Just Past Oysterville: Shoalwater Book One by Perry P. Perkins Page A

that will be left will be your memories of the good
times and just a little bit of sadness.”
    Cassie said nothing, but watched as the
moths flew in frantic circles around the burning globe of the
lantern.
    “ The letter was three weeks
old when it reached the base. By that time the funeral was two
weeks past. I only had another couple of months of active duty, so
I didn’t see any point of coming all the way back home just to look
at the headstones and then go right back to the war.” Jack paused,
crumpling the soda can in his fist before going on. "I stayed and
finished my tour, so I didn’t make it back until the next summer.
By then, the graves didn’t even look new anymore. Three weeks after
that I left for college.”
    Cassie wanted to ask him what college he had
gone to, but her eyelids wouldn’t stay open and her head was
nodding. Jack noticed and stood, yawning himself. Okay,” he said,
“enough ancient history for one night. It's almost midnight, and
morning's going to come awful early.”
    Cassie began to turn away when Jack
remembered something.
    "Wait a second," he said,
walking over to the van and rummaging briefly through the glove
box. Coming back over to Cassie, he handed her a small bundle,
wrapped in an oil-stained rag. Unwrapping the cloth revealed a
heavy folding knife with the word BUCK imprinted on the wood
inlaid sides. Cassie opened the gleaming, steel blade carefully,
jumping slightly when it snapped into the locked position, and
tested the edge with her thumb. The slightly curved bladed had been
carefully honed to a razor sharpness, and ended in a needle pointed
tip.
    Open, the knife was roughly eight inches
long and felt solid in her hand. Jack watched her eyes and nodded
as she slowly pressed the lever on the handle that released the
blade from its locked position.
    "Good," he said, "You know how a lock-blade
works. If someone grabs you again like our friend back there, you
stick 'em as hard as you can and start screaming bloody murder;
chances are they'll be doing the same! It probably won't kill them,
but it'll sure slow them down in a chase. Could you do that?"
    Cassie stood, hefting the heavy pocketknife
in her hand, thinking back to the helpless fear that she had felt,
being dragged back into the shadows.
    "Yes," she said softly, "I think I
could."
    "Well," replied Jack, "You
put that knife away in your bag until you're sure. A knife is no
different from a gun; don't ever carry one for self-defense if you
don't know that you could use it. Otherwise you’re just providing your
attacker with a weapon."
    Cassie nodded hesitantly, her eyes still on
the knife.
    "I know it's an ugly thought," Jack
continued, "maybe even wrong, but sometimes you have to weigh
what's right with the way the world is and find a happy medium.
Remember,” Jack reached out and tapped her forehead with one thick
finger, “the best thing you can do to keep yourself safe is to stay
in safe places. Second-best is to scream your head off--"
    Cassie nodded as she slipped the knife from one hand to the
other.
    "--and always yell fire ," Jack went
on, "never help . There are too many folks out there, sad to say, who'd rather
not get involved, but everyone wants to see a good fire. Fighting
is always your last option, when you've got no other way
out.”
    She nodded again, a little more confidently
this time, and slipped the Buck knife into the front pocket of her
jeans.
    “ Just think about it is all
I'm saying. Now get some sleep."
    Cassie locked the swinging back door of the
van behind her and twisted into the most comfortable position she
could find on the hard metal floor. She could feel the hard length
of the knife pressing against her leg, and felt a little more
reassured.
    Then, as she was trying to decide which boot
to take off first, she fell asleep.

Chapter Six

    Jack had been right, morning did come early,
and Cassie felt as though she had just closed her eyes when there
was a tap on the side window of the