Don Hoesel

by Hunter's Moon (v5. 0)

  She prayed this morning with a fervency she hadn’t experienced in quite some time, and she prayed for every kind of hurt she could think of, every faithless soul and every desperate situation. And as she prayed she did not doubt that God would hear those prayers. After all, He was used to listening to her.

  Chapter 36

  CJ was exhausted. Artie had been able to carry some of his own weight, and thankfully the bleeding had slowed. But CJ and Dennis had been propelling the hardware store owner along for more than thirty minutes. CJ’s chest ached from the exertion.

  CJ had to rest and Dennis didn’t complain about it. They lowered Artie to a sitting position, and then both men collapsed next to him. Each breath CJ took hurt his lungs and there was a new pain in his injured shoulder where Artie’s weight had pushed against it. He lay there for a full minute, taking in the air, letting his tired legs rest, knowing they were losing precious time.

  The mountain—he thought it might be Mt. Daniel, but he couldn’t be certain—loomed over them, green and red with the pine and the rich dirt. It was too early in the season for it to have a snowcap, but he knew how cold it was at the top with the icy wind even now blowing from the west.

  “You have to leave me,” Artie said after a while.

  “I don’t have to do any such thing,” CJ answered.

  Dennis didn’t have breath enough to speak. Instead he gave a vehement headshake.

  “If you keep me with you, they’ll kill us all,” Artie said.

  CJ took another deep breath, then stretched his legs. That done, he swiveled his head so he could see Artie from his prone position. “If that’s the way it has to be, then so be it.”

  That forced an exasperated smile from Artie. “You don’t understand. The more I walk, the more I bleed.”

  “So don’t bleed,” CJ said.

  Artie chuckled, but then he turned serious. “You know I’m right, son. But if you’re so bent on getting me some help, you can do it faster without having to drag me along.”

  CJ sat up and started to rub his legs. Then he let go of a long sigh.

  “The bullet didn’t hit anything vital,” he said. “And you’re not bleeding too badly now. It can’t be too much farther to Dennis’s truck.” He looked at his friend for confirmation, only to find that Dennis was looking at his shoes. “What?” CJ said.

  Dennis mumbled something that CJ couldn’t hear, while Artie, who was closer to Dennis, began to chuckle—at least until doing so sent waves of pain through his shoulder.

  “Care to tell me what’s so amusing?” CJ asked.

  “Dennis is lost,” Artie said. “He has no idea where his truck is.”

  “Okay . . .” CJ said, turning to Dennis. “What’s your best guess?”

  Dennis lifted his eyes from his shoes and took in the surrounding wilderness. With a rueful expression he said, “The only thing I’m p-pretty sure about is that it’s not that w-way.” He pointed up the mountain.

  CJ shook his head, stood and reached for Artie’s arm. “Alright. Let’s go, Pop.”

  Artie reached for CJ, extending his other arm to Dennis, who didn’t take it. When CJ and Artie looked at him, they found that Dennis was staring at them, unmoving.

  “He’s r-right, you know,” Dennis said, nodding at Artie. “We’re n-not going to b-be able to stay ahead of them.”

  CJ frowned. “Well, we’re not just going to leave him here.”

  “I d-didn’t say we should,” Dennis said. He paused and glanced at the sky, which in the last hour had become overcast. “How m-many of them d-do you think there are?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” CJ said, “but I’ve been thinking two. They’d want to keep it small. Manageable.”

  “That’s w-what I was thinking,” Dennis agreed. The wind had picked up, coming off the mountain and making a whistling sound as it passed over and in between rock. “I think maybe w-we should stay h-here.”

  Right after Artie had been shot, as they’d begun their trek up and around the mountain, CJ had thought about it. He suspected the odds were pretty even—if Artie could shoot. His left shoulder had taken the bullet, so there was a chance he could still fire a shot where he aimed it. Instead he’d decided to push on, mostly because his other thoughts were just too dark to explore.

  Yet now that neglected impulse had been given weight by Dennis.

  It made sense. It was probably no riskier than continuing on, their backs to the danger coming up from behind them. If they did what Dennis was suggesting, they could find defensible positions and then take their chances.

  The problem was that CJ wasn’t sure he could take Graham’s life. And he didn’t know why. If they were being pursued by strangers and were presented with the same decision, CJ would have chosen the confrontation without hesitation. But of course the fact that it was his brother changed things.

  He found that he still had a hold of Artie’s arm when the older man turned his hand to grip CJ’s forearm.

  “Shooting a man isn’t something you take lightly,” Artie said.

  “Don’t I know it,” CJ said. Then he turned to Dennis. “Not yet. Let’s keep moving.”

  A nod was his friend’s response. Dennis rose, took Artie’s other arm, and helped raise the man to his feet.

  As they started off again, Dennis said, “By the w-way, why did you c-call Artie ‘Pop’?”

  She’d been to the house on other occasions when she was the only person there, but this was the first time she could remember the place feeling lifeless. Even when the only one present was Sal, his frail bones clinging to life, it hadn’t felt like this.

  The house seemed dead. It gave her a chill.

  She hadn’t heard from Dennis since he’d left to meet up with CJ. And repeated calls to CJ’s phone went unanswered.

  There was something in the air that made her keenly aware that something bad was happening. She’d caught it when Abby wouldn’t look her in the eyes, and when she’d been unable to reach George. She couldn’t shake the feeling that important things were taking place outside of her range of vision, and it frustrated and scared her.

  She stepped into the hallway and walked down to Sal’s room. Everything looked just as it had the day he’d died, down to the rumpled blankets and the impression in his pillow. She spent some time moving around the room, looking at the old pictures. While none of these people were her own blood, she liked looking at them, sharing the history with her husband.

  When she reached Sal’s dresser she found a picture facedown on the wood top. She picked it up to see CJ smiling at her. It was an old photo, taken just after college, which she’d seen numerous times. She stared at it for a long while, and it wasn’t until she heard the grandfather clock in the hall sound the top of the hour that she put it back.

  But before she left the room, she offered up a prayer for whatever was happening outside the walls of this dead house.

  Even CJ was beginning to realize the futility of continuing on. The truth was they couldn’t travel as quickly as could their hunters. Fifty yards back, when their position on the mountain afforded CJ a clear view below them, he saw their pursuers for the first time. He couldn’t make out many details, obscured as they were by distance and intervening trees, but he’d counted three. It was possible there were more than that, but CJ didn’t think so. He thought it a miracle that they hadn’t seen him and tried taking a shot. At this range the chances were good for a hit.

  When he and Dennis lowered Artie, CJ feared it was for the last time. Instead of collapsing next to him, CJ brought the gun around to his front.

  “It looks like it might be time,” CJ said to Dennis.

  Rather than answer, Dennis began to survey what they’d chosen as their front. He pointed to a pair of trees a few yards off. “We can p-put Artie there, set him up b-between the trees.

  G-give him a straight shot d-down this lane.”

  CJ nodded. “Good idea. “Do you think you can manage him by yourself? A man can’t sh
oot at his brother with a full bladder.”

  CJ watched as Dennis lifted Artie and the two of them made their way toward the trees.

  A moment later, CJ turned and headed back in the direction they’d come.

  CJ found that he couldn’t travel as quickly as he wanted. His legs wouldn’t do the things he asked of them; he was having trouble with stumbling, missing his footing. When he left Artie and Dennis, he’d backtracked to a part of the trail that appeared less trod and then he’d cut a new path, this one angling back down the mountain. He’d made sure to make his passing obvious so a novice would be able to see where he’d gone. He had no doubt that Graham would catch on.

  Over the last few minutes his thoughts had bounced between his brother and Artie, and the absurdities of life that had taken a man from a peaceful, if not domestically tranquil, life in Tennessee to running for his life on an Upstate New York mountain. A month was a quick transition between those two conditions.

  He suspected, though, that for some things a month was just the right amount of time. There was no denying that he was a different person now than he was when he left Tennessee. Coming back to Adelia had forced him to deal with some things—things that had defined his life, and that he was only now coming to realize need not define him any longer. There was a lot there to unpack, and running for one’s life wasn’t the best time for that sort of thing.

  When he’d descended a good distance he found a spot where he could conceal himself. He waited there, keeping an eye on the ridge above him. Soon he saw the hunters approach the place where he’d left the trail—watched them stop there. This was where CJ would find out if he’d gambled and lost. If they ignored his new path and continued on, then he’d just cost Artie and Dennis an extra gun.

  It seemed Graham’s party held at the spot for a long time, long enough that CJ suspected they were arguing over what to do next. The more time passed, the more certain CJ became that he’d made a big mistake. So it was with relief that he watched them leave the trail to follow him downward. But his relief turned to something else when the three men who’d pursued him through miles of wilderness finally came out into the open.

  He saw Graham first, only because he’d been looking for him. Richard was walking in front of Graham, and CJ found himself nodding, unsurprised. As the two men in front began the trek down, the third member of the murderous crew came into view, and what struck CJ with immeasurable sadness was that he wasn’t surprised to discover it was George.

  He willed his legs to move, pulling himself out of his hiding spot and resuming his descent. He walked faster now, which was dangerous considering the terrain. He felt his foot slide to the right when he meant to go left, and he went to his knees. An instant later he heard the sound of a rifle shot and felt something invisible and hot scream by his right ear. Jumping to his feet he bolted down the incline, a decision that almost killed him. He saw the drop-off a second before he would have run over it, and it took every muscle in his body to keep from going over the edge. The mountain cut away fifteen feet or more. Had he gone over, there was no telling how badly he would have been injured.

  CJ sat down on the edge and then turned onto his stomach. Carefully he stepped his way down until he’d fully extended his arms. That left him about seven feet to the ground below. Not having any choice, he let himself go. He hit hard but somehow remained intact. Swinging the gun around to his front he continued on, only stopping when he’d reached an old poplar that lightning had hollowed out years earlier.

  His breathing came in labored gasps as he slipped behind the tree and as he peered out from behind it. He couldn’t run anymore. Regardless of what else happened, he just couldn’t run anymore.

  Richard was the first to appear, and he didn’t see the drop-off. He was running fast enough that he had to have cleared the edge by five feet before gravity took over. When he landed, it was with a sickening thud and the snap of his leg, if CJ could guess as much from his hiding spot. CJ watched for a minute, seeing that Richard wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

  Seconds later he saw Graham and George appear at the top of the drop-off. Both of them looked down on Richard, and if CJ wasn’t mistaken, it looked as if George spit on his fallen nephew. Then George raised his eyes in an attempt to scan the woods. When he began to speak, in something like a tempered shout, CJ almost jumped out of his skin.

  “All fathers hurt their children, CJ. All of them. Usually it’s with the biases we carry, our scars—all the stuff we’ve picked up through our lives. And we transfer them to you kids. It’s unavoidable. It’s not malicious. Just the way things are.” He paused, then added, “This is just another rung on that ladder.”

  “There’s only one problem with that,” CJ called back. “I’m sure you’ve known for a long time that I’m not your son.”

  His voice caused George’s eyes to jerk to where CJ stood, and he saw a change in the man’s features that made him shudder. But before George could say anything else, or so much as raise his gun in CJ’s direction, CJ heard a gunshot and saw George pitch forward, clutching the place where his kneecap had been.

  From his position behind the tree, CJ watched Graham freeze for just a second. And then he leaped from the ledge. When he landed he disappeared from CJ’s line of sight.

  Leading with his gun, CJ left the cover of the tree and rushed forward. He caught sight of Graham again and noticed he still had the Kimber with him. Quickly, CJ found another, smaller tree. He could see Graham from here, and now that he had a better view, it looked as though his brother might have broken his ankle.

  “I always wondered why,” CJ said. “For the last twenty-five years I’ve wondered.” He stopped when he felt himself choking on the words. He swallowed and added, “And I guess what I should have wondered was, when is it going to be me?”

  Graham laughed. CJ saw him shift his position, testing the injury to his ankle.

  “Only reason we’re here, CJ, is because of that lousy article of yours. You don’t publish that, we don’t have a problem.”

  “Just answer me this,” CJ said. “Was it your idea or George’s?”

  “Weidman’s actually.”

  That was unexpected, and for some reason CJ found himself hurt by the revelation that Weidman had betrayed him.

  “So what now?” CJ asked.

  He could see Graham searching for him, trying to find the tree that he was using for cover. Then, before CJ could react, Graham was on his feet.

  “What happens is we finish this,” Graham said.

  “Why? It’s over, Graham. Even if you kill me, there’s no way you’re getting off this mountain. Not with Dennis and Artie behind you. And even if by some miracle you do make it out of here, you’ve left a wide enough trail that they’ll be knocking on your door in less than twenty-four hours.”

  Graham’s reply was accompanied by a smile. “None of that matters,” he said.

  When CJ heard those words—when he understood the depth of the chasm between him and Graham that they signified—there came such a feeling of revulsion that he thought he might throw up. Adelia had changed him in these last weeks, in the same fashion it had formed and shaped him as a boy. Then, it had forced him to run so that he might live; this time it had brought him back to die.

  When he’d returned, he was a man in the process of losing everything without realizing it was happening. He was still that same person, except that he’d since become aware of the thievery. And he was only now coming to understand the nature of the thief. For years he’d allowed this place, these people, to wear the villain’s dark hat. It was easier than acknowledging the darkness that was his to own. Things that didn’t belong to Graham or George or any other Baxter, things for which they bore no responsibility— regardless of how much he wanted to blame everything on them, on the one horrible thing they’d done.

  “Would you take it back?” he asked, and his own voice sounded strange to him.

  Graham smirked. “It’s certainly complicate
d things, hasn’t it?”

  CJ thought that was as apt a summary as any he could have come up with. Eddie’s death had complicated things. It hadn’t defined them; that had been CJ’s doing. Despite himself, he chuckled.

  “You didn’t want to be angry with him, so you weren’t.” It was something Artie had said about Thor, yet it seemed appropriate for this moment.

  He’d never been good at forgiveness; it just wasn’t in him. It had been beaten out of him as a child and it had never returned. And he didn’t want it to return now, but he was finding it was something he had no control over, something that was becoming a part of him, despite his efforts to keep it at bay.

  Even so, he couldn’t forgive Graham for killing Eddie. That wasn’t his to forgive. All he could do was pardon Graham for how the ripples of that act had helped to define CJ’s life.

  CJ tossed his gun to the ground—far enough away that Graham could see he had no chance of reclaiming it.

  “I’m not going to shoot you, Graham,” he said. He knew what that meant, what throwing the gun down had cost him. But he wouldn’t do forgiveness halfway. He wouldn’t be his brother’s executioner.

  “That was dumb, CJ,” Graham said.

  “Maybe, but I’m not going to shoot you. It doesn’t matter what happens now.”

  CJ stepped out from behind the tree, his hands in the air.

  When his brother raised his gun, CJ said, “I forgive you, Graham.”

  Still, CJ’s epiphany wasn’t absent all elements of self-preservation. Just before Graham pulled the trigger, CJ drew back and released the medium-sized round rock he’d been hiding in his fist. It was the first slider he’d thrown since college, and it was the most perfect pitch he’d ever delivered, striking his brother in the temple.