“We appreciate it,” the taller man said as he took a seat beside the fire, directly opposite from where Lauren was. The other man sat down beside him. “I’m Shane,” he continued. Pointing at the other man with him, he said, “This here’s Ronnie.”
Ronnie lifted his hand up in recognition of being introduced. Shane did nothing but watch the fire. Occasionally, his eyes lifted over the flames to look at Lauren, who was oblivious.
“Good to meet you both,” Alan said. “I’m f-bomb.”
Shane and Ronnie both gave him a bewildered look. Alan continued, pointing at Michelle and then at Lauren, “My wife over there is half-cocked, and my daughter here is little bear.”
The bewildered look continued on both of their faces, but soon changed to a faint smile on Shane’s face. Ronnie looked at Shane and saw his expression change and in turn, changed his own.
“What the fuck kinda names are those?” Ronnie asked with a sly grin.
“Trail names,” Alan offered promptly, in an effort to eliminate contestation. “We backpack a lot. We don’t hand out our real names. It’s trail etiquette—you understand, of course.”
Ronnie nodded and smiled. Shane’s smile turned into a smirk. He sucked his teeth for a second, then said, “Yeah, mister. Trail names. Of course we understand.” His backwoods accent was becoming more and more evident, but he suddenly began annunciating some of his words with more clarity. It was easy to tell he was a tad annoyed.
Ronnie took his pack off and reached into it, pulling out a good sized grate just big enough to lay over top of the stone fire ring. He laid it on top, then tossed the fish directly over the flames, still attached to the leader. He moved them around the grate with a stick as he looked at Lauren and smiled. Lauren turned her head away from him and hid her expression behind her arms, which were crossed over her knees.
“Y’alls fire is dying down,” he said. “I’ll go fetch some more wood.” He then stood up and walked out into the darkness. Shane didn’t move a muscle. He just sat there watching the fire and every so often, eyeballed Alan, Michelle, or Lauren. Every time Shane’s eyes went to his daughter, Alan could feel the adrenaline rise and fall in his veins as his anger went from moderate to nearly uncontrollable. He did manage to keep his cool, but it wasn’t easy.
“You guys caught some beauties,” Alan said. “Didn’t take you long either.”
“Well,” Shane began, “we know a good spot just up the river from here.”
“You guys do a lot of fishing?” Alan asked, noticing that Shane wouldn’t look him in the eyes.
Shane nodded and again looked over in Lauren’s direction. “If it wern’t for fishin’ and hunting, we wouldn’t have much to eat around here,” he said.
Alan nodded and said, “I completely understand.”
“Well…it’s been a long day. How’s about a drink?” Shane said as he reached into his backpack and pulled out a mason jar full of clear liquid. He opened it and took a long sip from the jar, wincing as he swallowed. He then offered the jar to Alan who at first hesitated, but took it and smiled. He had a feeling that if he chose direct refusal, it would most likely cause an immediate conflict with this man.
“I’d be happy to join you,” Alan said, doing his best to keep the situation civil. He took a small sip from the jar and immediately coughed as his eyes teared up. The distilled concoction, whatever it was, was some of the strongest he had ever consumed. After getting it down and regaining his vision, he realized quickly that doing what he had just done could’ve have provided these men with the window they needed to do whatever it was that they intended to do. He felt lucky so far that they hadn’t. His guard would not go down again.
Shane smiled and snickered. Alan handed the jar back to him and Shane grabbed it forcibly. He offered it to Michelle and then to Lauren, both of whom smiled and held their hands up in refusal. Shane just offered that same devilish smile that he’d been showing all along.
“Gotta admit there, Mr. f-bomb, I don’t feel real welcome right now,” Shane said as he unscrewed the jar again and took a large sip. Gulping it down, he said, “Hard to find good people in the woods to drink with, I guess…no offense to you there, Mrs. half-cock and miz little bear, you little cutie bitch you.”
Alan postured himself. He had had enough. The tolerance switch inside him rocked the other direction and the bright mental LED was blinking red. If you give an unjust person enough time, they will eventually show their true intentions. These men were now presenting themselves for who they really were and were no longer welcome.
“The thing is, Shane, you in fact, have found good people,” Alan asserted, completely dropping his faked accent and articulating his words clearly. “We have been welcoming and completely nice to you and Ronnie up until this very point. I suggest you pack up and head out. You’ve worn out your welcome.”
Shane put the jar down on the ground. He spit a mouthful of moonshine into the fire over the fish and the fire flamed up quickly, causing Michelle to jump.
“You got somethin’ to say to me, city boy?” Shane said as Ronnie came out of the woods with an arm load of wood. He dropped it at the fire pit and noticed Shane’s mood had changed, as well as everyone else’s.
“Everything ok, Shane?” he asked.
“Yeah. We were just leavin’,” Shane said as he stood up and grabbed both his backpack and the fish from the grate over the fire. Ronnie grabbed his backpack and stood behind Shane.
“We’ll be seein’ y’all,” Shane said as he took another long pull from the mason jar.
The two walked away from the campsite, turned on their headlamps and headed back down the Staunton River trail. Once they were out of site, Michelle stood up and took a deep breath.
“What the hell was that, Alan?” she asked.
“Luck,” he said.
“Luck? Are you kidding?” Michelle responded.
“Dad, I’m really freaked out right now,” Lauren said.
“I know, baby. You guys pack it in and try to get some sleep. I’ll keep watch tonight and we will head out at first light.”
Michelle and Lauren both nodded and Lauren stood up, walked to her mother and hugged her. Michelle kissed her forehead and the two walked to the tent and got inside. Alan could hear them getting into their sleeping bags and zipping them up. Flashlights flickered on and off from inside the tent but eventually, everything went dark.
Alan sat beside the campfire motionless with his eyes to the trail. He reached into his waist pack and pulled out the Glock and racked the slide, placing a round into the chamber. He then checked the pack to verify that there were two spare magazines inside and he was content to find that he didn’t forget them. He pulled out a small plastic bag of caffeine pills and placed two of them on his tongue, choking them back with a gulp of water from a Nalgene bottle in his pack.
“Next time, Alan, invest in some night vision,” he said to himself. The fire died down and the sounds of the forest overtook the night.
The next morning, just as light began to infiltrate the forest, Alan began packing up camp. He unzipped the tent and reached inside to nudge Michelle and then Lauren, who were both startled by his actions. “Let’s get moving,” he said.
Michelle got out of her sleeping bag quickly and Lauren followed, showing signs of hesitation. The two eventually joined him outside and began helping pack up. Michelle reached into her pack and pulled out a few Clif bars, handing one each to Lauren and Alan.
Lauren’s raised her eyebrows and said, “Yum. Breakfast.”
“I wish we had time for oatmeal and fruit,” Michelle said. “Sorry, toots.”
Before long, the camp had been completely packed up. Alan pushed the grate aside that the men had left there last night, placed some stones on the campfire embers, and donned his pack. Michelle and Lauren had already snapped their packs on and were adjusting their trekking poles for the steep uphill climb on the Jones Mountain trail. The three then set off, soon finding the trail intersect
ion and following it up the mountain.
Not long after they began their ascent, Lauren looked back and noticed that they were being followed.
“Dad—they’re back,” she said.
Turning around to notice, Alan stood just off the trail and allowed his wife and daughter to hike by on the next switchback. The trail had been very steep for the past quarter-mile and they were all out of breath and completely exhausted. He held a trekking pole in his right hand and a Glock handgun in his left. He watched as Lauren trudged past him quickly with her trekking poles in hand, and then looked back down the trail over several switchbacks they had just ascended. A ways below the hill were the two camouflage-dressed men that had joined them in the backcountry at their camp the night before along the river. They were looking up the hill and pointing in Alan’s direction with smiles on their faces. One of them had a machete in his hand. Neither was carrying the backpacks they’d had on last evening and were therefore, able to move a bit faster than Alan and his family.
“Is it them?” Michelle asked in between deep breaths.
“Yes,” Alan replied. “And it looks like Shane has a machete.”
“Dad…let’s drop the packs and run. It’ll help us move faster. Maybe that’s all they want,” Lauren said.
Alan turned to follow his wife and daughter up the steep trail. He pointed up the trail.
“Keep moving. I know what they’re after and it’s not our backpacks,” Alan said in a serious tone while trying to catch his breath. “You should know better than that, L.”
“What the hell is wrong with people?” Michelle queried rhetorically. “One minute they seem decent and the next minute, they’re the damn devil.”
The three continued trudging uphill to the next switchback and the next, doing what they could to keep distance from the pair of camo-clad men that were pursuing them. The pace was becoming unmanageable.
“Those guys kept staring at me last night, mom,” Lauren said. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want the conversation to get out of hand.”
“I saw them,” Michelle said. “After Shane pulled out the moonshine, I knew things were headed downhill. It was good not to antagonize them, Lauren.”
“You two continue on,” Alan said as he stopped and dropped his pack.
“Dad—what are you doing?”
“Just keep going. They aren’t going to stop until they get us and they are moving faster than we are. Cut across the next few switchbacks and hide behind one of those large rocks.”
“Dad…”
“Lauren, go now! Don’t question me!” Alan barked as he tried to catch his breath.
Michelle said nothing. She snapped her fingers at her daughter and pointed to a large rock about a hundred feet up the trail from them. Lauren sighed and reluctantly followed her mother up the mountain, going against “Leave no Trace” protocol and cutting across the switchbacks. Alan reached into his waist pack and pulled out a full magazine of .40 caliber hollow-point ammunition. He placed the magazine in his pocket and got down on one knee, making sure to stay in a spot where he could see the two men until they were in range. He held his pistol close to his body at low-ready with his finger alongside the trigger guard.
Michelle and Lauren made it quickly to the large rock and dropped their packs, finding cover behind it in a thick area of mountain laurel. They both could see Alan below them, and they could barely see the two men who were making their way quickly up the trail to where he waited. Lauren watched her mother as she dug into her pack, pulling out a small handgun and racking the slide, chambering a round. Michelle placed a finger over her mouth, signaling for them both to keep quiet. They didn’t want to expose their location. Lauren placed her hand over her mouth and her eyes opened wide when she saw the men turn the corner of the switchback where Alan waited on one knee. As they came into view, he raised his pistol in their direction. One of the men, the one they knew as Ronnie, raised his hands. Shane was indeed wielding a machete. He did nothing but smile and spit out a wad of tobacco juice. They both had evil, drunken grins on their faces, the same grins they’d had the previous night—the kind that would make just about anyone feel uncomfortable or even endangered.
“Hey, now,” Ronnie said, “I thought we was friends.”
“We are not friends,” Alan said authoritatively. “My suggestion is for both of you to turn around and go back the way you came.” A pause followed before a reply was heard.
“My suggestion is fuck your suggestion,” Shane said.
After last night’s events and confirming it with today’s, Alan could easily tell that Shane was the alpha, and with that, most likely the killer. Ronnie seemed to just be the follower, capable of killing, but more capable of just following orders. Both had strong backwoods accents and it was easy to tell that neither had much education. He assumed they had come from the one of the villages in the foothills of the mountains they were in, and stumbling on unsuspecting hikers in the National Park was a hobby of theirs. Perhaps they were after money, food, or gear, or something else much worse. It was impossible to tell how many times they had done this, but it was obvious it wasn’t their first time.
“Just so we are clear, if you come any closer, I will kill you,” Alan said as he brought his right hand around to support his left which held the Glock tightly.
“Hey man, we’re on a hike just like you guys are,” Ronnie said. “We have just as much right to be here as you do.”
“Yes, you do. But you don’t have a right to scare people, pursue them, threaten them, or attack them with a weapon,” Alan said.
“Ain’t nobody done no attackin’—yet,” Shane said sternly. “But now that you have a fuckin gun in my face, I am seriously considering it.”
Alan remained as calm as possible, but he could feel the adrenaline hit his bloodstream. The alpha was a dangerous person and it was blatantly obvious. He didn’t move and didn’t falter. Deciding he was the biggest threat, he lined up his sight picture with Shane’s center mass just over the front sight of his Glock. If this man moved, he would be the first one that Alan would shoot.
“Where’s that purty piece of ass that was with ya?” Shane said as he spit another pile of tobacco juice from his mouth.
“Both of them are purty, Shane,” Ronnie said to his cohort.
“Shut the fuck up, fuckstick,” Shane said. Turning his attention back to Alan, he said, “A good daddy should know better than to let his teenage daughter prance around the woods in leggins.”
Shane swung the machete around his body at a bush in disgust, easily slicing off a small branch about an inch in diameter. He kicked the ground beneath him with the toe of his black leather combat-style boots which were loosely laced. His boots were one of the many things that had clued Alan and his family in quickly that these two were not the usual day hikers or backpackers they’d normally cross paths with in the woods. The previous night at the campsite had started out well and had ended with Alan telling the two men to leave, after they had said some things that made him and his family very uncomfortable. It was now escalating.
Alan was about to explode and he was on the border of killing both of these men without any further provocation which he was certain would happen. The fuse that held his composure together had blown. He knelt there and tried to push thoughts of doubt aside. If it was going to be him or them, it would be them.
“You gonna answer me, city boy?” Shane pressed.
“I’m no city boy,” Alan said, “and my family is not your concern.”
“We’ll see about that,” Shane said.
He began walking toward Alan and Ronnie was on his heels in an instant. They were twenty feet away from Alan when he stood up and fired a warning shot in their direction, hitting the ground just in front of them. Shane raised his machete over his head and launched it at Alan. Alan ducked and lifted his weak side arm upward defensively to prevent the blade from hitting his head. It landed true, on the outside of Alan’s right forearm a
s he lifted his Glock and began to fire. Three shots hit Shane center mass and he dropped on the ground in a lifeless heap, dust from the trail rising around him. Alan looked at his forearm which was beginning to inundate with blood, just as the other man lunged at him in a fit of sudden, unexpected rage, after seeing his accomplice fall. Alan fired his Glock again, this time a double-tap, one round hitting the man in his chest and the other taking a chunk of flesh out of his neck. Ronnie fell to the ground a couple of feet from where Alan stood. Blood poured from the carotid artery in his neck onto the ground.
Michelle and Lauren were on the trail in an instant, running toward Alan as fast as their legs could carry them. When they got to him, he was nursing a large wound on his right forearm and blood was pouring from under his lacerated shirt sleeve.
“Jesus Christ, Alan,” Michelle said in a mild panic as she reached for shears and a wound dressing in her first aid kit.
“Amen,” he said, unusually calm after the trauma of what had just transpired.
“Dad…Daddy,” Lauren said as she embraced him from his left side. Alan wrapped his arm around his daughter, still gripping his pistol.
“L, do me a favor and pull the magazine from my back pocket and replace the one in the Glock with it.”
“Ok, Dad.”
Lauren did as he asked. She took the handgun from him and dropped the half-empty magazine from it, replacing it with the full one. She then placed the half-empty magazine in her right back pocket, and slid the Glock into her left back pocket. She then returned to her embrace under Alan’s left arm that he wrapped around her neck. He kissed her on the top of her head. Michelle was busy stopping the bleeding on his slashed forearm. After she cut the lower portion of his sleeve off, she pulled out a bag of hemostat and emptied the powder on his wound, making him jump from the sudden pain.
What's Left of My World: A Story of a Family's Survival Page 9