“True,” Peete allowed. “Whatcha got in mind?”
Dave shrugged. “I dunno. I guess maybe one of us take the high ground and the other the low. We could still see each other easy enough, but our search are would be wider.”
Peete nodded. “True enough. Plus, we could see inside more low places and thickets that way, too.”
“Exactly.”
“You want high or low?”
Dave looked around and then pointed up and to the left. “How about I take the ridge line up there and follow it that way a mile or so? You go down there and follow the low ground and stay kinda parallel to me. We can meet up over there and decide what to do next.”
“Sounds good to me. If you find something fire a shot in the air if you don’t see me and I’ll do the same.”
“How about three shots? I know that sounds like an old movie cliché but at least we won’t confuse it with someone bagging a deer on the next hill.”
“Listen.”
Dave stopped talking. Aside from the wind soughing through the leafless branches he heard nothing and said so.
“My point exactly. I ain’t heard a gunshot all morning. Why waste the ammo?”
Dave laughed. “Good point. One shot it is.”
“Y’ready?”
“Let’s do it.”
Dave watched as Peete zigzagged carefully down the slope. Despite the bright orange vest it was hard to pick out his friend once he was deeper into the brush. He considered changing plans and then decided against it. The premise was sound, if part of the application was less so. How much danger could there be? Even if he and Peete did get separated, surely they would run into someone or one of the locals would find them.
So, why are you up here combing the woods for Charlie if it’s so damned safe? His mind threw back at him. Since he had no answer, he shook his head and started toward the ridgeline.
•
“Hold up a minute.” Johnny shaded his eyes as he looked down the slope to his right. “What’s that down there?”
Fred walked over and looked. “I don’t see anything.”
“Down there,” Johnny pointed. “Down there at the base of that thicket.”
Fred raised his binoculars and looked closer. After a moment he shook his head sadly. “Just a log up next to a rock. Shadows made it look like somethin’ else, but that’s all it is.”
“Damn.” Johnny sighed. “I don’t know whether to be glad or sad, you know?”
“Yeah. Don’t know if we’re looking for friend or his body.”
“Not quite the hunting trip we planned.”
“Nope.” Fred looked around. “I wonder which one it is?”
“Which one what is?”
“I wonder which of these is the one they call Black Stump Ridge?” Fred pointed at some logs up ahead of them. “Let’s take a break up there.”
Johnny nodded. “Sounds good. Then you can tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Probably nothin’.” Fred said as he unslung his rifle and laid it across one of the logs. He stretched and then pulled out a bottle and took a deep drink of water.
“I ain’t buyin’ it,” Johnny replied.
“Well, it started the night we got here – when we were down at Purdie’s store. There was this big ol’ home drawn map stuck on the wall back by the coolers. Parts of it looked like somethin’ a kid might draw.”
“I saw that,” Johnny nodded. “It was drawn on a bunch of grocery bags all flattened out and taped together.”
“Yeah, that was it.” Fred looked out over the small valley and, for a moment, wished he had a cigarette. He’d quit two years earlier but still had cravings. “Old man was really proud of it. Said he’d been working on it since he was a kid. Probably explains why some areas seemed better, more like a grown-up had drawn them.
“Anyway, there was this one spot that looked like it had been drawn and erased and then drawn over an’ erased some more. It was all smeared. When I asked him about it, he got sort of, I don’t know, like he hadn’t meant for me to see that spot or didn’t think I’d ask about it. He looked at me sideways, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t – like beating off in the church bathroom.”
Johnny snorted. “What wonderful pictures you create.”
Fred chuckled. “You get the idea.”
“I guess I do at that. So, what did he say?”
“First he said it was nothing. If he’d left it at that, I probably wouldn’t be so curious. But, then he said something about it being an old mining camp, that no one went up there any more. I told him how I liked to explore places like that. He got upset, although he tried not to show it. I could tell he wished he hadn’t let me see that map, but it was pretty hard to miss since it took up so much wall space back there. He downplayed it, sayin’ that it wasn’t a good spot to explore. That the ground was thin, unstable – a person could get hurt up there by himself. I asked him if the place had a name. He didn’t want to talk about it any more, but he finally told me it’s called Black Stump Ridge.”
“That’s a strange name. I wonder why it’s called that? I mean, most stumps look black when they get old or wet.”
“Damned if I know. He said he didn’t know, either. That might even be true. Still, I’d probably have let it go even then if he hadn’t changed the subject the way he did.”
“What do you mean?”
Fred grimaced as renewed anger flared for a moment. “Oh, he started all that redneck bullshit about Peete. Said it might not be safe if someone saw our ‘colored’ friend in the woods by himself – especially with a gun. He pissed me off, so I pushed some of his buttons. Pushed’em pretty hard, too.” Fred chuckled. “I think he was so mad that if he hadn’t already promised my mom, he’d have kept the keys and run us off.”
“Okay, so what was the other thing?”
“Other thing?”
“You said that the incident at the store was the first thing. That implies at lease one other thing, maybe more.”
“Yeah, I guess it does.” Fred slapped his left breast pocket and then looked at Johnny sheepishly. “I guess some habits die harder than others, don’t they?”
“Like what?”
“Like reachin’ for cigarettes that aren’t there any more.”
“Can’t help you there, partner. Never picked that one up.”
Fred just waved his hand. “No sweat. It’s just the ghost of the habit I used to have. I don’t need one. Anyway, the second thing. God, was it only yesterday? It seems like this has been going on for a week already. Remember when Mom took me aside?”
Johnny nodded.
“Well, she wanted to show me something. Turned out it was my uncle’s journal. She said she meant to give it to me last summer – that it was important I that read it. She also told me that none of us should go up on Black Stump Ridge – not for any reason. She wouldn’t go into detail, just kept telling me I needed to read the book.”
“Did you?”
“No. I meant to, but everybody was leaving. I planned to do it last night after everything settled down, but there was all that ruckus about Charlie. I forgot all about it.”
“Until now.”
“Until now,” Fred agreed.
“You think it might have something to do with Charlie?”
“Why do you ask?”
“There must be some reason why you’re thinking about it now.”
Fred looked across the hollow as he sorted his thoughts. “Maybe. Maybe not. I just don’t know. Let me run this past you: suppose there’s somethin’ going on up on that ridge and folks around here don’t want strangers to know about it.”
“Like moon shiners?” Johnny raised one eyebrow. “Bootleggers?”
“That’s not as far-fetched as you might think,” Fred countered. “They still do that in these hills, though it’s not as widespread as it used to be.”
“At least you’re not talkin’ about inbred mutant hillbillies,” Johnny
wiped his brow in mock relief. “I don’t think I’m ready to deal with something like Wrong Turn or The Hills Have Eyes. Those were some bad movies. It would just be too sad if there really was something like that going on.”
Fred thought for a moment and then laughed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. There’s somethin’ going on up there, but I doubt that it has anything to do with Charlie’s disappearance. I’m afraid the reason we can’t find him is more mundane. He simply doesn’t want to be found.”
“That’s what I believe.”
Fred stood and stretched. “I think I’m going to read that journal tonight – especially if we don’t find Charlie.”
As Johnny stood both of his knees popped like rifle shots. “Ain’t getting old a bitch?”
Fred rubbed the small of his back. “You got that right, brother. I don’t know how many more years I can keep this up.”
“I think this will be the last time any of us does this,” Johnny said, his voice heavy with sadness. “No matter how this turns out with Charlie, I just don’t think it’s gonna happen again.”
“You may be right.” Fred felt a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with exertion. “Let’s get back t’ searchin’ so we can go get warm again.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Johnny began the descent into the hollow close behind Fred.
•
Dave looked over his shoulder one last time before crossing the ridge and descending to the other side. Peete appeared to be standing in front of a thicket near the bottom of the hollow but Dave couldn’t be certain. The trees were thicker than he thought. He considered calling out to Peete and having him come back but decided against it. They could cover more ground apart than together and Dave was driven to find Charlie before nightfall. One cold night alone in the woods was enough for anyone, even someone as pig headed as Charlie.
Dave glanced at the tree trunks. If the adage about moss on trees was true, then he was on the northern slope and heading south. He looked closer. The tree trunks appeared darker and wetter. The moss was greener, almost emerald in hue.
The slope grew steeper. He slowed his downward progress by bracing against the tree trunks as he caromed down the hill. At the bottom, his left foot splashed ankle deep into a clear stream. The icy water immediately penetrated his boot. He grimaced as he yanked it from the rivulet. Within moments his foot was numb.
He leaned against a tree as he held his foot up. He took mental inventory of his backpack. He’d packed food, extra water, a flashlight, and a length of rope. No dry socks. He couldn’t continue the search like this. He needed to return to the cabin to change his shoes and socks. He had to find Peete and tell him what happened.
As Dave started up the slope he saw movement to his right. About a hundred yards away he saw a girl or young woman squatting by the stream with her back towards him. How long had she been there? Surely she’d heard the commotion he caused by nearly falling into the creek. Was it possible she’d seen Charlie?
He changed direction. He closed half the distance when she looked up. He stopped and held up his right hand. He hoped she recognized his peaceful intent. The girl stood, her eyes wide.
“Young lady,” Dave kept his voice low, soft and even. “Please. I mean you no harm. I have a friend who’s lost. I’m trying to find him. Maybe you’ve seen him? He’s about …”
The girl turned and bolted before Dave could finish his description.
“Please!” He hobbled towards her. His left foot refused to cooperate. “Please, don’t run. I just want to find my friend.”
He lurched forward three more steps. He heard a loud thunk. Crushing pain enveloped his right leg. His momentum carried him forward and down. His arms pin wheeled for balance as the earth rushed up to meet him. The last thing he saw was a large, flat, wet rock headed for his face. He turned his head at the last moment. He struck the stone with a wet smack. Blackness wrapped him in its cold, dark embrace.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Bubba’s petulant voice grated Billy’s nerves. “Why do I gotta stay up here?”
“You know why.” Billy set a white ceramic jug in the back of the Yamaha ATV. “Someone’s gotta watch the still ’til we get everything moved. I gotta get this load packed an’ ready for Pa to take to Atlanta. That leaves you.”
“Why can’t you stay? I can drive th’ four-wheeler.”
“I know you can, Bubba. That ain’t it an’ you know it.” Billy stretched. He took off his camouflage patterned ball cap and scratched his head. “It’s jus’ that with all these strangers out’n th’ woods Pa don’t wanna take no chances. B’sides, las’ time you drove y’flipped th’ trailer an’ busted three bottles o’ shine. It cost almost three hunnert dollars t’fix th’ front wheel an’ fender. I thought Pa was gonna skin you alive. He don’ wanna take no chances this time.”
“That warn’t my fault an’ you know it.” Bubba protested. “No one coulda seen that tree limb under all those leaves. It was an accident. It coulda happened to anyone, even you.”
“Pa ain’t blamin’ you. This is th’ way Pa wants us to do it, so this is the way we better do it.”
Bubba opened his mouth to argue. He hesitated. His mouth snapped shut. “All right,” he sighed. “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ t’make Pa mad.”
“That’s better. ’Sides, I won’t be gone that long.” Billy Ray pulled a tarp over the bottles in the trailer. “Soon’s I deliver these to Pa I’ll come back an’ help you move the rest o’ the still down here.”
“Okay. What if those strangers come sniffin’ aroun’?”
Billy yanked on a black rubber bungee strap and passed the hook through an eyelet in the top rail of the trailer. “Make sure they don’t see nothin’.”
“An’ if they do?”
Billy straightened and looked at his brother. “You heard what Pa said. Make sure no one takes no tales off’n the ridge. You gotta do whatever it takes, y’hear me?”
Bubba looked at his Remington twelve gauge lying across an empty crate and then back at his brother. “I reckon I do.”
•
The Yamaha was nearly silent as Billy Ray maneuvered it around the thickets and blow downs along the ridge. He drove just below the ridgeline to avoid being silhouetted and used as much of the brush for camouflage as possible. Jugs tinkled like tiny bells with each turn and twist of the trailer. Normally the sound – to him it was the sound of money – soothed him as he took his illicit cargo down from the still. Not today, though. Not with flatlanders wandering somewhere in the woods. He winced at every clink and clatter, certain that the echoes were heard throughout the holler. Despite the frigid air, his clothing was sweat-soaked under his jacket.
His head turned towards a movement in the valley below. He shifted the vehicle to neutral and eased it to a stop. Shading his eyes, he let his vision traverse the opposite slope. There. Two figures worked their way through the forest. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and trained the lenses on the figures below.
The first man – the one farther down and headed upslope – wore an Australian-style bush hat and a camouflage-patterned coat with an orange vest over it. A high-powered rifle pointed skyward from behind one shoulder. Billy Ray couldn’t be sure at this distance, but it looked like a thirty-ought-six sporting an expensive scope. The plastic cover over the deer tag flashed in the sun as the man walked slowly up the hill. The expression on his dark face was equal parts concern and disgust as he looked around at the trees and brush and then up the ridge towards his companion.
Billy Ray moved the binoculars up until the second man filled the optics. This man was white and definitely soft from city life. He leaned against a tree and waited for his partner to catch up with him. Fog plumed from his face as his chest heaved. The man was out of breath and puffing heavily. His cheeks shone red against his pale skin. No wonder the black man looked disgusted.
Moments later the two men stood together talking. Billy Ray couldn’t hear their words, but their gestures ma
de it clear that they were deciding what to do next. The white man pointed at himself and then up at the ridgeline. He then pointed at the black man and then along the face of the slope to their left. Billy Ray pulled back from the eyepieces and looked around. If the white man planned to go that way he’d likely meet up with Granny. No problem there.
If the black man took the path his partner indicated it would take him back towards the new still and Bubba. That could prove interesting. Well, that was no concern to Billy Ray. If the black man decided to go that way Bubba knew what to do. Billy knew his brother would not hesitate. The fact that the man was black would only help to ease Bubba’s boredom and disappointment at being left behind.
Billy Ray lifted the binoculars to his eyes and studied the men as they talked amongst themselves. After a few more minutes they separated. One headed toward the top of the ridge and the other back toward the still. Billy lowered the glasses and shook his head. Why had they separated? They seemed to be looking for something, but what? Maybe they were revenue agents posing as weekend hunters. If so, it wouldn’t be the first time that had been tried. No one knew how many unmarked graves dotted these hills. One or two more would not matter.
He lowered the glasses and returned them to the side pouch. Carefully he turned the key, thankful for the nearly silent electronic ignition. All the same, he looked at both men for any sign that they might have heard the engine kick on. Neither one changed course or seemed interested in anything on this side of the valley. He eased the machine into gear and slowly worked his way over the opposite rim.
•
Ya gotta watch carefully. Jake’s voice echoed in Bubba’s head. The Cong are good hunters, boy, easily good as you are. Prob’ly better. Hell, I know they’re better.
“I know, Pa,” Bubba whispered. “You done tol’ me a hunnert times or more.”
Snap yore yap, boy, an’ watch what yer doin’.
Bubba paused. He slowly looked around. He felt foolish in his homemade ghillie suit, but Jake insisted that the knots and strings sticking out everywhere would help to hide him by breaking up his outline. He supposed it was true but he certainly felt uncomfortable. He could not understand how a sniper could stand to wear something like this all day. He could barely stand to wear it for half an hour.
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