Sunlight gleamed through the tree tops of the Menongahela National Forest, casting beautiful autumnal hues of yellowish-amber on the wooded floor below. This time of year was turning out to be a beautiful sight. The leaves were changing colors from the deep deciduous green of the Spring and Summer to the various colors of Fall as the trees prepare for the shedding of leaves in the Winter.
For most people, this is a spectacular time of year. Deer hunting season was just around the corner, fishing was still in full effect, several thousands of tourists come and go in the area to hike, camp, and picnic with their families. Even though there was a crisp and cold chill in the air during the morning and nights, the midday temperatures were still compromisingly comfortable allowing for many outdoor activities to still be enjoyable without sacrifice.
With close to one million acres of federally protected lands, the Monongahela National Forest was home to some of the most ecologically diverse lands in North America with tens of thousands of species calling the woods home. Spanning a large chunk of West Virginia and the rest of Appalachia, the world as it seemed was at peace. The smaller birds chirped in the trees and the larger birds soared, dominating the airspace above - kings and queens of the sky. A momma bear chuffs as her cubs stumble along their journey to find a safe place to slumber, ever so vigilant for anything to threaten her children. Herds of deer galivanted through the brush as they escaped their predators - or perceived predators - with agility and precision.
Amidst the beauty of nature nestled the quaint town of Atlas. A smaller, older, former mining town - sitting at the foothills of the Allegheny mountains and on the fringe of the forest. With only a handful of functioning stoplights, it wasn't on the route of many road-trippers and was used mainly as a place to stop and get gas or stay at the local lodge before getting back on the road. It didn't offer an exciting nightlife, there were no super stores and everyone seemed to know about all the gossip - which was typical of small towns - but it was home to, for the most part, good and pleasant folk. During most months, the town of Atlas was forgotten by most everyone except its normal inhabitants however during the Summer and Winter, hiking and skiing season, is when the town saw an influx of traffic - and because of that, revenue. The town was built on the back of coal miners from back in the day and the mine had shut down decades past. A dying place to live, the only thing that kept it alive was tourism and federal funds.
The townsfolk might call it pristine, others call it a hidden gem but to-
"Robbie? A Grande hazelnut with extra cream for Robbie?"
Theodore Robert Grayson, who goes by Robbie and NEVER by Teddy, sighed as the coffee barista announced his order, ripping him from the daydream he had found himself. More often than not, Robbie tried his hardest to separate himself from this desolate wasteland of a hick town and being brought back to reality like this, even for the likes of coffee, was a nuisance.
Generally he stuck with bringing coffee in from home but as the universe would have it, his coffee maker had broke the morning prior - forcing him to support local business at the nearby shop. Admittedly, it smelled delicious. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and a variety of baked goods permeated the immediate area but it still wasn't enough to bring a smile to Robert's face.
Approaching the counter, his uniform stuck out amid the early morning crowd as his duty belt clinked and he clanked on his way to collect the coffee. Sturdy tan boots, clearly worn with dried mud and scuffs thudded against the old and worn wooden floor. Olive drab green work pants with a matching tan long sleeve fire-retardant collared shirt, complete with a snug fitting vest, adorned the tall man. A badge was affixed on the left side of the uniformed man and stenciled on the same side sleeve was a patch, depicting a mountain with a frosted tip, a horizon of trees, and a wandering bison - with the words National Park Service plastered above the mountain tops. On his right sleeve, the words Park Ranger was pressed. A handgun, snugly secure in its holster, hung from his right hip and combined with his unimpressed face, he was not someone that looked like they were inviting casual conversation.
Wordlessly, he collected his coffee and the young brunette behind the counter gave him a huge, bright and naive smile as she handed it to him. "Here ya go! I hope you have a good day. And thank you for your service, Robbie." Her eyes gleamed wide and doe-like at the badge and she was surprised to see him. She knew all the regulars and he certainly wasn't one of them.
Almost as if she was bothering him, his eyebrows raised and he grunted. "Yeah, sure." His voice was gruff and he was upset he had to open his mouth at all. Despite being rude about the exchange, he slid a five dollar bill across the counter, enough to pay for the coffee and then some. "Keep the change," Robert didn't look back at her as he turned from the counter, his eyes squinting as the early morning sun shone in through the front of the coffee shop. Opening the main entrance, Robbie held his coffee in the left hand and took a turn towards where he was parked and with his free hand, lowered his head to rub some of the sleepiness from his eyes.
No sooner did he cut the turn, it felt as if he walked into a street light. A small, lithe, young Blonde woman of a street light. Under normal circumstances, most men probably wouldn't mind bumping into the young lady before him but there was fire both in Robert's eyes and on Robert's skin. The entire cup of scalding coffee had catapulted backwards onto him, drenching the front of his uniform - the cup clattering to the ground as the Ranger stood in a puddle of coffee. The smell of hazelnut was overwhelmingly present.
"Are you fucking- What is your fucking problem?!"
It was a knee jerk reaction to immediately lash out with hostility. The exposed part of his neck was burned red from the coffee and soon enough his cheeks were matching from anger. It took everything in him to not verbally berate this woman further but his temper was subsided - barely - as he was reminded of the uniform he was wearing when he attempted to clean himself off. He raised his hand to her, pointing a finger and his face contorted into several emotions as it seemed like he was trying to figure out what to say. "Don't... even say a fucking word. I don't want an apology, I don't want another coffee, I don't even want to know your god damn name." Taking a deep breath, Robert pushed past the woman - collecting the emptied coffee cup from the ground, violently throwing it away in a fit of rage. After all, littering is wrong.
After 17 minutes of stewing in hazelnut coffee and anger, Robbie finally made it into work in only a slightly less foul mood than he was in before.
"Good morning, Robert."
A nonchalant and feminine voice called out from behind a desk as he stormed into the ranger's building. It was hard to be mean to the woman behind the desk, she was the real reason anything around here got done. "Good morning, June." His voice strained and displeased, Robert managed to flash a grim smile to Juniper Perkins, the administrative support specialist for this particular desolate detachment of the National Park Service.
"Got a lot of paperwork for you today, the tourists are starting to show up," The woman laid a fat stack of official looking documents and mail on the desk, watching the tall man with mischievous eyes. "You smell good, Robbie, is that a new cologne? Medium roast?" Her voice was playful and she was the only person alive today that could've gotten away with it this morning. However the glare he shot her could've pierced steel. "Sorry. I'll start a pot but I'm warning you, it's for drinking not for wearing," Her voice seemed to trail away as Robert collected the papers and started a walk towards his office, not in the slightest happy to get this forsaken day started.
Several hours went by and in that time, Robert had changed into a fresh uniform, downed two cups of coffee, approved or denied who-knows-how-many permits and sat in on a Zoom conference call with local law enforcement and government officials - the re-opening of the town's mine being the topic of concern - however his camera and mic were off, Robert was really just there to listen. A knock on the doorframe of his office made him look up, June once again appearing before him. "June, I'm sorry, look, I'll get out and actually do my job in like five minutes, this-" He was cut off unceremoniously by the light-hearted woman.
"Robert, frankly, I don't care what you do all day. But we did just get a call, a complaint, about a strange person walking around and through the closed campsites, near the stream on Seneca Trail. Just based on the description, it sounded like one of the Delvaux's again..."
At the sheer mention of the name, Robert's head leaned back forcefully into his office chair and he groaned. "Oh... not the weirdo's again, June." He sighed and got up from the desk, grabbing his truck keys. "Alright, whatever. It gets me out of here. I'll be back... maybe."
The tail lights of the utility truck disappeared behind the thick tree-line of the Monongahela forest along with the bad mood of its driver.
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