THE CHASM 

By Tessa Harvey


    Emery drew back his fist to hit the young firefighter and found his arm held firmly by the curve of a sturdy walking stick, his wife on the warpath.
    "Emery John Henderson, stop right there! Do not touch these young heroes or so help me, I will not cook you a morsel for a month! Just think - no more fried mushrooms!" The older man, still muttering, lowered his arm. His wife limped forward, diminutive, but feisty, despite her grey curls. "And," Betty continued, "I saw you check that old stump after the campers had gone. How could they see anything if you could not? Eh!"
    "Sorry guys," she turned to face the young men who looked so tired and dishevelled, soot and ash-stained. "Come inside the hall - soup, hot drinks, sausages, sandwiches." The younger man left, hungrily, but Dylan was staring. "Who did you see? I have only an uncle left...."
    His mobile beeped. It was a text from Sandra apologising. The upshot of the message was she was going to live with Brodie. "That's ok," he replied. "Sorry Sandra. Too much work. I do understand." But his thoughts were elsewhere.
    The elderly man, anxious to make amends, had led Dylan into the hall after ensuring his wife was safe also.
    He mumbled apologies, sitting down with enough ham and cheese sandwiches for them all and several cups of hot tomato soup. Dylan ate and drank hungrily. He had not eaten since last night, but he was also waiting for Emery to explain. 
    "There were Grade 10 or 11 campers from a local college Log.....something. Logus, that's it. There was a teacher, but he was airlifted to hospital. Appendix, I think. The kids were left to pack up. That boy..." he stumbled over his words, perplexed, scattering crumbs, "he was like a copy of you."

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