by Wayne Mee
Eddy let out a howl, then hugged Trina. Princess barked out her approval.
“There’s the road!”, Josh shouted. “Just past that bridge!”
Flame squinted through the shattered windshield. “I can’t see shit!”
Five hundred feet in the rear, Sloan’s Pathfinder came into view.
“Christ!”, Eddy cut in. “The others are catching up! Two, three trucks just came around the bend!”
The camper rocked on its aging springs as it raced across the bridge. The slash in the forest that was the narrow fire-road sped by. Josh dropped back down into third and pressed the accelerator to the floor. Now that they had been seen there was no choice but to keep on. The fire-road was a dead end. Once in it they’d have been trapped.
“Throw out everything but the packs!”, Josh yelled.
Trina and Eddy began tossing out boxes of groceries, seat cushions, even the large cooler. The trucks behind swerved around the litter and kept on. Bullets whizzed by. Several thudded into the back of the van. Flame and Trina returned the fire.
“Watch out!”, Eddy barked, hefting the spare tire out the rear window. The spare hit, bounced twice, and went spinning back down the road. Sloan’s Pathfinder swerved around it, as did the truck behind it. The third truck, however, blocked by the others, didn’t see the steel missile encased in hard rubber coming until too late. The heavy wheel struck the third vehicle’s windshield, shot over the roof and landed square on the biker directly behind.
Both truck and bike never made the next curve.
“End of the line coming up!”, Josh yelled. “Hold on! I’m going right up the trail!”
The battered Westfalia smashed through the flimsy toll gate and fish-tailed around the empty booth. Tires screeching, Josh tore across the gravel parking lot and headed directly for the narrow slit in the wall of green that marked the beginning of the trail.
“Where the fuck did they go?”, Sloan demanded, his hard eyes raking over the parking lot. A scattering of trucks and cars littered the lot. An old Ford pick-up was half way in a ditch. From the open driver’s side a ragged checkered shirt lay draped over the wheel. The slight breeze flapped the empty sleeve.
The remaining truck and biker pulled up behind Sloan’s Pathfinder, their motors purring like hunting cats. Sloan got out, an Uzie held tightly in his fist. Tiny killed the engine, took the long deer-rifle down from the rack behind his seat and stepped out. The four men from the truck and the biker joined them. Each one clutched a weapon.
The silence of the virgin forest seemed to hurt their ears. From high overhead a raven cawed. Hector Billingsly, a local that had willingly thrown in with Sloan, came up and stood by his leader’s side. A battered Remington .306 bolt-action cradled in his arm.
“They aint here, Boss. Tracks say they took to the woods.” Hector pointed with his stubble-covered chin at the freshly turned ruts leading down to the trailhead.
Sloan’s eyes narrowed. “They DROVE up the fucking trail?”
Hector hawked up a wad of phlegm before nodding. “Looks that way. Can’t get far, though. Trail drops off pretty steep a little ways in. Twenty, maybe thirty foot down to a stream.”
“Then we’ve got them!”, Sloan hissed, starting off at a run towards the narrow opening in the forest. Tiny and the others raced to catch up. Only Hector took his time. He’d been guiding and hunting these woods all his life. In that time he’d seen all kinds of city-slickers out for a little adventure. Hikers, hunters, fishermen, each one a bigger asshole than the last. This lot in the white camper, however, seemed different. They’d already gotten by that bag-of-shit Guts and stamped ‘paid’ to that little asswipe Pick. Now Hicks, another biker and a truckload of Sloan’s best men. Something told Hector that these were not your average shit-for-brains Lowlanders. Smiling through his rotten teeth, Hector spit again and sauntered after the departing figures.
Josh had known it was there. The problem was that he didn’t remember it being so steep. He’d thought the van could take it. In a way it had, only now it lay on its side, the front end hanging over the little stream.
“Everyone okay?”, Eddy yelled, sliding open the side door and climbing out on top. Flame, with Princess scrambling over her, was already forcing open the passenger door. Josh was helping Trina off her knees. She was cradling her left arm, a look of pain on her drawn features.
“How is it?”, Josh asked.
“Feels broken.”
“Can you walk?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Josh helped her up to Eddy, then glanced around. Inside was a shambles. The van had rolled several times, spilling the contents of the cabinets all over. The smell of gas was heavy. Josh grabbed his pack and Eddy’s and tossed them out, picked up Trina’s rifle and climbed out. The others were waiting, Trina sitting cradling her left arm.
“Any sign of them?”, Josh asked.
“Not yet,” Flame answered. “But it won’t be long!”
Josh led them up the steep bank to some large boulders; Eddy was helping Trina while Flame brought up the rear. At the top Josh turned to Eddy. “Take Trina up the trail. There’s a large boulder about a quarter of a mile ahead. Wait for us there.”
Eddy started to argue, but Josh silenced him with a look. Eddy handed Josh the 30-30, took his pack, shotgun and led Trina up the rocky path. Flame and Josh watched them vanish into the pines, the sound of the gurgling stream covering their going. Moments later another sound reached their ears, this one, however, was far more threatening. Sloan and his men were coming at a run.
“There, on the top of the ravine,” Flame whispered. Crouching down beside Josh, they waited. The van lay a little over a hundred feet away. The five men stood on the edge of the drop.
“Do we take them now?”
Josh shook his head. “Wait till they’re at the bottom. I’ll call out; tell them to turn around. If they do, fine. If they don’t, take the ones on the right of the van.”
Flame looked over at the man she was coming to love, utter disbelief in her green eyes. “You'll 'call out?!' Christ, Josh, do you think those assholes would ‘call out’ if they were in our shoes?”
He shrugged. “No, but that’s what makes us different from them.”
“Shit,” she said, shaking her flaming hair. But a part of her was happy, warmed by his humanity. He might be a fool, but what a fool! Still grinning, she raised Trina’s rifle and sighted on the man on the right.
Sloan watched as the three men made their way down the steep bank. Below them, the white van lay on its side. There was no sign of life around it, but that didn’t mean shit. They might be all dead inside. Then again, they might not. Sloan wasn’t taking any chances. He and Tiny would wait up here while the other assholes took a look. Then he saw the rube, Hec Billingsly, squatting behind Tiny. Sloan was about to yell at him to get his ass down there when Hec turned those spooky grey eyes his way.
“Wouldn’t send them down there if I was you,” Hec drawled, spitting into the leaves.
Sloan grinned coldly. “Well, you’re not me, hayseed. Not by a long shot!”
Hec turned away, a wry grin splitting his weathered features. “You got that right, asshole,” Hec muttered to himself. “I aint got shit for brains!’
Down below, Donny the Geek, a buck-toothed, pimple-faced youth who sported a shaven head covered by a red tam, was the first to reach the van. Tim Shingle and a mean bugger named Nuts Wilson, hung back, scanning the forest. Donny peered through the shattered windshield, climbed on top and stuck his head inside.
“Nothing here, Boss!”, Donny yelled. “They’ve split!”
Tim Shingle had moved up beyond the van to the small footbridge, seventy-five feet from where Flame and Josh waited on the other side. The red head had him clearly in her sights. It was then that Josh called out.
“You by the van! Turn around and leave, NOW!”
Tim Shingle’s response was both swift and deadly. Leaping off the footbridge, he sprayed the far
bank with a hail of automatic fire. Flame let one go, but the round went wide. “Bloody Hell!, she wore.
Josh squinted through a crack between the boulders. Everyone down below had gone to ground, even the ones up on the hill. “Trina told you it pulls to the left.”
“So I forgot! Sue me!”
Josh grinned. “Let’s try it again, shall we? Go for the one in the van.” He then stood up and heaved a large stone in a high arc down the slope. The rock smacked against a tree and fell back into the stream.
“Jesus Christ!”, Tim Shingle yelled, firing blindly at the noise. From behind the van, Nuts Wilson started blasting away with his .44 Magnum. Chips of rock flew off the front of the boulder where Josh had stood. From inside the van, Donny the Geek popped up through the side door, a
Saturday Night Special blazing away in each hand. Up on the hillside, Flame thought that his red tam made him look like a target in a shooting gallery. Remembering the tendency of Trina’s rifle, she aimed at a spot about two feet to the right of Donny’s head and gently squeezed. The front tire on the passenger side burst. Disgusted, she tossed the rifle aside and drew her Smith & Wesson. Donny the Geek, however, had retreated back inside. Flame pumped two slugs into the van’s rusting undercarriage just the same.
Silence hung over the little glade. Shafts of sunlight caught the rising stream of burnt powder. From atop a high pine, a lone crow croaked out its displeasure. As though in agreement with the bird, Hec Billingsly cocked one eye up at the bird and spit, then moved over to where Sloan and Tiny crouched.
“Told you not to send ‘em down there. Now they’re stuck.”
Tiny glared at him. “And just how would you do it, asshole?”
Hec scratched his stubbled cheek, his battered felt hat shading his piercing eyes. “Flank ‘em. Sneak round on both sides while those three down below kept ‘em busy. Catch the buggers in a three way crossfire.”
Sloan’s scowl stretched into a grin. He reached out and slapped Hec on the back. “Good thinking, Hec. It might just work!” His hand suddenly tightened on the mans shoulder. “But you wouldn’t be thinking of slipping away now, would you? I wouldn’t like that.”
Hec looked at the hand on his shoulder, then into its owners eyes. “If ‘n I’d a wanted to ‘slip away’, Boss, I’d be long gone by now.”
Sloan released his grip and barked out a laugh. “Okay. We’ll try it your way. We go to the right?”
Hec nodded.
Sloan called out to the three down in the gully to keep blasting away. When he turned back, Hec had vanished.
Josh moved back from the narrow opening and thrust the small field glasses back into his pack. He’d been watching the three on the far side. Big, Medium and Small. Since Medium was the one shouting orders, he guessed that was Sloan. Big was probably a bodyguard. Both seemed lost in the woods. Their clothes, boots, even the way they carried themselves cried out ‘Big City’. The other one, Small, had the look of a fox about him. His clothes were country, and the way he studied the trail and cradled his rifle marked him as a hunter. In his mind Josh changed their names to Muscle, Brains and Fox. Out here, Fox would be the one to watch.
He turned to Flame. “They’re trying to flank us. Time to go.”
“They’ll follow.”
“I know.”
Flame shrugged, then, picking up Trina’s .308, she bounded up the trail. Josh followed. In a moment the forest swallowed them up.
A short while later they neared the big rock where the Eddy and Trina were waiting. Princess bounded out to meet them. A moment later Eddy appeared.
“Trina?”, Josh asked.
“Behind the boulder. Her arm’s bad. She nearly fainted twice getting here.” There was deep concern in his blue eyes.
“Marcy Dam is less than a mile ahead. We’ll fix her up at the Ranger station.”
Eddy grabbed Josh’s arm. “They’re still following?”
Josh nodded.
“Christ! And I thought this was going to be a vacation!”
Half an hour later they had reached the old log cabin. While Flame and Princess stood guard outside, they sat Trina down and quickly searched the place. Eddy found a large first aid kit, complete with splints, sling and pain killers.
“How bad is it?”, Josh asked the girl.
Trina moved her arm and winced. “Just sprained I think. The splint and the pills will help.”
Josh smiled, then, leaving Eddy to handle the doctoring, he went over to a large trail map tacked to the wall. The lengths of rope and climbing tools he’d found had sparked an idea. Comparing the map to the one in his guide book, the plan began to take form.
“You think they’ll find us?”, Eddy asked. “We passed two other trails on the way here. Maybe they’ll follow one of those.”
“I think they’ve got a tracker with them. If I’m right...” Josh left the rest unsaid.
Eddy turned away, anger showing on his usually smiling face. “If only I’d brought my rifle instead of this!” He held up the sawed-off shotgun. “It had a scope for distance. We could have got up high and picked them off!”
Before Josh could reply, a shot rang out. Several more followed. They all reached for their weapons, even Trina.
Outside they saw Flame running across the dam, Princess at her heels. To her right a lake filled the narrow valley, to her left cascades of water spilled over the log dam. Behind her shouts could be heard.
“Inside the cabin”, Josh yelled. “We can slip out the back door and into the woods! It’ll take time for them to realize we’re not in there!”
Eddy helped Trina, while Josh and Flame fired at the men emerging from the trail on the far side of the dam. Bullets flew both ways. Behind them a glass window shattered.
Once inside, they grabbed their packs, including one stuffed with rope and climbing gear and headed for the back door. Once outside they scrambled for the trees. Down the path, the trail diverged in three directions.
“This way!”, Josh whispered. “Make sure to go through that muddy patch.!” He ran up the left path marked with blue blazes, his heavy boots leaving fresh, clear tracks in the wet ground. Fifty feet beyond, he stopped on a rocky slab, turned and jumped off the trail. Stepping lightly, the thick leaves barely showing an imprint, he headed for the other path. The others did the same. Two minutes later they came to a trail marked with yellow blazes.
“Shit!”, Eddy said, the admiration clear in his voice. “I thought they only did that in the movies!”
“James Fenimore Cooper wrote about it over two hundred years ago.”
Trina, with her arm tightly bound and the pain-killers kicking in, smiled glassy-eyed at Josh. “You Hawkeye. Me Chingagcook, Last of the Mohicans.” Suppressing a giggle, she moved on ahead. The other three, hampered by heavy packs, did their best to keep up.
At the end of the reservoir, the trail crossed a footbridge over a stream and began to climb steeply. Once across, Josh crouched behind a large pine and trained his small but powerful binoculars back towards the dam. Men were cautiously moving in on the cabin from three sides. Smiling, he jogged after the others.
Chapter 31: ‘AVALANCHE PASS’
The Adirondacks
New York August 17
“They’re gone?!” There was more threat than question in Sloan’s voice.
Hec sat on the cabin’s weathered porch and rolled a cigarette. The question was too stupid to warrant a reply. Of course they were gone. Slipped out the back door while these assholes fumbled around out front. The only question now was where? They could be waiting nearby in the woods, but Hec didn’t think so. Be too easy to find, and Hec had a feeling that these buggers knew what they were doing. After lighting his smoke, he walked slowly into the cabin. Nuts Wilson and Tim Shingle were rooting around in the back rooms. The idiot kid with the red pimp’s hat was farting around out back. Hec told him to haul his ass back inside and stop fucking up the tracks.
“You giving the orders round here now?”, Tiny ask
ed. His voice was surprisingly high for such a big man, yet the threat was plain to hear.
Hec took a long drag on his cigarette, then flicked it into the cold fireplace. His wolf-grey eyes met Tiny’s. “Maybe. I aint heard nothing out of your mouth worth shit.”
Tiny started forward, but a knife suddenly appeared in Hec’s hand. The curved blade glinted wickedly. The large Asian was about to spring when Sloan’s voice cut in.
“Ease off, Tiny. We’re on his turf and he knows it.” Sloan faced Hec. “So, Daniel Boon, what now?”
Hec held Sloan’s gaze for a moment, then smiled. The skinning knife had disappeared. “We track ‘em.”
Tiny grunted, hefting his rifle. The long gun had a large scope on it. “You track them, Hayseed. I’ll kill them.”
Hec shrugged and turned to the large wall map. Not that he needed it, but these city boys could use a little visual aid. Hell, they all looked like they could use white canes!
“Well, they got three choices right off.” The knife appeared again and traced lines on the large, topographical map. “Up the Phelps Trail to Indian Falls; up Whales Tail ‘n over Algonquin; or along here to Avalanche Pass ‘n on to Lake Colden. My money’s on the first one.”
“Why?” Sloan’s voice had a hard edge to it. To him all three trails looked like a long, hard walk into Nowhere!
Hec spit before answering. “Algonquin’s too high ‘n The Pass is too rough. Besides, they’d both lead them away from the one place they’ll be headin’ for.”
“Which is?”, Tiny sneered.
“Here.” Hec’s knife stabbed a small circle on the map marked The Garden. It was at the end of a secondary road that wound its way down to the town of Keene Valley.