Raven's Peak: Cold Hard Bitch

by Cole Savage

  “We’re here, Cole. We’re here.” Tyler ran over to an old coal hauler, climbed in the back of the bed and yelled over to Cole, who was sitting on the ground.

  “Let's play King of the Hill, Cole. Try and knock me off.” Cole wanted no part of the game, they still had to traverse a viaduct that crossed the river to get to the opening of the mine shaft. The viaduct crossed a small, narrow river, a tributary of the Potomac, and the River paralleled a double track dirt road, with Kudzu and Musk Thistle growing in the center of the road— a deeply rutted road that hadn’t seen traffic in a while. In the background the hills were washed in a sea of metal.

  Watching Tyler, Cole got off the ground, shook the dirt off his pants and ran over where Tyler was playing King of the Hill. They took turns on the back of the dump truck, seeing who could fend off the imaginary horde of invaders. Tyler tried to climb the dump truck on the sides, and Cole would use his invisible laser to thwart him off.

  “Cole, you missed,” Tyler dodged an invisible laser beam and continued to climb.

  “How do you know I missed, Ty. Did you see the ray?”

  “No, I felt it—it cut my arm.” Tyler said grimacing, covering his arm as though his flesh was bleeding.

  “You’re dead, Tyler.”

  “I can still use my other hand,” said Tyler. So Cole went to the side where Tyler was climbing up the side of the truck. Cole shoved Tyler off the side and Cole screamed and jumped up and down. “I’m King of the Hill.”

  Tyler landed haphazardly on a pile of red sand piled beside the dump truck and grunted. He shook the sand off and ran around the truck so Cole couldn’t see which side of the truck he would be climbing. Tyler grimaced and struggled to get a foothold on the bed of the truck. Cole stood dead still listening, holding his pretend gun. Cole heard something and quickly moved to the side where he heard Tyler negotiating the climb. Cole blasted him with the laser, and Tyler fell in agony, covering his head from a life-threatening wound.

  “I give, Cole.” Tyler capitulated smugly, and raised his hands to the sky. Cole waved his gun up in the air, delighted with his victory, screaming, “I’m the champion. Cole is the champion. I’m King of the Hill”

  Tyler loved this place. His grandfather brought him here during the summer months, until the mine closed last year He spent many days playing in the boneyard, swimming in the Cranberry River, and jumping off the water pipe into the cold water, but Cole was a bit younger so Nicki didn’t feel comfortable letting him go with Trent and Tyler to work.

  “Cole let's jump off the pipe into the river.”

  “No, Ty… I don’t feel like it.”

  “Come on, Cole, I’ll take care of you.” He said trying to encourage him.

  “Ty, I don’t want to.” Cole said it slowly and boldly. Tyler stripped down to his white briefs and scurried over to the long pipe that traversed the Cranberry. The vessel was only eighteen inches wide and it ran the width of the river, about fifty feet. On either side of the pipe a half round cage stood as a sentinel to keep would-be adventurers from trekking out onto it, but the cage was bent enough to allow kids to squeeze through, and the river banks were high here so the pipe sat a good twenty feet above the water line. The pipe was green at one time but time and rain had weathered it. You could still see splotches of green in between the rust that covered the length of the aqueduct, and Cole watched as Tyler negotiated the pipe quickly, as he’d done so many times before. He jumped feet first into the water, screaming as he went down, and Cole heard a loud splash. Tyler came back from the bank with his arms crossed, shivering, running fast and hard for his next attempt.

  Cole sat on the bank of the river, his legs crossed Indian style, throwing rocks into the river, watching Tyler perform a less than perfect summersault. Every time Tyler hit the water, Cole gasped and yelled, “Whoa”, wishing he had the courage to jump. Tyler climbed the bank again, ran back to the pipe, stopped momentarily, looked at Cole and said cajolingly, “I double dare you.” Cole seemed exasperated. He stood, threw down the rocks he had in his hand, and put his head down in frustration, covering his ears. He marched over to a com bailer that was sitting next to some old pickup trucks, and he stomped his feet in anger. He took a seat inside a truck that no longer had doors, trying to avoid what he knew was coming next. Tyler looked over to Cole and said menacingly, “I double dog dare”- and stopped mid-sentence, realizing that it wouldn't be fair to his little brother. Tyler ran the length of the pipe and finished with a tight cannonball into the river. He came out of the water and walked over the bank where Cole could see him.

  “Come here, Cole. I won’t bug you anymore… Watch me, I can do a flip”. Cole jumped from the truck and trotted back to the river, fiddling with his hands, his head down.

  Tyler finished the summersault, climbed the bank and walked carefully over the pipe to lay down. He balanced himself on the viaduct with his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Tyler was shivering, welcoming the rays of the sun on a clear day, laying precariously on the pipe. It was indeed a beautiful day, and later, when Tyler opened his eyes, after the goosebumps had subsided, he could see puffy white clouds racing overhead. He looked over at Cole, who was now walking towards him, and Cole seemed confident that he wouldn’t’ goad him into jumping again.

  “Cole, come lay down. The sun feels real good.”

  “No, you’ll push me.”

  “Lay on the grass then. You know I won’t do that… If I wanted you to jump, I’d just double dog dare you.”

  Cole laid on his stomach breaking blades of grass in his hands, watching Tyler. Cole fell asleep first, giving Tyler time to reflect on his grandfather. Trent was the closest thing Tyler ever had for a father, and it was Papa that taught him when he was younger to have the courage to jump.

  Now listen to me carefully, boy. I’m only going to tell you once. I reckon you got two choices here. First choice. Walk out on that pipe, don’t look down, look straight ahead and jump feet first, don’t give it a second thought. If you do it quick, without hesitation, I promise you you’ll like it the first time and every time after. Everything you do after, anything that might scare you, will seem easy in comparison, for the rest of your life.

  Do you reckon you know what you’re second choice is, Tyler? Tyler would stand there, looking up at his grandfather with a puzzled look on his face, eyes wide, thinking, and after a moment of intense thought, Tyler shrugged his shoulders.

  “No, Papa. I don’t know what my second choice is, except maybe I don’t jump.”

  “It’s not that simple, boy. Hell, you can choose not to jump and that’d be all right. But if'n you don’t jump, you won’t jump tomorrow, or the next day, and the day after that. Boy, you won’t ever jump. Here, today, will decide if you’re the jumping type or if you’re the yellow type. Now it don’t matter to me if’n you don’t jump. But I promise you, boy, it will matter to you tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. Little things we decide today don’t change much the older we get. Hell, boy, look at me. I’ve been working the same place for pert’n near thirty years. Now, I’m only gonna ask you once. Are you the jumpin type or are you the yellow type?” Tyler looked up at his grandfather, looked him clear in the eyes, and Papa could see Tyler’s eyes widen. Tyler took three quick breaths, turned and sprinted towards the pipe. He didn’t walk across, he sprinted across the pipe, losing his balance, sending him plunging into the river below— his body landing sideways. The pain was excruciating when he hit the surface, but Tyler would never be scared again.

  Tyler dozed off thinking about his grandfather. He woke an hour later and saw the sun half way home. The world outside was tawny gold. He ran over to Cole and shook him.

  “Cole, get up. It’s gettin’ late. We gotta find the coal hole and set up camp for the night.”

  They grabbed their backpacks and ran to the aqueduct.

  “I am not going over the pipe, Ty.” Cole said, Tyler holding his hand. Tyler could feel Cole jerking his arm away. />
  “It’s okay, Cole. We can walk around to the road bridge if you want? It’s longer, but it won’t scare you.”

  “I’m not afraid, Ty.” Cole said looking up at Tyler

  “I know you’re not, Cole.”.

  “Can’t we just go home to mommy, Ty?”

  “Cole, I promise, if you want to go home tomorrow, we’ll go back.”

  Cole jumped up and down, screaming, “Yippee, yippee.”

  “Cole, pay attention,” Tyler said, watching a vehicle come down the red dirt road, headed in their direction, where they were crossing a rusty covered bridge a hundred yards from the aqueduct, which put them further from the mine shaft. The bridge connected a gravel road used by coal haulers to transport coal.

  “Cole, hold my hand, and hurry, we have to get across the bridge before the truck sees us.”

  “Maybe they’re looking for us, Ty.”

  “Maybe, they are looking for us, Cole. But what if it’s somebody else.”

  With a new urgency they ran the last twenty feet across the bridge and slid behind an old coal car that was resting on tracks, eighty feet from the opening of the mine shaft— Cole breathing hard, his head low, out of the line of sight. Tyler put his hands over Cole’s mouth. The red truck approached slowly as a sudden wind ripped through the canyon, making a howling haunting noise that eddied erratically through the opening of the mine shaft, blowing dirt in circles. Ten feet from the boys, a giant Mahogany, long dead, stirred in the gust wildly, a sound and movement that drew fear in the heart of Cole. Something about the lineaments made him uneasy, or maybe it was the stifled drab of its skeletal shadow. The gravel crunched under the tires of the pick-up as it rolled, then came to a sudden stop twenty feet from the boys. Tyler’s heart pounded. He was breathless, the breathlessness of fear, still with his hands on Cole’s mouth, gesturing with his finger to be quiet. The truck door creaked open. Cole’s eyes were closed; he was shaking. Tyler had his arms around him, his head pressed against his. The sound of feet hitting the gravel jolted them. Tyler gasped, still holding Cole’s mouth. The footsteps got louder, closer, the gravel masticating, someone headed their way. Tyler moved his upper body closer to the coal car, nudging Cole with him. The footsteps were closing in, and suddenly, they stopped. Tyler closed his eyes. The boys heard a man spitting tobacco on the gravel. Tyler’s heart was racing, sinking deeper into his chest when a shrill voice broke the silence.

  “You boys can come out now. I dun seen you already. It's okay, you ain’t gotta be scared.” Tyler broke his grip on Cole. He stood nervously, scanning the landscape, looking for an exit. Behind them stood a pile of massive rocks, and a bluff behind that. To his right, Tyler noticed a wood buttress used to keep the mountain from falling in on the tracks, blocked by a mountain of dated mining equipment. In front of Tyler, the stranger was standing ten feet away. The only way out was to the left, toward the bridge, but the stranger had the angle. Tyler pushed Cole’s head down, the coal car between them and the stranger.

  “It’s all right, boys, your momma sent me for you.”

  “How’d you find us, Mister?”

  “Back on thirty-three, where you boys crossed the road, the little one there,” pointing at Cole, “had his backpack sticking out of the devil grass.”

  “Why didn’t you stop us there, Mister?” asked Tyler.

  “Well, to tell you the truth, I didn’t’ think much of it till your momma called.”

  “What’s my mom’s name, Mister?”

  “That’s right smart of you, Tyler. Is that your name?”

  “Yeah, I’m Tyler, but what’s my mom’s name? Cole stood, relieved he was going home. “Ty, he knew your name.”

  “Shut up, Cole. He could have heard us talking.”

  “What’s my mom’s name, Mister? Tyler asked again.

  “Your momma's name is Nicki. Your nanny’s name is Karen, and your grand pappy was Trent. He worked here for a better part of his life. That satisfy you, Tyler?”

  “I’m sorry, Mister. Mom always taught me not to trust strangers.” Tyler said sheepishly, lowering his head.

  “Well, if you boys want to come there’s a whole lot of folks out looking for you.”

  Cole looked at Tyler.

  “We’re going home, Ty. We’re going home.”

  Tyler didn’t share the same enthusiasm. He knew when they got home they were going to have to live with their dad and he was having fun. Something they had never done before. Something Tyler always wanted to do. He never blamed his mom. He understood she was busy working two jobs and time wasn’t a luxury she had. Even if his mom had time, Tyler doubted she would have taken them camping. The kids at school always talked about how much fun it was to go fishing, camping, and hunting.

  “What’s your name, Mister? Tyler asked getting in the front seat of the green Ford.

  “My name is Cooper, but my friends call me Coop. Pleased to meet you boys.” Cooper closed the door behind Cole, went back around, and the three of them drove out. They watched the sharp-winged silhouette of a Hawk cross in front of the truck, between the dead Coal camp and the world out there, far from the rumbling of trains— about the only wild thing Cole had ever seen.

  Cooper followed the road for half a mile and made a right turn, south on 33. Cole sitting between Cooper and Tyler on the bench seat, smiling.

  “Tyler, you think mom is going to be mad at us?”

  “No, Cole. I’m pretty sure mom is going to be real mad at us, but Momma’s gonna tan our Hyde in the woodshed.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Kyle made it back to Franklin and Nicki had a list of places she thought the boys might go.

  “I checked with the Crenshaw’s, and Momma went over to the Tipton’s. None of them have seen the boys. Momma talked to the sheriff yesterday and he said he would knock on a few doors, see if anyone has seen them.”

  Sitting in the Ford biting her nails, she looked at Kyle.

  “Kyle, I’m worried.”

  “I know, Nicki. But I need you to think. Is there any other place the boys might have gone— friends only Karen knows, somewhere Karen took them?”

  “Kyle, I stayed up all night and couldn’t think of a single place that was special to them.

  “Wait,” Nicki said mid-thought. With two fingers on her chin, she said, “there’s a watering hole in Randolph County, with an old barn where Daddy used to take them, but it's twenty miles away.”

  “Hey, it’s a place to start.”

  “Momma, we’re driving to the Wheeler stead.” Karen was leaning in the passenger side window. “Will you drive around town” Nicki said, “Check Miller’s Bend and Coyote Gulch. The boys might be right under our noses. I’ll call you when we get to the Wheelers.”

  They left in the Ford and took highway 33, north to Randolph County.

  “Kyle, Randolph County has changed a lot over the years.”

  “What— what’s changed, Nicki?”

  “Well, they closed Flying Jacks and the guy who bought it caters to hillbillies living in Seneca Rocks. It’s called the Fire Creek Saloon now.”

  “Are you talking about those bush crackers living off the grid up in the Monongahela plateau?”

  “Yes.”

  “Those guys are harmless unless you’re a Yankee”

  “Why don’t we start our search there,” said Nicki, “That bar is less than a mile from the Wheeler stead. Maybe someone around there has seen the boys.”

  They made the twenty-minute drive to the Fire Creek Saloon. Nicki seemed aloof, so Kyle didn’t speak— he understood. Keeping his eye on the road, he drove a steady fifty-five. Kyle drove with the windows down and the inside of the cab smelled like a radiator. The wind whistled in a high-pitched chord through the cab— under-pinned by the bass groove of a bad idler pulley and the tenor burble of a worn engine. Kyle waited for Nicki to speak, but she wasn’t there, she was staring at rows of pines sweeping by, her dark hair whipping in the wind, the Ford struggling down the road with
no air-conditioning. Kyle looked at her with concerned affection, receptive to all her troubles and pulled off 33, into the parking lot at The Fire Creek Saloon. The parking lot was nothing more than a gravel and dirt expanse, surrounded by pines.

  The yellow sign by the road, riddled with bullet holes said, Women’s Night. Two Dollar Drafts. Free, all you can drink beer for gals. Kyle pulled his truck to a stop, his cell phone buzzing.

  “Nicki go on in, its Trey from the University— I’ll be right in.”

  “Who’s Trey?

  “He’s my boss. The Athletic Director at West Virginia.”

  Nicki listened, already halfway out of the truck, then she walked to the front door wearing denim short shorts, shit kickers, and a white wife beater covered with a leather vest. She dressed hastily that morning, so her hair was in a pony-tail, covered with a Chick’s Rock baseball cap. A hat that Tyler bought a few years back at the County Fair. Kyle watched her scamper to the door, remembering how good she looked in those clam diggers (he called them).

  “You there, Kyle?” Trey asked, Kyle’s eyes firmly on Nicki’s ass.

  “Sorry, Trey. I was distracted. What’s going on that can’t wait till I get back?” Kyle said watching Nicki walk into the bar through brown batwing doors.

  Looking around the interior of the bar, Nicki sashayed her way to the bar where a bartender was wiping the counter behind a long paling bar with a gold toe rest and a driftwood counter top covered with shellac, built from reclaimed wood. Next to the bar rested ten backless swivel wood stools. Two barmaids and two waitresses wearing short skirts with plaid shirts tied at the stomach, sporting cowboy hats and running around in ankle high cowboy boots, carrying trays of drafts and burgers, scurried from table to table, unable to keep up with the early rush for cheap drafts.

  It was close to noon and Nicki seemed surprised at how many people were there, already eating lunch, downing two-dollar brews. She leaned on the counter and summoned the tender, noticing an array of empty liquor bottles sitting on shelves behind the bar. He acknowledged her, so she waited. Along the wall she noticed mining memorabilia: shovels, picks, wheels from an old mining car, and old photos. She surveyed the area and saw a wood planked dance floor she assumed was for square dancing—a dying Art. There were booths on the far side of the bar with red leather backrest, torn and scuffed from years of wear. Where there weren’t booths, wood tables filled the floor space, and a solitary pool table, precariously balanced in one corner with a magazine under one of the legs, sat by the restroom at the back of the bar. The bartender walked up, wiping his hands on a dirty towel. His grey hair falling under a black cowboy that covered his ears. A white t-shirt and jeans covered the very thin man, likely in his sixties.