Ever Onward

by Wayne Mee

  “Did the good doctor have any other sage advice?” There was more than a touch of sarcasm in Josh’s voice.

  “Ya,”, Eddy grinned. “When you used your ‘teacher’s voice’, I should watch my ass.”

  “Shit!”, Hank growled. “When you two have finished jerking each other off, how about putting a bullet in my brain! I’m dead anyway, and the pain’s a real fucker!”

  Josh’s smile vanished. He pointed at the revolver lying several yards away. “You want to end it, friend? Do us all a favor. Crawl over and do it yourself.”

  As they drove away, Hank’s curses followed them.

  All that had happened yesterday afternoon. They spent that night in the Woodsville United Church’s parkinglot. There had been little conversation. Josh had heard a car race by in the middle of the night, but decided not to mention it. In the morning they continued eastward on 112. Someone took a shot at them when they stopped for gas in North Woodstock. The bullet went wide, ricocheting off the brick wall. They didn’t hang around to investigate but continued on to Lincoln, arriving just as the sun was setting.

  “Not much sense in pressing on,” Eddy had said as they filled up at a gas station that also had food. Jess and Bobby were inside turning on the pumps and stocking up on supplies and cold drinks. “Be better to arrive in daylight.”

  Though he was anxious to push on, Josh had agreed. North Conway was still fifty some miles away, and to get there they had to drive the Kancamagus Highway. The ‘Kank’ as the locals called it, was a winding, steep road that crossed the Pemegrass Wilderness, one of the most breathtaking and remote places in the White Mountains. Josh had traveled it many times, but never at night. With possible wrecks waiting round every twist and turn, Josh knew it was more prudent to wait until daylight.

  Jess came out with a bag full of Cokes and a six-pack of beer. Smiling, he handed his father a beautiful hand carved pipe.

  “Found this inside, Dad,” he said.

  Josh smiled, shaking his head. The pipe was beautifully made. Doc Gruber’s old ‘loaner’ was still in his pocket. He’d given up smoking years ago. Now it didn’t seem to matter so much. He gave his son a hug. It still seemed strange to him to just help yourself to things. Both Jess and Bobby obviously had no such problems. Josh noticed that Bobby had a Playboy tucked under his arm. Eddy met his stare and grinned.

  “Boys will be boys, Josh.”

  “Ya. Let’s get moving. We can spend the night in a campground just up the road. There’s a cold stream running through it. The ‘boys’ can cool off a bit.”

  “Come on in, Dad!”

  Jessie, water dripping from his lean body, waved through the golden morning sunlight and plunged into the rushing water. Bobby was thrashing about, joyously fighting the current. Josh and Eddy watched from the far bank. Bobby let the current carry him back into the green pool nature had sculptured from the earth’s crust.

  “Well,” Eddy said. “How about it? It’s still early.”

  Josh smiled. “What the hell? I could use a bath. But one of us stays here with a rifle --- I’ll not be caught off guard again. I’ll take your place in a couple of minutes.”

  Less than an hour later, bathed and dressed in clean clothes, they were on their way across the Kank. A little before noon on the 29th of June they entered North Conway --- greeted by the sound of gunfire.

  Brad Westgate looked around the inn. Wilma’s body, now covered with a blanket, lay on the floor near the old piano. A large red stain was slowly spreading out from one end. Tina, crouched by a front window, was trying to get a clear shot at Snake and the others with Earl’s deer rifle. Earl himself still lay out in the street.

  Brad turned to his son. Kenneth, clutching the old shotgun, crouched beside him, his back pressed to the wall. The boy’s eyes were frightened and wild. Brad placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and moved his gaze to Bert, huddled into a corner of the dining area. Looking at the nervous, rumpled wreck of a man, Brad was hard pressed to remember the fastidious, prissy barber he had known for years. Brad had never really liked Bert, but until today had never known why.

  Suddenly another shot smashed through one of the inn’s front windows and on into the back wall. What glass was left tinkled to the carpet. A second shot slammed into the heavy door. Blade and Flame had apparently found themselves rifles, probably from the hardware store. Those and the heavy Magnum shells were taking their toll; the inside of the thick door was splintered in over a dozen places. Once it went ---

  It was nearly noon. For over two hours now Snake and the others had been sitting in the pub across the street, occasionally firing at the inn between their own shots of booze. Brad had thought about slipping out the back door, but had found Rings and a very battered and bloody Bull waiting out there. Bull had a shotgun that he’d fire at the door whenever the urge struck him --- which seemed quite often.

  Brad was toying with the idea of waiting for dark, then slipping out a window, but the thought of playing hero with a real-life killers turned his blood to water. All they could do for now was wait. Perhaps Tina would get a clear shot.

  “Someone’s coming!”, the girl called.

  Cautiously looking out one of the front windows, Brad couldn’t believe his eyes. There, coming down the main street, were two vans and a tow-truck! And the leading van, a white Westfalia, looked exactly like his cousin’s! No! It couldn’t be! Impossible! But ---

  “Holy Christ! It IS Josh!” Snatching up Earl’s shotgun, he ran for the front door. “Tina! Ken! Start shooting at the pub! Keep them pinned down! I’ve got to warn him!”

  Charging out the door, he ran for the cover of a parked Toyota. Behind him came the crack of Tina’s .303. The boom of the old 16 gage followed. Brad cut loos with the 12 gage; first the right barrel, then he second. Few of the pub’s windows were left intact. Up ahead the vans slowed, then pulled to one side. The tow-truck followed. Men were getting out. Armed men. Brad recognized his cousin. Joy mixed with fear coursed through him.

  “Get down, Josh!”, he bellowed. “For Christ sake get down!”

  Behind him Tina and Kenneth continued to blast away at the pub. Despite this, the front door opened and Snake ran out; a bottle in one hand and his gun in the other. He took one look at the four armed men, fired three quick shots, then ran back in. Tina’s shot clipped him in the ear.

  Brad darted across the street, calling as he went. “Josh! Thank Christ you’re alive!”

  Josh grabbed his cousin and pulled him back behind the vans. “What the hell’s going on here?!”

  As Brad was telling them about Snake, the sound ofmotorcycles starting up reached them.

  “It’s coming from behind the pub!”, Bobby said. “You want us to take a look?”

  “No!”, Josh said. “Just stay ready. They might come this way.”

  But Snake wasn’t that drunk. He and the other two emerged a hundred yards up the street. Flame’s red hair could be seen as her streaked across the road, apparently on her way to get Rings and Bull. From behind the cover of parked cars, Snake and Blade laid down a continuous fire. Eddy and Bobby shot back, but neither side did any real damage. Then Flame was back. Bull had Rings behind him on his own bike. Snake appeared astride his Harley, fired a few parting shots, then roared off. The rest followed.

  Moments later Kenneth, Tina and a sheepish looking Bert came over to join the newcomers. Introductions were made and the cousins, both young and old, were soon eagerly swapping adventures. Tina, however, kept watching for Snake’s return, Earl’s deer rifle at the ready.

  A little later they buried Earl and Wilma in the garden out behind the inn and began making plans for the future.

  Chapter 14: ‘TROUBLE AT THE TRAILHEAD’

  Franconia Notch

  New Hampshire

  June 29th

  They left North Conway that afternoon. Josh took Brad and Tina in his Westfalia; Jessie, Kenneth and the dogs climbed in Eddy’s van and Bert went with Bobby in the tow-truck. All were gl
ad to leave, especially since Snake and his group might return at any moment.

  The violent deaths of Wilma and Earl had shaken them all. Brad’s son, Kenneth, seemed the most upset. Young as he was, Jesse saw this and looked for a way to get his cousin’s mind off the killings. On the way back over the Kank he asked his father to stop for a swim in the rapids. Though all were anxious to put as much distance between Snake and his bikers as they could, the swim had relieved the tension and the rushing water had renewed more than their bodies. While Jessie and Kenneth splashed about with the dogs, Bobby had hovered around Tina, playing his guitar and trying to make her smile. Eddy had done his best to draw Bert into a conversation, but the fastidious little barber had seemed sullen and withdrawn. Josh and Brad, sitting on the bank, had quietly shared a beer along with their sorrows, hopes and fears. After a while they shared the silence, which, when done between old friends, can be the best sharing of all.

  Suddenly Josh reached for the Winchester. The rifle had become his constant companion for what seemed strangely like forever.

  “What’s the matter?”, Brad demanded.

  “I thought I saw something over in those trees.”

  Brad picked up Earl’s 12 gage and began scanning the woods along the side of the road. Josh worked the lever on his 30.30 and moved behind a large boulder.

  “It’s probably nothing, Brad, but let’s get everyone back to the vans.”

  Within minutes the three vehicles were again winding their way westward over the Kank. They passed several campsites on the way; The Covered Bridge, Jigger Johnsons, Five Rocks, finally stopping by late afternoon at the one they’d stayed in the night before.

  Hancock’s Campground was just three miles east of Lincoln. The long entrance led them down to another rushing river far from the road. While supper simmered on the campstove, Josh proposed a hike for the next day up 5,000 foot plus Mount Lafayette. He realized they all needed something to take their minds of the horror and death all around them. Pushing their bodies to the limit, Josh knew from experience, could do that far better than silent brooding on the long drive back to Hawthorn. All but Bert were enthusiastic. What with the excited talk, the distance from the road and the fast flowing river, none of them heard sound of the motorcycles racing by.

  The next morning they stopped at Lincoln, stocked up on supplies and hiking gear and headed north up I-93 to Franconia Notch State Park. The ‘Notch’, famous for its profile of ‘The Old Man’, a strange natural rock formation that had collapsed just after the turn of the century, though still immortalized on the state’s license plates, was a four mile long winding gash in the White Mountains. Steep, 4,000 foot plus cliffs dropped down to the tree-covered, narrow valley. Now, a day after leaving North Conway, they were settled in at the large Ranger Station at the entrance to Lafayette Campground, anxiously planning the next day’s adventure.

  Not that it needed much planning, for Josh, Brad and the two boys had been up it close to a dozen times. It was a long loop, going up one trail, along the narrow, windswept Franconia Ridge for two miles, then down another trail to the place they started. Nearly ten miles altogether. Doable in eight hours if they pushed it and days if they took their time. No one seemed in a rush. Tina and the boys said they were ready to stay out a week.

  Josh, Brad and Eddy now sat in front of the large stone fireplace pouring over trail maps. The four younger members of the group were outside with the dogs. Bert sat off by himself, chain-smoking and nursing a beer.

  Eddy seemed fascinated by the White Mountain’s Hut System. “You mean that they’ve got cabins all along these ridges?”

  Josh and Brad smiled at each other, recognizing ‘Ridgewalker Mania’ when they saw it. Once up above the treeline, the ridges all connected. Huts, or cabins, equipped with propane kitchens, solar heaters and row upon row of bunkbeds, linked the ridges every eight to ten miles. A person could walk for weeks on end and never drop below 4000 feet. Or, if they wanted, they could take a side trail down to a three-sided lean-to nestled in the pines beside a clear tarn or a tumbling waterfall.

  “Christ!”, Eddy said, pointing at a notation on the back of a map. “There’s a trail that goes from Canada to damn near Florida!”

  Josh nudged Brad and lit his pipe. “That’s the Long Trail. It goes from Georgia to Vermont, branching off a hundred miles south of here to the even higher Appalachian Trail, which goes north-east up into Main. We’ll be walking part of that tomorrow. One of the highest parts.”

  Eddy grinned like a kid. Bert, sitting off by himself, grunted. Brad turned to face the sour little man. “I’ve told you, Bert, you don’t have to come. You can stay right here. We’ll be back in two or three days.”

  “And what if you aren’t?”, Bert replied, his voice high and petulant. “What if you decide to stay up in these bloody mountains for a week? Maybe two. What about me?! Sitting down here all alone! What if those bikers come back?!”

  “Come with us then,” Eddy joined in. Bert was proving to be a real pain in the ass, but Eddy had decided to give the guy one more chance. He walked over and placed a hand on Bert’s skinny shoulder. “It’ll be great, Bert. All that fresh air. Dipping in the streams, fishing for trout. ‘Living off the land’ and all that shit! Come on; what do you say?”

  Bert shrugged Eddy’s hand away. “I say it’s stupid. Brad’s cousin says there’s a whole lot of people back where he came from. I say we head there and stop screwing around in these bloody mountains. I never did like them, anyway!”

  Eddy smiled. “Why the hell were you living in a place like North Conway then? Jesus, man, there’s not much there BUT mountains!”

  Bert looked surly. “It was my wife’s idea. She grew up there. Liked the ‘simple life’. Me, I think it sucks!”

  Josh put down his pipe. When he spoke Eddy noticed Josh was using what Doc had called his ‘teacher’s voice’. “You have three choices, Bert. Come with us; wait for us here; or go on ahead to Hawthorn on your own.”

  Bert looked shocked. “Me? Go off alone? But what about the wrecks in the road and those men who stopped you?”

  Josh shrugged. “I’m just making your options clear. The five of us are looking forward to this little adventure. Obviously you aren’t. Fine. The people of Hawthorn will be glad to see you.”

  Now Bert looked hurt. “Are you trying get rid of me?”

  Josh slowly stood up. He made no move toward Bert, but still the man stepped back. “Because you’re Brad’s friend you’re welcome to stay with us.”

  A sly expression suddenly came over Bert. “And if I wasn’t ‘Brad’s friend’?”

  Josh smiled. “Then I’d kick your wining ass out the door.”

  “Hey, Snake,” Flame said. “What the fuck they doing now?”

  Snake ignored her and continued to watch the cabin through his powerful binoculars. He had plans for each and every one of them. Big plans. Especially for the blonde haired bitch with the nice jugs.

  Yesterday he’d watched from afar as they headed south out of North Conway. Following at a safe distance, he’d caught sight of the tow-truck turning east on the Kank. Again he and his group had followed. They’d nearly road right past them when the smart-assed pricks had stopped for a swim! Snake and the other three had quietly moved up on foot. The sight of two men sitting on the bank with rifles however, had changed his mind. Cursing, he’d backed off, planning to catch them later that night when they were sleeping.

  But the crafty buggers had slipped away a second time. Again Snake had followed, but by the time they reached the town of Lincoln they had lost them.

  “Shit, Snake!”, Bull had exclaimed. “They got three ways to go! North or south on 93 or east on the 116! We aint never gunna catch ‘em now!”

  Snake had shoved his long barreled Red Hawk in Bull’s face. “Shut the fuck up! I’ll find those goddamned cock-suckers if I have to drive all over these fucking mountains to do it! No one --- NO ONE makes a fool out of me!”

  “Ya,” Fl
ame had whispered to Blade. “He does just fine all by himself.”

  They’d then broken into a fancy hotel that catered to skiers. Snake had ordered the two women to find something to eat while Bull played bartender. The food had been cold, but the whiskey had gone down like fire. Soon all were more than half in the bag. Snake, aided by his secret stash of pills graciously supplied by the late but far from great, Runt, was not only ‘in the bag’, but well on his way to blowing the end out of it, not to mention a few more quad-zillion brain cells. Blade had fired up the bar’s sound system and Rings and Flame started a strip-tease. Snake sat back and observed through a growing chemically induced haze. “No fucking contest!”, he muttered. “Rings’ titless!”

  “Ya!”, Bull had grinned from behind the bar. “But Flame’s got ‘nough for ‘em both!”

  Flame had bumped and ground her way over to Blade. Her green eyes flashing, her long hair a fiery halo, she leaned forward. The tall biker had buried his face in her boobs. Thinking of Tina, Snake had yelled at Rings to follow him into the back room.

  Late next morning, his head pounding along with the powerful 650 engine, Snake sat astride his Harley at the edge of Lincoln. Which fucking way, he asked himself? East to Vermont? South to the Lakes District? North to the mountains?

  Decisions, decisions. Snake had never been very good at making decisions. Always before he just sort of let things happen --- and beat the shit out of anyone that got in his way. Now, since his bike was already facing north, he mouthed the ever-popular witticism for which his brethren were so famous. ‘Fuck it!’ This done, Snake gleefully kicked his Harley into gear and tore off up I-93. Blade, Flame and Bull had followed, with Rings holding on to Bull like a skinny primate clinging to mama’s broad, hairy back.

  Now, an hour after casting his fate to the wind, Snake lay on a hill watching the shit-for-brains hillbillies. He was feeling quite proud of himself. The stupid hayseeds were playing house right below him! Their two vans and tow-truck were parked on the far side of a large log cabin. Smoke was coming from the chimney. Off to the side two kids were farting around with bows and arrows. Pair of dogs were with them. Up on the front porch some guy with long hair was playing a guitar. The chick with the big tits was sitting close beside him.