by Tara Gabor
“Hope the snakes are hibernating,” he thought.
Guy’s tall frame came towards the oak like a menacing shadow. He peered down the mountainside, wondering how likely it was their prey had chosen this direction. He was close enough to Kyle’s place of hiding for Kyle to hear the other man’s heavy breathing. Guy tripped on a branch and swore.
“Have you found anything,” David called out to Guy.
“Nothing here,” Guy answered, turning back toward the others.
“Come back, Doctor,” David shouted. “We want to help you.”
Guy snickered. The sound held menace, and Kyle did not breathe until the young man walked away.
Kyle slowly stood up. He could hear the men’s voices but could no longer make out the words, spoken rapidly like cold potatoes dancing in hot grease. Kyle did not want to hang around any longer. He was cold, and the Great Appalachian Cafe Heist gang sounded desperate and mean. Irrespective of their earlier kindness towards him, Kyle feared what could happen if they were to find him. Without support or weapons, isolated in territory more theirs than his, a pack mentality promised bad consequences even the gang would later regret. Kyle understood that pack outlook had already taken shape, overshadowing civilized impulses and the requisite ponderation of consequences. Base instincts motivated pack behavior, but understanding that did not make Kyle’s situation any less hazardous.
Kyle began picking his steps away from the bus, slowly raising his leg so as to quietly lower his foot on the ground. He considered the basic motivators that pertain to packs of dogs just as much as they pertain to groups of people. Recalling the required psychology coursework completed the previous semester, he could not know to what rung on the Maslow ladder of needs any individual in the gang might have achieved. He stepped over a spot of thin ice onto soggy leaves, making no noise. He glanced backwards anyway, considering the group think acting out behind him. What emotion or level of need did the robbery from the morning represent? Kyle had dubbed the crime The Great Appalachian Cafe Heist in a carefree moment, but he considered the less jovial implications of the sobriquet. Robbery suggested a need or desire for money. Robbing a modest cafe reinforced need over simple desire. These men needed money, perhaps for the basics of survival. This conclusion put the gang squarely at the bottom of Maslow’s hierarchy. Their survival was at stake, and they saw Kyle as a threat to that most basic need. Like a pack of dogs, they would seek to hunt down and eliminate the threat.
They were four hunters and he their sole prey. Kyle made slow progress, inching his way silently along the steep grade, praying silently the men pursuing him would either lose his trail in the oncoming darkness or re-evaluate their options, giving up the hunt, going their own way with their ill-gotten windfall.
Chapter 16
James knew his place in the family hierarchy. David was the head of the family. His mother had always said so, aloud and by her actions. David made all significant decisions for the family, and his mother cooked, kept their small home neat and tidy, and showered affection on each family member, including the stray dog and cat to which she fed scraps after dinner while her husband relaxed on the front porch over a bowl of tobacco. James saw quiet strength and individuality in the surreptitious handout. He and his mother lived on the lowest rung of the family ladder. Jedidiah, the prince-apparent, shared his father’s confidences. James’ loving nature propelled him to be helpful to both his father and mother. While Jed enjoyed time spent with David, James often preferred reading one of the few books his mother kept in the bookcase Jed had built in shop class before leaving school. David let James be, neither praising the activity nor denigrating it. Occasionally, his mother would settle next to him on the sofa, asking him questions about his reading, sharing her thoughts on top of his.
The family dynamic was solid and represented the best in the world. Standing at the foot of the stranded dental bus, James marveled at their present circumstance. What would his mamma think of her husband and sons searching for the driver in order to hide their early morning crime?
James watched as David instructed Guy and Jed to find the missing dentist, pointing in various directions. Guy jumped over the road blockage like an athlete clearing a hurdle. He could be enjoying the hunt. James shook in the cold. He had met Guy a few times, years ago. He was family, but their associations were infrequent. Years ago when James was seven, David and Uncle Jacob had taken their sons on a hunting trip, camping near a stream with a rope swing for jumping into the creek. James had been excited, happy to work setting up camp, enjoying the campfires with the requisite ghost stories, and accepting the major responsibilities for cooking and cleaning. Being the eldest of the three boys, Guy enjoyed displaying his superior ability with a rifle, bagging three rabbits and four squirrels the first day, as much as David and Jacob together. The meat could feed two families for months. The patriarchs had admired the accomplishment. Guy showed his satisfaction by helping James shoot a meaty rabbit. The rabbit turned out to be a new mother, her litter of six kits wiggling near her downed carcass. The connection between foods his mother put on his plate and its genesis profoundly affected James. After the camping trip, his mother spent several hushed conversations with her youngest son in their kitchen, explaining the necessity of protein, the gift of life God provided through the animal’s ultimate sacrifice, and the reality of life’s unfairness.
James felt pity for their current prey, a man going about his work with no intention to witness a hold-up, now running for his life on a cold mountain. The stranded driver had no idea how dangerous the gang might become. James feared he did not know either. He climbed into the bus, searching for clues to the man and any tool that might help James convince his kin they could leave without hurting him.
The rearranged tabletop alerted James to the storage space beneath. He moved the top to reveal the supplies. He counted two sleeping bags and a blanket. Apparently the doctor found other useful items that he presumably took with him. Resourceful. Smart. James kept looking. He was reading a program brochure from a stack found in a small cubbyhole. The tri-fold pamphlet printed the mission statement, “Better Health for Appalachia through the University of Kentucky’s Dental Health itinerant program.” A short bio and face shot was listed for the program’s director, and administrator, and the itinerant dentist, Kyle Kinnard, along with an additional picture of the van with Kyle smiling from the driver’s seat.
James finished reading Kyle’s bio and was reviewing the bullet points on dental health and its implications for overall health and well being when the other men entered the bus looking for a bit of warmth.
“Ha! Letting us freeze our you-know-whats off searching for that college boy while you lollygag in here,” Jed prodded his brother.
“His name is Kyle Kinnard,” James offered.
“What’s that?”
“Kyle Kinnard,” James repeated, waving the brochure once. “Says he went to school on the GI bill after Vietnam. They offer dental services to us Appalachians for nothing, free and clear.”
James was conscious of his irregular teeth but never complained, never imagining help for his teeth was available. Both his brother and father had lost several teeth, and he had noticed Guy’s overbite and stained enamel. Free dental services from the University sounded like a good thing to James.
“Vietnam vet? Killer, that’s what he is!” Guy spat.
“Never mind Vietnam,” David demanded. “And never mind free dental services. No one gives anything for free. There’s a trick to it, is all.”
David looked at James. Without words, David asked his younger son if he had found anything useful.
“Looks like the doctor went through this hidey-hole here and took some warm clothing. He left these sleeping bags and blankets.”
“Damn,” David swore softly. “Maybe we need to be on our way. If he tells the law about us, so be it. We’ve wasted too much time a-searching for him already.”
“Should we stay here in the bus tonight?
We could use the blankets and sleeping bags,” James offered.
“Hmm. Might be a good idea.”
Jed and Guy stared open-mouthed at the exchange, angry and surprised. Jed spoke first.
“He can’t have gone far. We can track him.”
“Doubt we are gonna find him. He might even meet with an unfortunate accident out there in the dark. We could take refuge here, get some sleep, and head out when the moon is full up. Search the place though. Could be something useful for us.”
James held his breath. Was his father taking his idea over Jed’s? James avoided looking directly at Jed or Guy. He began searching, thoughtfully looking at the various boxes of supplies.
“Don’t just stand around like a couple of no-accounts out on the town,” David grumbled. “I don’t cotton to killin’ a man a-lesse’n he deserves it. He don’t have no names on us. Now move.”
Finished searching the storage area where he had found sleeping bags, James turned his attention to the shelf above. Several cabinets with doors that swung outward were located overhead. They seemed to contain medical supplies. James read each box and container, unsure of the Latin words. Other boxes, labeled plainly, indicated sterile gauze and needles. James saw no use for these and concentrated his search to the pull out drawers. He found more flyers, small notepads, pens, and pencils. Guy and Jed rattled around the bus, obviously unhappy and restless, but they complied with David’s order to search the vehicle. Wanting to stay out of their way, James continued a meticulous search of the small cubbyholes, taking out each notepad.
“Good job searching, James. What did you two find?” he looked at his eldest son and nephew.
The two men looked at each other. James could feel the tension.
“Looks like a lot of medical books and maybe some supplies we could sell,” Guy said.
“Yeah, we won’t be doing that.” David looked around the bus, a hand covering a small yawn. “Let’s see if we can grab a few hours sleep. When the moon is full, we’ll be able to see better. We’ll head out then. Cash isn’t traceable. Any of this other stuff will be suspicious. We can’t sell it and it will just slow us down.”
The men looked for places to curl up. David claimed the driver’s seat. He wasn’t overly comfortable, but he was warm and wanted to be able to look outside quickly. He did not sleep, but rather closed his eyes and rested.
James put the top back on the storage bin and curled up on the bus seat inside one of the sleeping bags. He dreamed of being home, telling his mother a sweet story of the adventure he and his father and brother had been on, finding lost treasure, helping damsels in distress, and thwarting an evildoer who looked a lot like his cousin, Guy.
Guy claimed the dental chair. Jed accepted the other sleeping bag and found a warm spot away from drafts in the aisle. Neither of them dreamt, but slept restlessly.
Chapter 17
Kyle looked behind him, fruitless though it was. He could see only inches in front of him. The sun had set, but the moon had not yet risen. The hour was early; Kyle guessed between 6 and half past. It would be a long night.
Kyle felt like a hunted animal. Not since Vietnam had he felt so pursued. He served his tour assigned to a carrier, but on several occasions was ordered to support specific operations on a swift boat patrolling the Mekong River as medical backup. He hated the waiting and looking, the not knowing where the enemy was or when “charlie” would attack. On the even fewer occasions he was on the ground, he hated the walking worse than the firefight. Walking the bush was nerve-racking, restive, paranoia-building. Except for the cold temperature, his current situation eerily resembled his war memories.
Hearing a swish, he swiveled his head around in all directions, trying to gage what and where the sound came from.
He took a step forward, catching the toe of his shoe under a root. As he took his next step, the root held, and his foot was unable to obey his command. Kyle went down. He held his hands out instinctively, saving his face a collision with the ground, and his knees hit hard on the frozen surface. He let out an involuntary cry.
He lay and listened. His heart pounded. He willed it to be still. He couldn’t fight off four men. But if in fact they had not found him, what was the noise he heard?
There. He heard it again, a swishing sound as someone, or something large, moved through the forest, swishing tree limbs out of the way. The sound travelled down the mountainside, deeper into the woods.
Kyle slowly eased up, backing up a few inches on his knees to loosen the branch around his foot. He stood up, hopping as soon as he put pressure on his right ankle. Favoring the other leg, he gingerly placed his right foot on the ground. He must have twisted it. He recited “Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation,” in his head, the common protocol for most injuries and impossible in his present situation. Regardless of pain or swelling, Kyle needed to continue down the mountain.
He stood still, listening for any new sounds, each one representing an unknown threat. The night was quiet. When he got off this mountain, Kyle swore, if he got off this mountain, he would add several flashlights to the lab’s supplies. In lieu of a flashlight, he longed for moonlight, but the sky was void of all illumination, making every step a leap of faith.
Kyle waved his hands out in front of him as slowly he took one step, stopped, and listened. Progress was nonexistent, but Kyle could not risk going faster, so he decided to skip listening. If the men caught up with him, or some other menace approached, he would hear it when he heard it. He wasn’t sure what he would do when that happened anyway, so best course was to continue, one foot in front of the other, both hands outstretched, slowly going downhill.
He worked his way along in this way for thirty minutes. He felt he would never get anywhere; the sun would surely rise, and the gang would be waiting for him.
A sparkle caught Kyle’s eye, the light coming from in front of him. He froze once again, fearing a flashlight brandished by one of the gang. Perhaps they had surrounded him, trapping him like an unlucky turkey at Plymouth, but no, the light wasn’t moving. Bright arcs danced about, creating a glow, but it moved neither forward nor backward. It was some sort of flame, Kyle reasoned slowly. His mind refused to find anything good about it. He wondered if he was seeing things, illusions caused by the numbing cold. If only he could find a source of heat, he could think more clearly.
He took a tentative step in the direction of the sparkling light, then another, and again, one more. As he approached the warm apparition, even from 50 yards away, he could begin to make out dark outlines in front of him, tree branches and forest growth fracturing the light into bits and pieces. At last he was close enough to peer between two white oaks at the oil lamp hanging from an iron hook. The iron hook attached to a wooden beam overlooking a box of cut wood. The box of wood stood outside of a window, a darkened window, in a simple cabin, standing quiet. Even the merry oil lantern was silent.
Kyle paused between the two trees. He did not see anyone. He did not hear anything, yet he hesitated to get closer. Obviously someone lit the lantern. Could the occupants have turned in for the night forgetting about it? Or might it be a well thought out scheme for catching him?
Cold trumped possible entrapment. Kyle approached the wooden beam and lifted his hands up to the top of the lantern where yellow flames flickered. The bit of warmth tingled through his gloves and radiated the length of his body.
The crunch behind him brought his arms down and his body into a defensive stance, turning toward the sound. A young boy rounded the side of the cabin, his eyes on the ground in front of him. Sensing an unhappy presence, the boy glanced up and froze in his tracks.
Man and boy stood staring at each other for a long moment.
“Dr. Kyle?” the boy asked, wrapping his arms around his shoulders with an obvious shiver.
“Thomas! What are you doing here?”
“I live here, but what are you doing here? Where’s your office on wheels?”
“Well, it’s a bit of a tale.
May I come inside?”
“Sure! Oh my manners, I better bring you in or Miz May will be having something to say about that.”
The young man motioned with an ungloved hand, and Kyle followed, happy at the promise of shelter. Thin frost crackled under their feet as they made their way to the front door, guided by a soft light through a small window on the sheltered side of the house.
Thomas led the way inside. Kyle found himself in a large room warmed comfortably by a large fireplace along the back wall. Flames danced up against a cast-iron Dutch oven hanging from an iron hook. Several stuffed chairs awaited people in front of the fire. Situated to one side of the fireplace sat a student desk, an opened workbook and a pencil on top. Kyle surmised the multi-purposes of the room, just noticing the oak dining table in front of him.
“Have a seat,” Thomas gestured towards the fire. “I’ll take your coat after you’ve a-warmed yourself a bit.”
Kyle nodded silently and made towards the fire. He had taken one step, and, with his foot in mid-air, his arms shot up in front of him as a long, loud jungle screech split the air.
“Ah, bird, hush up now. This is Doctor Kyle and he is our guest, okay?” Thomas shook his head. “That is a blue and gold macaw. Granny took it in on account it is lost or maybe escaped some bad traders, but it doesn’t get along with the other birds too much and it is too cold for him to stay outside Granny says ‘cuz he’s tropical in nature.”
Kyle did not know what to say to this new information. He noted Thomas’ use of the appellation “Granny”, but he was too grateful for finding Thomas and Miz May’s place to say anything that might sound nosy.
The macaw stopped screeching.
“What’s up, Doc?” a raspy voice said evenly.
“Ha. Did you hear that, Doctor Kyle? He’s talking to you. Go on over and make yourself comfortable.”
Kyle nodded, and hobbled towards the fire. Now that his fight or flight responses were relaxing, the pain from the twisted ankle was making itself clearly known. Kyle sank into the chair and sighed deeply. He closed his eyes briefly, relative safety and warmth releasing his weariness.