A Frailty of Heroes

By Richard Freeborn

When the world turns you inside out and upside down, you need someone special.
You need heroes. You need heroines. 

Normal men. Normal women. Not normal situations. Situations that give you three choices. You can run, you can call for help, or you can go forward. 
Going forward is the choice every hero takes in the five original stories first published in this collection.

 

• By Their Fruits Shall I Know Them
• Holding the Ridgeline
• In the Eye of the Beholder
• Quiet Time
• When the Wind Howls

 

A Frailty of Heroes gives you the options. When that choice falls to you, what will it be?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Freeborn
• Release date: Apr 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201870188

Book preview

A Frailty of Heroes

A Frailty of Heroes

Richard Freeborn

Contents

Introduction

By Their Fruits Shall I Know Them

Holding the Ridgeline

In the Eye of the Beholder

Quiet Time

When the Wind Howls

About the Author

Also by Richard Freeborn

For Kristi and Cameron

Introduction

As I began writing the stories for this collection, I’d occasionally ask a family member or friend to define a hero or heroine. Mostly I’d get answers with the names of specific characters from the Marvel pantheon, or occasionally something more generic, like first responders.

What I found interesting is that no one actually answered the question. When I pointed that out, there was a scramble to search the online dictionaries.

And more superhero names.

The one constraint I set myself when writing this collection was no super-heroes. No specific reason, other than I didn’t feel I could write something that felt different to the many superhero stories already published. So, I went back to the dictionary definition - ordinary people in extraordinary situations and used that as a starting point.

That led me into five stories across multiple genres, and as the stories developed, I realized there was a common theme. It’s a theme I believe is consistent with heroes, whether they’re super-heroes, first responders, or the heroes in this collection.

At some point, every hero has to make one choice from the three available. That choice is the one that makes the person a hero. It’s the choice to go forward that sends the person deeper into the situation rather than calling for help or running in the opposite direction.

The first story in the collection came from a conversation I had with two friends as we were talking about travel experiences. My travel stories normally center on lost bags, missed connections, and meeting my wife in an airport bar. Theirs talked about meeting politicians, excellent food, and one scary experience on the way to an early morning flight.

After that, we travel to magical New Mexico, the outer reaches of the Solar System, and meet someone you might consider too old to be a hero. He certainly thinks he is.

I’ve driven a pontoon boat along Alabama’s Lake Martin, and like Aidan in When the Wind Blows, I’ve lusted after some of those beautiful waterfront properties with their lush lawns stretching down to the water. I’ve also seen the devastation from the tornado that ripped through the Lake Martin area five or six years ago. It was a combination of both those strands that led to the last story.

So now we’ve established heroes are ordinary people in extraordinary situations, what better way to title a collection of stories about them than to use the collective noun: A Frailty of Heroes.

By Their Fruits Shall I Know Them

South East Asia - Two Years Ago

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Marcus Taylor glimpsed his distorted reflection in the rusted full-length mirror in the hotel lobby and tried not to wince. The white polo shirt and jeans he wore for the flight home already looked damp and creased in the humidity that flowed into the lobby from the open double doors along with the noise of insect chatter. The fans above his head swirled slowly with no real cooling effect, and he felt the sweat bead across his forehead. There was the damp smell of mold, and not all of it from the outside.

There was no-one behind the cracked wooden registration desk and Marcus allowed himself a slight smile at the crooked portrait of the current dictator of the small country shoehorned awkwardly between Laos, Vietnam, and Cambodia.

His sneakers squeaked, and the wheels of his rolling bag scraped on the uneven tiled floor. From the seating alcove across the lobby, two Japanese businessmen glanced up sharply, then huddled back over their laptop and the video call. Marcus smiled again. That alcove was the one place in the hotel, probably the whole damn city, where you could get a decent internet connection.

There was another scrape of noise behind him, and when he turned, Karen was coming toward him, chestnut hair pulled back into a ponytail and dark smudges under her emerald eyes as she dragged her own bag behind her.

Whose idea was it to get the early, early flight? she grumbled in a voice that sounded as tired as Marcus felt. She was still one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met. Once they got back to the States, he hoped their close friendship would develop into something more intimate.

The airline, because it’s the only direct flight to Tokyo.

She gave him a wan smile. I know, but three in the morning is still an evil time. It’s barely four hours since we left the textile plant, and much as I believe they can effectively manufacture our designs, I’d rather have the extra sleep. Then she seemed to come fully awake, and it was like a light came on inside her. Did you see how good their work is, Marcus? If we ever start our own line, Salavan would be an ideal manufacturing location.

Marcus returned her smile. The discussion of leaving the corporate world and starting their own fashion line had been a constant topic of conversation during the entire trip. I’ll rustle up a cab, and maybe we can sleep on the plane, although he doubted he would. Marcus didn’t sleep well on aircraft.

Outside, the insect chatter was a level of noise higher, and it was like walking into a steam room. There were no lights on the street, and above the insect noise, there was the discordant rumble of the generators feeding power to the hotels along the street.

The cab was an ancient Toyota SUV with