Pop is yelling again. There are two charges on the tree this time. Pop has stuffed two cases of explosives in the splintered gash, and on the south side, twenty feet up, he has stuck a twenty pound kicker charge. The charges are wired together. “… Fireinthehooo …” The concussion shoots across the knoll, fire and wood blowing madly. Everyone ducks. Everyone except Egan. He is staring into the explosion. He sees the tree lift from its stump and fly upright, north, then drop off the north cliff. “f**k,” he says.
The others look up. There is no tree, no shade. The sun burns down on the knolltop searing the ground. The bare land is suddenly torrid. “Hey, where’s that fucker?” someone shouts.
“Hey, where’s the tree?”
“Secure the perimeter,” Brooks yells. “Get back to your positions. Brown, El
