an older man, with a weathered face, rosy cheeks, and dark bushy eyebrows that partially hid his eyes when he looked down at the ground. The little bit of his eyes that did shine through were reddened, just like the man's face. "It's not a good night to be lost, son. Not a good night. There's wolves around here. Timber wolves that'll chew the tires off your car if you let them."

Sean turned toward his Mazda. "I'll just keep driving. Thanks for your help." He took a few steps before he heard the unmistakable sound of a shotgun pump behind him. He froze.

The footsteps crunched in the snow behind Sean, getting closer. He wanted to run, duck, jump, something. "In a hurry to leave, boy?", the man drawled.

How could he answer that question. Was there a right answer? What the hell was going on? This guy couldn't be a Ranger.

The man pressed the twin barrels of the shotgun against Sean's

lower back. "Maybe you didn't hear me. What's your hurry, boy?"

"I'm just wanting to get home, sir. I've got no problem with you, sir. I'm sorry I interrupted your evening, sir." Sean was spewing out "sirs" like he did the second week of boot camp.

"I got a feeling you were here for something else. And my feelings is all I got to go by."

"I'm serious, sir. I was just lost. My name's Sean Norton and I live in New Haven right near the lake. You can check my driver's license if you want."

The barrel stopped pressing against his back and the man took a small step back. "What's your name? What did you say?"

"Sean Norton, sir. Sean Edward Norton".

The man muttered something that Sean couldn't make out in the wind, but before Sean could ask him to repeat it, the man exclaimed. "Sean Norton from New Haven? Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me? That's impossible! I can't believe this!"

Sean didn't know what to make of it. Was the guy starting to laugh?

The man continued his rant. "You know, you can't just pull up behind a man out in these parts. I had half a mind to make you lost alright. Forever. I can not believe this".

Sean slowly turned around. The man had lowered the shotgun and was walking back to his truck. Sean wanted to ask a thousand questions, but his adrenaline was still pumping furiously.

"I mean, what kind of man are you?", the man said, heading back to Sean. His eyebrows seem to grow more bushy by the moment. "Do you not understand the meaning of a simple map?"

Sean was trying to absorb the man's sudden change of demeanor as fast as he was trying to absorb the man's rhetoric. The map. Yes, the map that he carelessly tossed in his duffle bag late last night. But, that was a map for tomorrow's hunting trip where he would meet... yes, Darrell Raitt. Sean was looking at him right now, here on this forgotten stretch of road. He was staring at his hunting buddy Roger's new best friend Darrell that he was to meet tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow night. Had he lost a whole day? No, it was still Friday and Saturday was the meeting for the overnight hunting trip.

"Darrell?", Sean quizzed out loud.

"Yeah! I sure as hell don't know exactly what I would have told Roger had I blown your brains out here on Cemetery Road. I mean, you agree to a hunting trip, never show, and then pop up behind me just as I let the hyenas loose? Geesh, Roger told me you were a cool guy, but I thought for sure I had been found out. You know the fine for owning one of those pups? Three large!"

Sean didn't know if three large meant $300 or $3000 and he didn't care. Hyenas were out roaming around, this guy was as ripped as could be, and Sean knew that Roger had, once again, given him only half the story. Roger had told him that Darrell was a great hunter, an expert tracker, and a champion sharpshooter. He apparently was also a cheat, a drunk, and a hothead. And bad with calendars. But, at least Sean knew he was on Cemetery Road after all.

"So, where's Roger?", Sean asked quietly.

Darrell let out a knowing laugh. "I'd like to know myself. You got a phone with you?".

Sean was beginning to hate cell phones even more. Not the existence of them, as he did before, but now, a second intrusion of a cell phone into his day - a cell phone that only existed as a coveted need of his. "No, forgot it at the base", Sean lied.

"Yeah, well, tag along and let me at least show you how to do this. Roger said you were a novice, so I'll go easy on ya".

What? Roger was such a posturing fool at times. If anyone was a novice, it was Roger. Or maybe this guy. Sean had to get home, and besides, this frigid cold air wasn't warming his Florida heart anymore than this Army Ranger gone amok.

"Well, I don't know how to say this", Sean began lightly, "but our hunting trip is actually scheduled for tomorrow". And then, as an afterthought, he mumbled, "Saturday".

Roger turned and looked at him in the dark and said nothing. For a moment, all Sean could hear were his windshield wipers smearing across the window, the sound of his engine purring, the whisper of the wind through the nearby tree line, and the sound of his heart pulsing in his neck. Thunk. Thunk. Almost perfectly in sync with the wiper blades.

Roger cleared his throat, spit again, and then looked at him for another moment before beginning.

"I got to level with you, Sean", Roger said stiffening his back and taking a step forward, "and I hope you don't think I'm a bad person, but what good's honesty if you don't use it, right?"

Sean already heard the speech in his head before it would begin. I got a drinking problem, my wife left me, sometimes I get confused, don't tell Roger, just hang out with me anyway for a few hours, what could it hurt?

But then Darrell began to speak and the thoughts in Sean's head quickly dissipated. "I lost my wife four weeks ago. She died in a car wreck on I-81. Since then, I don't know the way anymore, Sean. I just don't. I'm such an idiot these days I didn't even know that it was Friday. I guess I was looking forward to this evening so badly, I just jumped the gun. It's happened a lot lately."

Sean gulped and tried hard not to say anything. Darrell's speech was slowing, he had choked on a word or two, and Sean couldn't stand the thought of seeing a grown man cry. Especially this man.

Darrell continued slowly, "I haven't told Roger because, well, you know Roger. He'd probably avoid me for months, maybe years, and give me some space. But I don't want space. Not that much anyway. I just want to do something normal again. Like hunt. Or fish. Or even just go out to eat at the damn diner on fourth avenue which always tries to close before I finish my meal. Just something normal."

Sean stood motionless, speechless, his mind whirling of what to say, but nothing came out. He finally said what he hoped any normal guy would say. "I'm sorry, Darrell."

"Don't be. I'm sorry I stuck a gun in your back. I've just been on edge and I don't think the way I used to. I try, but I don't."

Sean stood there for a moment. The wiper blades were saying something to him, but he couldn't make it out. Or maybe it was his heart talking and the wiper blades were drowning it out. Sean took off the Army field cap, ran his gloved hand through his hair, and held his hat in his hand for a moment. "I'm going to turn off my car, Darrell and put on my wool cap. Hunting in these woods is a bit cold for a Florida boy like me. Hope you don't mind, but my rifle is at home. All I have is a 9mm in the trunk, but you know, it's an Army issue".

Darrell lifted his head a bit. "Army issue? Oh, right. You said you just got promoted, you dog. I just happened to have plenty of 9mm rounds so you won't get nailed for losing any government bullets. I know some folks think it's cheating to use a handgun to hunt, but to hell with them. They've just never tried it."

Sean threw the field cap in the car, grabbed his wool cap still sitting on the passenger seat, turned off the engine, popped the trunk, and locked the doors. Getting out, he glanced at Darrell who had, in the same time, pulled out an extra pair of snowshoes, an extra flashlight, and was working on some bag bacon.

Sean went around to the trunk and stared at the U.S. Army logo on the case of his 9mm. It seemed to say "Leave me in the car, Sean... I'm not your personal weapon". Just then, Darrell appeared at the side of the trunk holding up two bags - one in each hand. "You like spicy or regular, Sean?", Darrell asked.

Sean looked up, startled. "Uh, spicy of course." He opened the case and put the gun in its soft holster and stuck in it his jacket pocket. He closed the trunk quickly.

"Oh, ho! You are the man of the hour, Sean!", Darrell exclaimed. "No one likes spicy anymore. That's the problem with America, man. We are becoming a nation of sissies. What real man doesn't eat spicy? It makes me sick just thinking about it, I tell ya."

Sean thought briefly of Roger, how he didn't even eat bag bacon at all, and always avoided spicy foods. Sean put on his snow shoes while Darrell kept talking on about a few other cultural issues, none of which Sean really understood. Sean stood up, looked around down the long stretch of Cemetery Road. Not a car had gone by the entire time he had been here. He was no longer lost. And he no longer felt lost. Darrell was telling him about how useful hyenas are in tracking moose and other venison. Sean hurried to keep up with Darrell whose energy seemed to have doubled in the past few minutes. The man was an ox capable of anything - and yet his world had been ripped apart only four weeks before. Sean didn't know what it would ever feel like not to be normal. Until tonight, normal had been his life since birth. But, if Darrell wanted normal, then maybe Sean wanted something other than normal. With Darrell, he figured he'd find it. Hunting moose with a 9mm and hyenas on a moonlit night near Black River with a total stranger seemed as good an introduction as a fellow might ever get.