Raven's Peak: Cold Hard Bitch

by Cole Savage

  “No, I didn’t feel the need to throw you under the bus, but I’d feel awful if something happened to them. They’re not prepared for life outside the house— out in the elements,” Nicki said looking at Kyle, “they’ve never camped, and the only time they’ve ever been away from home was on sleepovers at neighbor’s houses.”

  “Nicki, think. Tell me about any spots the boys loved to go. There has to be some place the boys liked to hang out— fishing holes, caves, parks.”

  “The boys never fished, Kyle. That was supposed to be your job. I was busy maintaining two jobs.”

  “Shit, I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” Nicki guffawed and said, “Well, they really love the meadow by Trout Run where Tyler swings off the rope. There’s the Crenshaw’s Place. They have a cave there but it’s close to the house. I doubt they’d camp there.”

  With her hand on her chin, Nicki’s eyes showed new life. “Oh, the Mulligans. The Mulligans have an open mine shaft where the boys love to play with the twins, Mikey and Shelby.”

  “Okay, okay, that’s a good start. They’ll go places they’re familiar with. Why don’t you go with Karen to the sheriff’s office. I’ll take my car to the Mulligans. I’m familiar with the property. Their stead is only twenty miles from Bowden. I’ll swing by there on my way home.”

  “No, Kyle. You can spend the night here, in Tyler’s bed.”

  “I appreciate the hospitality, Nicki, but my daddy, God rest his soul, has a four-wheel drive pickup. It’ll be useful tomorrow when we go look for them. I’ll be here at first light, and don’t worry, I’m sure they’re fine. This little field trip might do‘em some good…Tomorrow we’ll check Oak Grove and George Washington National forest, both of those spots have real nice campgrounds with running water, and they’re both close to Ranger stations.

  “There has to be something I can do tonight, Kyle? I’m gonna go bonkers sitting around the house thinking that the worst has happened.”

  “Okay, when Karen gets back take inventory of what’s missing. Ask Karen what time the boys left yesterday and tell her to be specific. It might help us figure out how far they’ve traveled, or where they went.”

  “Okay, okay, Kyle… I trust you.”

  “I need a picture of the boys. The last time I saw Tyler and Cole— Tyler was two, and Cole, I think was six months old.” Kyle said, standing next to Nicki, who was on the porch swing biting her nails. Kyle took her hand, and Nicki said, “Nice of you to remember.” Kyle reached into his pocket, took his keys out, leaned over and placed a tender kiss on Nicki’s forehead. She looked up at him, her legs crossed, looking for a sign of reassurance in Kyle’s eyes, but Kyle’s eyes failed to display any sign or manifestation that reassured her.

  She stood and said, “I’ll be right back”. Nicki ran into the house, and into the boys’ room.

  She found a picture of each boy, taken at school last year. She ran out to the porch and handed the pictures to Kyle. Kyle looked at the photo, cracked a smile, and Nicki with her arms crossed said, “Yes, ass. They look like you.”

  “I can definitely see the resemblance.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night?” Nicki said, elbow on her hand, biting her nails.

  “Nicki, by the time I visit the Mulligans it’s going to be too late. I’ll be back at first light— promise.”

  “Call me as soon as you see the Crenshaw’s,” she yelled as Kyle got in the Buick. He put two fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss.

  “I’ll call you,” he said. Kyle turned the Buick around on the gravel drive and sped down the long driveway, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. Nicki watched the car until the taillight faded. Nicki picked up the phone and called Karen.

  “Momma, any word from the sheriff?”

  “That sum-bitch told me he can’t do anything until the kids have been missing for forty-eight hours, but I ran into Margaret Lionel at the Conoco and she told me that Sue saw the boys yesterday afternoon crossing Main. Sue said they had backpacks on, and she said the boys turned left on Blue-gray road, headed East.”

  “That’s great news, Momma, Kyle’s going to check in with the Crawford’s before he goes home. They live out by Kiser Gap, as you know, and the boys spent a lot of time out there last summer.”

  “Okay, honey. I’m on my way home but I’m gonna talk to Luther at Papa John’s, see if he saw the boys when they crossed Main, or if he saw them double back. It’s not that I don’t trust Sue. I don’t have to tell you, cause you already know, but Sue’s been Tyler’s partner in crime in the past. I didn’t share this with you, but Elizabeth Wainwright caught Tyler and Sue in the tree-house, and let’s just say, those youngins’ weren’t wearin’ garments.”

  “I know, Momma. Liz called me and I dealt with Tyler.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Walking down the edge of Dry Run, near the Kiser Gap, out of Franklin, the fear of running into people they knew subsided, Tyler couldn’t tell you how far they’d walked, but he figured they were still a good distance from their destination. They passed the burnt-out shell of a car buried in elephant grass, covered in crosshatching of small caliber bullet holes, where they stopped to search for treasure. Timid, Cole imagined a burned-out corpse in the trunk, with a bullet hole in the head, so he stood back, away from the trunk.

  “Tyler, can we go?” The car was burned down to the metal, inside and out, but Tyler still checked the glovebox for hidden treasure.

  “Yeah, Cole, we can go.” They resumed their march, Cole using a stave that he found next to a sick Oak tree. Tyler ran point, still following the edge of Dry Run East.

  Tyler spoke in a southern drawl, and Nicki struggled incessantly to separate Tyler from his accent. She spoke to him in clear English, often making Tyler repeat words and phrases because she felt Tyler and Cole had a better chance of succeeding if they spoke clear English, but Karen made it tough for the boys, her accent was tenacious and her vernacular boorish.

  Tyler was a tall lanky twelve-year-old with long brown hair, and he was staunchly hyperactive— bordering on ADD. Cole had similar features, but thicker, covered in freckles, and a round head— the polar opposite of his brothers need for speed, disposition. Cole was two years younger, and he respected the opinion of his older brother, although Tyler got him in trouble many times by deflecting blame to Cole, who didn’t seem to mind taking the heat for Tyler.

  Tyler was the alpha, and Cole followed him around like his little Minion.

  Cole didn’t know how to get to the Coal Mine, but Tyler reassured him that he knew exactly where it was. Tyler stopped occasionally, pulled the compass out of his pocket, opened it, then walked in a circle like he knew how to use it— the psychological effect he was looking for seemed to be working on Cole, who had no clue where he was.

  They spent the night under a thicket of trees by Dry Run, miles from any paved road, and Cole was already complaining. Tyler laid a blanket down under a small grove of pine trees and cuddled up with his little brother for the night. Tyler would never admit it to Cole but he was scared too. The night was clear, and unable to sleep, Tyler stared at the stars that ran from one end of the horizon, then stopped and dropped off the edge of the world. The Night was filled with the echoes of distant animals, mosquitos, and the howl of wolves, where the endless twilight and cool air of the mountains melded with the endless cruelty of mother nature, for those that failed to prepare for her wrath. A curtain of storms advanced on the boys, but Tyler was clueless. Tyler kept the knife by his side. Their dinner consisted of spoonsful of peanut butter and Kool-Aid. Every few minutes, Cole would say, are we there yet? How much longer? All day Cole would stop, readjust his backpack and ask, could we take a break and eat something. Tyler would say, quit being such a baby. If we eat every time we stop, we won’t have enough food for the week. But Cole wouldn’t stop complaining.

  CHAPTER 16

  After stopping at a quick-mart for a bottle of Whiskey, Kyle went home for the night, where he drank
from the bottle, closing his eyes as the Whiskey slid down his throat, seeping through his body like an elixir. In spite of the Whiskey he downed, over half a bottle, he spent the night tossing and turning, the darkness in his head molten. Nicki’s words had hurt him the same way his dad had when he used to come home drunk. Kyle wouldn’t admit it to himself, but the only way to erase his father’s memory was by fighting at bars or proving himself to Nicki. He tried to force sleep, but sleep eluded him. He knew that if anything happened to the boys he would be to blame. His only thought as he laid in bed looking at the ceiling was a disavowed one; blaming his behavior on the loss of his father at an early age, a pretext he felt allowed him a pass or two in life. When he finally passed out, he went to a place deep inside himself, a place he never experienced and never wanted to leave when he got there. An effort to create and superimpose a fantasy of a bad childhood. It was a cool place that smelled of Galax and sunshine resting on warm boulders, and wind blowing through pines. Flowers blooming in fields. The smells of spring and childhood innocence lit by a rainbow that arched and ended in a flower filled meadow, like living inside a childhood memory he’d only lived in his dreams. A place that allowed him to make-up for a long-lost life that was dead to him. The dream quickly transformed into melancholy. A place where blood didn’t rinse easily from his dreams, nor the memories of the incurable harm he’d done to others. His dream was a landscape littered with the bodies of his ruffians.

  When morning came, he threw on jeans, hiking boots, and a blue and yellow West Virginia football t-shirt. He left his mom's house in Bowden before daybreak, in his dads 1989 Ford pickup. A truck his old man babied when he was still alive. The Ford wasn’t a beater, the body was in perfect shape though the blue and white paint had faded over the years from sitting under the Oak. Kyle checked the oil and coolant levels. When he turned the key, all he heard was the click, click, click, of the solenoid. He wasn’t surprised, so he drove his mom’s Cadillac over and jumped the truck. He wiped the leaves and crud off the windshield and headed to Franklin, making a mental note not to turn the truck off for a few hours so he wouldn’t be stranded with a dead battery.

  The truck was low on fuel so he ran by a gas station to fuel the truck, at the only gas station in Lewis County— a Mobile gas station outside of Pendleton County. He pulled off the two-lane highway, negotiated a left-hand turn and parked next to one of the two pumps. His vehicle was the only one there, except for a Chevy truck he assumed belonged to the gas station attendant. A truck that looked like every other vehicle in this underpopulated county of West Virginia— tired, in desperate need of cosmetic work and a good wash.

  Kyle stepped out of his truck noting that the gas station had been newly renovated, and seemed out of place in this part of West Virginia, where roads were old, worn, cracked, and dominated by ruts.

  Highway 13 was dotted with rows of pines that closed in on the sides of the road— a northern corridor where the landscape was timeless and beautiful.

  Kyle Pumped forty-eight dollars’ worth of gas and strolled into the station for a quick breakfast consisting of a donut and a hot cup of coffee. Looking around he carried his items to the lone attendant and noticed that though gentrification had changed the façade, the stale musty air one associated with crusty dated gas stations in this part of West Virginia, remained. The interior was as old as the day they built it.

  Kyle saw an aging man wearing a standard Mobile Uniform shirt, loosely tucked in his denim, whose name tag, embroidered in red letters, clearly identified him as Earle. He was sitting on an old Windsor chair, leaning back, chewing Skoal, watching a car race on the oldest black and white television on the planet that was sitting on the counter—a man uninterested in Kyle’s presence. Earle turned his head to acknowledge Kyle. He spat Skoal in a garbage can next to the register and resumed watching the race.

  “If it isn’t too much trouble, Earl. Can I pay for these?” Bothered with Kyle’s interruption, Earl took his time coming off the chair, and with his eyes on the race, he rang up Kyle’s purchase.

  “That’ll be three seventy-five.” Kyle felt the urge to leave Earl with a snide comment, but thought it unwise since Kyle needed information from the good ole boy.

  “Do you know why 13 is closed?” Kyle said. Earle spat snuff behind the counter and glanced at the race, now on a commercial break.

  “Yep,” he said, hands on the counter.

  “If it isn’t too much trouble, Earl. Would you mind telling me?” Earle spat again.

  “Coal hauler lost its load bout’ a mile before 33—blacktop prit’near covered in slag. Coal Cracker wrecked into a light pole on 66 (referring to mile marker) after a greaser ran him into the gully.”

  “Is there another way to 33, Earl?”

  “There’s an access road runs through Big D that’ll spit you out on the Burma Road, but it’s slow as molasses in the summer cause of construction. It’s all dirt with ruts and cracks that’ll bout break your truck. But if’n you go slow, your Ford will get you there. Stay left on the fork up on the hill till you come up on a wood shanty. Bout’ a mile down-da line you’ll hit a brown hollow with an old com bailer sittin’ next to it. Take a left. That’ll bring you out on 13 just past the wreck. If you get the twitch, there’s a watering hole called Peddlers Grave on the Burma Road. They gots sum’ mighty fine whiskey, white lightning and hooch. They got Calico queens dancin’ topless that’ll perk your pecker right up. Be careful, the right side of the fork will take you right into the coal hole and you’ll be fucked four ways from Sunday. You’ll have to back up a country mile. There ain't’ no place to flip a bitch, and if you get a hankerin’ to spend the night at Peddler’s Grave, you might wanta rethink it. They don’t take too kindly to Yankees round these parts. These hillbillies are old school bush crackers.”

  “I’m not a Yankee. I grew up in Bowden.”

  “Sure, you did. Ain’t nobody got roots in Lewis County talks like that”

  The race was back on so Earl lost interest in helping Kyle. Earle sat, eyes on the screen.

  “Hey, Earl.” Kyle said with his hands on the counter. “They make color televisions now—the kind that don’t need rabbit ears.” Kyle waited for a response— nothing, not even eye contact.

  “Maybe you should find another line of work, Earle—one that doesn’t require you talk to customers. Maybe you can be one of those guys with the orange vest that hold those signs on the highway that say, slow down” Kyle slapped the counter, and Earl stood, avoiding Kyle’s gaze, to turn the volume up. He sat and turned his chair away from Kyle.

  “Or maybe you can be a goat farmer, Earle. You wouldn’t have to worry about dressing up Friday nights. You could have the pick of the litter. How’s that sound, partner?”

  Kyle took a dollar out of his pocket and threw it on the counter.

  “Earl, here’s an extra buck. Why don’t you run on down to the dollar store and buy yourself a fucking personality?” Kyle said, talking to the back of Earle’s head.

  Kyle slapped the dollar and walked out.

  “Enjoy the last three hundred laps of your fucking race,” Kyle said under his breath.

  Kyle got back in his Ford and headed south on 16, looking for the sign designating Big D Coal, anxious to get to Franklin.

  CHAPTER 17

  Tyler and Cole were on railroad tracks a mile from R&R mine.

  “Were almost there, Cole.” They’d swam there many times on days that Trent worked his shift when he was still alive. The Coal mine was closed now but locals still explored the mines and spent summers at the lake. The tracks were fifty feet from the road so it was unlikely someone would see them here, hiding behind the elephant grass.

  “Cole, we’re coming up on the road. We need to run across as fast as we can, okay, cause we don’t want no one seeing us.”

  “Tyler, can you hold my backpack, it’s getting heavy.”

  “Run up here, I’ll carry it the rest of the way.” Cole sprinted down the tracks, swaying
left and right, precariously off balance, his exhaustion apparent, excited that he wouldn’t have to carry the pack anymore. Squatting, they hid in Elephant grass by the side of the highway, waiting for the road to clear from vehicle traffic.

  “Cole, get down, someone’s gonna see you.”

  “Can’t we just go home, Ty?”

  “What happened to brothers forever?”

  “I just want to sleep in my bed…I’m cold, I’m wet, and I miss mom.” Tyler pulled on Cole’s shirt when he saw a Coal hauler coming down the highway.

  “You really want to go live with dad, Cole?”

  “I just want to see mom.” Squatting down, Tyler grabbed his backpack and told him to run across the two-lane highway. Cole scampered across, Tyler hot on his heels, and together they ran into a copse of pines, relieved by the lack of brightness on this darkened stage of the pines and willows, the air around them soft and damp with humidity from last night’s rains that made sleep impossible for them. Cole squatted to catch his breath.

  “We’re almost there, Cole.”

  They resumed their trek through the woods and approached a clearing littered with inoperative coal mining equipment— railroad ties, steel tracks, and old pickup trucks with weeds, shrubs, and saplings, growing aggressively in and around the graveyard of materials— hulks of machinery dead to the world. One of the pickups had a pine seedling, standing tall, rooted in the back of the bed. A cluster of knocked down structures overwhelmed by weeds, trees, and saplings, fit right in with the hills behind the coal mine. Tyler approached a rain filled pit. A ten-thousand-gallon rusty steel tank, formerly used for firefighting, heavily matted with a greasy residue and green-yellow Duckweed, as a distant rumble of a freight train caught their attention. Tyler dropped the backpacks and threw his hands up in celebratory fashion, not realizing how their keening spirits and mission, had stirred their parent’s life like a cloud of Africanized bees.