Gary Paulsen, Hatchet

For reading we are reading a book called the hatchet.  We only read chapters 1&2. For the activity we have a google drawing to go on and we have activity's the activity I did the one were you right some interesting parts of the book and write them down and post it to our blog.

Brian Robeson is thirteen years old only passenger on the plane, he is a city boy.  He was on his way to go to oil fields in Canada to see his dad after the divorce of his parents.  The pilot had spoken “get in the co-pilots set.” Which Brian had done.  Brian started thinking. Always it started with a single word.  Divorce.  It was an ugly word, he thought. A breaking word, an ugly breaking word. Divorce. Secrets. No, not secrets so much as just the secret. The pilot sat large, his hands lightly on the wheel, feet on the rudder pedals.  On the dashboard in front of him Brian saw dials, switches, meters, knobs, levers, cranks, lights, handles that were wiggling and flickering.  His mother had driven him from the city to meet the plane at Hampton where it came and picked up the drilling equipment. His mother had gone back to driving only to speak to him one more time when the were close to Hampton.  She reached over the back of the seat and brought up a paper bag. “I got something for you, for the trip.”  Brian took the bag and opened the top.  In side there was a hatchet, the kind with a steel handle and a rubber hand grip.  The head was in a stout leather case that had a brass riveted belt loop.  Brian turned again to glance at the pilot, who had both hands on his stomach and was grimacing in pain, reaching for the left shoulder again as Brian watched. “Don’t know, kid…” The pilot’s words were a hiss barely audible. “Bad aches here. Bad aches. Thought it was something I ate but..” The pilot reached out for the switch on his mike cord, his hand coming up in a small arc from his stomach, and he flipped the switch and said, “This is flight four six…” And now a jolt took him like a hammer blow, so forcefully that he seemed to crush back into the seat, and Brian reached for him, could not understand at first what it was, could not know.  And then knew. Brian knew. The pilot’s mouth went rigid, he swore and jerked a short series of slams into the seat, holding his shoulder now. Swore and hissed, “Chest! Oh God, my chest is coming apart!” Brian knew now. The pilot was having a heart attack. The pilot was having a heart attack and even as the knowledge came to Brian he saw the pilot slam into the seat one more time, one more awful time he slammed back into the seat and his right leg jerked, pulling the plane to the side in a sudden twist, and his head fell forward and spit came. Spit came from the corners of his mouth and his legs contracted up, up into the seat, and his eyes rolled back into his head until there was only white. A strange feeling of silence and being alone.  The pilot was gone, beyond anything he could do.