Blood Mountain

by J. T. Warren

  That was stupid and yet, she kind of liked the idea. What girl wouldn’t? It was like the set up for some romance novel. The next time he came into Rune Books, she would casually go up to him, ask how his hand was and see what happened from there.

  “You okay?” Dad asked.

  “Yes.” For the first time in a long time she meant it too.

  ELEVEN

  Victor drove to the spot near the abandoned garbage trucks. The place had once been the home for a full-service garbage company called Murray Waste Co., but it had closed down a long time ago. Victor had been coming here for fifteen years. Since the day he’d killed the family cat and his mother threatened to send him to a Special Facility.

  The cat’s neck had snapped like breaking a popsicle stick.

  He ran to this place and stayed for six hours. His mother did not report him.

  He had been inside the abandoned building several times but there wasn’t anything in there except for rickety office furniture, moldy folders with faded papers in them, and lots of cockroaches. Especially in the basement.

  Teenagers frequented this place as well because the building sat almost on top of Route 51 and the lot opened up behind it. Two rusted heaps that had once been garbage trucks sat at the far corner by a warped mesh fence like long-forgotten sentries. There was enough room for a little league field. Occasionally, kids had drinking parties back here. Victor sometimes watched them from the woods behind the fence. One night, a girl had danced in the crisscrossing beams of the car lights and removed layer after layer of clothes. She’d been drinking Wild Turkey from the bottle.

  Kids had busted most of the windows in the building and the structure had even started sinking like it was slowly lowering into its own grave. A large red sign on the front read CONDEMNED KEEP OUT. In the back, multi-colored graffiti crisscrossed over the peeling siding like convoluted spiderwebs. Across the back door that had once been used as an Employees Only entrance, the words FAGGATS EAT SHIT lived forever in gradually fading red paint. Someone had smeared his hand through the word SHIT, so the letters slipped down the wall beneath cartoon-sized fingers.

  Victor ate his tuna fish sandwich and drank from his travel jug of water. The water was from a stream not too far from Blood Mountain. It had not been altered in any way.

  He had taken a risk with the kids in the parking lot. For someone who liked to be invisible, Victor had really put himself out there. The plan might now be seriously messed up.

  The universe wanted him to attack that kid. He believed that and he told himself again and again that it was true. He was one of the chosen ones. He would be a member of an elite class of humans still free to roam the world when everything began running down into the last dark times. A special role. A unique spot. Reserved only for him.

  So long as he did not allow doubt to taint his faith.

  When his eyes met hers inside the diner, he knew the plan had changed. The risk was unavoidable but necessary. The powers that reigned would protect him. The cops had not been summoned. Diners had not flocked into the parking lot to intervene. But the woman had seen. And waved.

  If he were a hunter and not simply a guy with fancy hunting gear, Victor would have said that the trap was set.

  He threw the rest of his sandwich out the window for the rats and got out of the car. He walked around to the front.

  The main tourist entrance to the mountain’s trails was a mile or so further down the road, but there were several ways in all around the mountain and no real obstructions, only a few sagging fences and faded PROHIBITED signs. Across the street and down a ways along a dirt road the garbage trucks had once traversed on their trips to an illegal dumping location, there was a place for Victor to begin his ascent up the mountain. Only the true adventurers used that spot because the trail was not easily found and the smell of rotting trash that had not been exhumed often filled the air with potent plumes that burned your nostrils.

  The east ridge of the mountain gleamed like the shining blade of a knife. He could almost see the bloody tears bubbling from the trees. Those trees were like something from a Greek myth. On days like today when the temperature was expected to spike out of the cold and into the surprisingly warm, the blood would gush out, form puddles like little tar traps that could suck the shoes off your feet.

  A lot of people didn’t like to hike up there. They said the mountain was one giant trap.

  TWELVE

  A guy in his twenties hefted a large hiking bag on to his back and connected several straps across his broad chest. His sweatshirt was snug against his shoulder muscles and biceps. He did not glance her way while he readied himself for a hike.

  Maybe they would run into him somewhere in the woods.

  Dad was bent over in the trunk, assembling the supplies into four different piles: his stuff to carry, her stuff to carry, food, and first aid supplies. He had spend the night meticulously packing their bags and now, parked at the foot of the mountain, he had emptied those bags for a final check of supplies.

  The guy in the snug sweatshirt was the only other hiker. His car was parked on the other end of the gravel lot near the metal HIKERS ONLY sign.

  The man latched a thermos onto the side of his bag and then adjusted his iPod so the cords were tucked behind the bag straps. Maybe he would want to begin the journey with them. He could be a lonely guy who was only out hiking because he had no girlfriend to roll around in bed with.

  God, she was pathetic.

  The man headed toward the well-beaten path. He never glanced in her direction.

  When she turned back, Dad was weighing the options between a travel-size first aid kit that was a small flat box and a home-sized one about the size of a tissue box.

  “We’re not performing surgery up there, Dad.”

  “Right,” he said and smiled, but the smile faded into that uncomfortable place between cheer and sorrow.

  After another minute of debate, he placed the large kit back in the trunk and put the small one in a side pocket on his bag. The piles had dwindled and their bags now bulged like two alien seed pods.

  Dad strapped the bundled pop-tent to the top of his bag and hefted the whole thing on his back. He sagged with the load, steadied his legs and straightened. He opened his arms as if to say, Well, whaddya think?

  “You look like a tourist,” she said.

  He did a stupid back and forth tap dance and pretended to doff a hat.

  “That’s great, Dad.”

  Mercy slipped her hands out from the sleeves of her sweatshirt and put on her bag. It was as heavy as it looked and her legs wobbled for a moment. The slight chill the morning air brought would soon be gone in a gush of sweat.

  Dad held out his arm like they were about to enter an elegant ballroom. “Shall we?”

  She smiled. “Sure, Dad.”

  She took his arm for a moment and was surprised how well that helped steady her legs, and then they were headed toward the dirt trail. After a few feet, Dad turned around, clicked LOCK on the remote for the car. The confirming beep was reassuring, civilized.

  Mercy gazed up at the mountain hulking before her. In a few weeks, all the trees would be lush and green but for now they were barren and steadily bleeding.

  THIRTEEN

  Victor had been up the mountain this way many times. The first time had been shortly after his discovery of the desolate lot behind the garbage company. He’d traveled an hour or two up the trail, always expecting the way to peter out or to come upon some unscalable rock or collection of fallen trees, but the way had been clear. Like he was meant to find it.

  He knew the way very well, knew many hiding places, knew where a bear sometimes liked to wander.

  He walked with the eight-inch hunting knife swinging in his hand like he were a carefree kid on a morning stroll. He slid it across the grey bark of several trees. He marked a few of the trees in case he had to find his way back quickly, but he was confident there would be no rapid escape from Blood Mountain.

>   Unlike the trail most people used, this trail ascended rapidly into a steep slope. Victor leaned forward and maintained a good pace. At times, he grabbed trees for leverage or leaned against one for a momentary respite. He wasn’t stupid enough to scale rapidly without pause. He had to conserve his energy. There was no rush. He was well ahead of the woman and her father.

  A squirrel darted across the ground and leaped onto a tree. It stared at Victor. It was big and grey, its legs splayed out across the tree. It sniffed at a glob of red sap bubbling from a tiny hole. Victor stepped toward it. His boots crushed dead twigs and leaves in little munching noises.

  When he was six years old, Victor found a tree near his home filled with squirrels. There might have been ten or more. Running up and down the huge maple, across the yard, and back up again. He charged after one of them, laughing at how they scattered. But when he got to the tree, one of them had not fled very far. Victor went for it and it lunged onto Victor’s back. When he fell, three more squirrels joined in. He screamed and cried and rolled around. By the time a neighbor came to his rescue, his shirt had been torn in several places, his back streaked with blood.

  This squirrel froze, held Victor’s gaze. A small six-year old was one thing but a full grown adult was something else entirely.

  Victor raised the long blade.

  His next step cracked a dead branch and the squirrel launched up the tree. It scurried toward the top. An urge to follow after the damn thing rushed through Victor for a moment but it was ridiculous as well as impossible. The closest branch was well above him, at least fifteen feet high.

  The squirrel stared down through a tangle of barren branches.

  Victor slashed the trunk of the tree in one, fluid swipe. The blade went in nearly half an inch. A little sap bubbled from the middle of the gash.

  The squirrel jumped onto a neighboring tree, way up high.

  Victor continued on his way.

  FOURTEEN

  Mercy’s legs started to cramp less than an hour into the trek. Dad wanted to push on, even though he was panting.

  “We’ll find a good spot to rest soon.”

  There were plenty of spots to rest, plenty of trees against which to lean.

  But she trudged on. The wide path began to narrow and the slope got steeper. The trees remained straight, of course, which was funny even though it made perfect sense. Trees didn’t emerge off a mountain like quills on a porcupine; they grew toward the sun. Each tree fought for its little spot of light.

  Mercy had taken an environmental science lecture course to satisfy the general education requirement and the professor had been this young, skinny guy who gave twenty-minute diatribes about pollution and the mystical power of mother nature. He had once discussed how violent trees were, how plant life was constantly at war with the environment. The battles were too slow for us to notice. And plants never surrendered. Ever. It you cut down a tree, it would immediately start re-growing. The only way to kill it was to rip it from the roots. Trees had endured for millions of years. They were nature’s true fighting survivors.

  The trail finally got too steep for them to continue without a breather. Mercy leaned against a tree and hoped her legs would stop shaking. Dad unhooked the canteen from his bag and gulped down some water. Mercy spilled a lot of the water across her cheeks and down the front of her sweatshirt, but she swallowed enough to make her feel better.

  “We’ve got plenty of water,” Dad said. “Drink up.”

  From this spot, the diner was a tiny building set a far distance off. It looked like a plastic model or child’s toy. Beyond the diner was a lot of nothing, some farmland and an occasional house or two. Far off, though it really wasn’t, was the town of Stone Creek. When you were in town, it felt like the mountain was right on top of you. Up here, the town was far off. She couldn’t even see her home.

  “Not so bad, right?” Dad asked.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “Your mother would have loved it up here. Not that she ever would have agreed to the hike. We once took a helicopter ride over the town, right over this mountain. This was before you were born and the town was having its centennial celebration. Big fair. Carnival rides. Lots of parades. Went on for a few days that summer. For twenty bucks a person, you could get a half-hour helicopter flight over Stone Creek. Even took us into Pennsylvania.”

  Dad was no longer looking out of the mountain at the view. He was staring back inside his memory. She wanted to hug him, tell him Mom loved him so much.

  “We went up at sunset. The view was spectacular. The sky rippled in waves of red and orange and yellow. Like being inside a fire. Your mother was stunned silent. And you know she was never at a loss for something to say. It would have been a great moment to propose if we weren’t already married. God, that was so long ago but I see it perfectly. I can even feel the sensation of flying, that sense that you’re floating.”

  Mercy wiped at her eyes. “You’re making me cry, Dad.”

  He smiled at her and apologized. She held him extra tight when they hugged.

  “Let’s keep going,” he said. “The map said there’s a clearing not too far ahead.”

  Mercy glanced back at the panoramic view for a moment before following her father up the mountain.

  FIFTEEN

  Victor discovered the connection between the two trails when he was chasing a deer years ago. He had never killed anything larger than a cat and he needed to develop the survivalist mentality. He would need it when the world slid into the dark times and he was really called upon to cleanse.

  He had no gun. They scared him. That was stupid but it was the truth. People were always shooting themselves. Eventually, he got the shotgun but he never carried it with him. And the thought of one hadn’t even been a blip on the radar of his mind back then.

  The deer had been grazing and Victor had nearly stumbled into it. He was only twenty feet from it. The deer stared at him, frozen. Victor flung his knife at it and landed a blow in the animal’s back thigh. The deer took off.

  The knife dropped off at some point but Victor kept pursuing. This had been in the summer when the trees were full and even the underbrush was lush with plant life. A thin trail of blood led the way.

  Victor kept after it and thought he might actually get to it until his foot caught on a branch and he toppled forward. He almost smashed his face on a rock.

  The deer was gone but a man was watching him. He stood in the middle of a wide, well-worn path. The guy wore a large bag on his back, the kind with metal tubes outlining the frame.

  Victor backtracked toward the trail but didn’t find his knife. That was okay. He had found something much better.

  That place was still a little ways ahead, but Victor knew exactly where. He had marked the spot. In time, he hoped to discover similar paths or create them himself. He wanted to know every section of this mountain. When the dark time finally came, this mountain would be his refuge and his home.

  His time in the woods always helped calm Victor’s mind. He didn’t need to stop or appreciate the scenery or mediate. Sometimes at night sleeping with only a military-issue blanket he had bought, he would scroll through pictures of the woman on his phone, however, and release his negative energy. During the day, he needed only to keep moving up the mountain and his mind found clarity.

  His plan had changed considerably. He gone to the diner to confirm that the woman and her father were really heading up the mountain today. He had let his urges drive him inside the place, let it put him directly in front of her. A stupid move, yet it was working out. He had only to trust the universe as it conspired to give him what he needed.

  Even when he entered the diner well aware of the risk, he knew it was the right move. Everything happened for a reason, people loved to say, and Victor could take that further: everything happened according to plan. Hugo Herrera had killed five people in that diner. He had marked the mirror and subsequently marked the place. A holy place. An outpost for clean
sers along the trail to enlightenment. Victor was one of the first. He was destined for a special place.

  And it started with the girl.

  Instead of tracking her up the mountain and waiting for an opportunity to strike, he was now honing a new plan, something that seemed highly irrational and risky but was, so long as he trusted the universe, exactly what he was supposed to do.

  The girl had waved to him. She’d watched him punch the teenager and then she waved.

  Victor marked a tree with a quick slice of his knife. For the first time in what felt like forever, Victor was smiling with his whole face.

  SIXTEEN

  Mercy and her father stopped at a little clearing that opened out on the valley. A few twisted cans of Bud sat in a small pile of faded ash.

  Mercy took off her bag and dropped it. She was immediately so much lighter she thought she could run off the side of the mountain and glide through the air back home. Then her thighs gave out and she collapsed on her butt. Her father laughed.

  “Guess we should have trained for this,” he said.

  She tried to speak but couldn’t catch enough breath to not sound like an emphysema patient, so she gave Dad the thumbs-up. Several gulps of water later, her body began to level out. Sweat had gathered between her breasts and she wanted to take off her sweatshirt but then she’d probably get cold and that would make her more miserable.

  Dad took off his bag and joined her on the ground. He rubbed her back for a little while the way he always did when she was a kid and couldn’t get to sleep. God, what she wouldn’t give to be home and in bed right now.

  “Having a good time?” he asked.

  She nodded before the words could form. “Great.”

  He held her gaze for a moment and then turned to the trees around them. “This is great. Just us and nature. So good to get away from the chaos. It’s tough to separate from the daily nonsense. That’s what’s wonderful about coming up here. Nature can help us appreciate what really matters.”