The End of the Trail

by Franklin W. Dixon

  The four friends began hiking along the trail, backpacks strapped to their shoulders, Biff’s strapped to the travois. For the last week they had moved briskly along the tops of mountains, but now every step had to be made cautiously. They had to protect Biff as the trail went downhill, then back up. The ground underneath had been cleared by the feet of thousands of hikers, but all of a sudden it seemed very rough.

  “There’s the path that will lead off to Morgan’s Quarry!” Phil cried, pointing between two trees.

  “How can you tell?” Joe asked. “Just looks like more bushes to me.”

  “There’s a blue blaze on that tree,” Phil said. “Look.”

  Joe stared at the tree. There was a small slash of blue paint on one side.

  “So there is,” Joe said. “I should have paid closer attention. Guess I’m worried about Biff.”

  The four hikers maneuvered Biff to the edge of the trees. They could just make out a narrow footpath winding between the undergrowth.

  “The ‘road’ to Morgan’s Quarry,” Frank said.

  They moved into the trees, following the path. All at once it became darker, as if the sun were about to set. Only a small amount of light trickled past the leaves and thick branches above.

  “I wish they had streetlights along here,” Chet said.

  “This is a wilderness area,” Phil snapped. “There aren’t any streetlights. Or fast-food restaurants. Or gas stations. That’s the whole point.”

  “Ooh, why did you mention that? I sure wish there was a fast-food restaurant,” Chet said. “I could go for a triple cheeseburger with onions and special sauce right about now.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Joe said. “They’d get lots of customers out here. Mostly bears.”

  “Did you see a bear?” Chet asked, concern darkening his face.

  “You’ve been playing your video game too long,” Joe said.

  The path began slanting downhill even steeper, leading into a valley far below. Birds twittered in the trees, jumping from branch to branch.

  “Boy,” Joe said. “Ten miles isn’t far when you’re in a car, but when you’re dragging a big guy like Biff it might as well be a hundred miles.”

  “Hey, Biff,” Joe said. “Maybe you could hop along on your good leg. Sure would make life easier.”

  “I’d love to,” Biff said, lifting himself with his arms. “But I don’t think I’d make a very convincing Easter Bunny.”

  “I don’t know,” Frank said. “I’d pay a lot to see you as the Easter Bunny.”

  “Don’t hold your breath waiting,” Biff said, easing himself back down.

  After a few hours the path widened as they reached the bottom of the hill. Where before the hikers had had to maneuver around trees and bushes, now they had an open, well-trod path.

  “We must be near the town,” Frank said.

  “If we’re not near the town,” Joe said, “I say we leave Biff behind. Maybe somebody else will find him.”

  “Somebody a lot nicer than you guys,” Biff complained with a grin.

  “Hey, looks like civilization up ahead!” Joe cried.

  Sure enough, a wooden building was barely visible through the trees. As the teens continued down the path, more buildings appeared.

  “Morgan’s Quarry,” Frank said. “At last.”

  Joe groaned. “Not a second too soon. I think Biff’s put on at least a hundred pounds since we left the trail.”

  “It could be worse,” Biff said. “You could be carrying Chet.”

  “Hey, what do you mean by that?” Chet exclaimed.

  The path abruptly ended, opening into a grassy field surrounded by the buildings that had been visible a moment earlier. A wooden sign read Welcome to Morgan’s Quarry.

  “Looks like we’re here,” Frank said. “Wherever here is.”

  “It’s pretty obvious they won’t have a hospital,” Joe said. “The town looks pretty small. And pretty old.”

  “They won’t have a hospital,” Phil said, “but they may have a doctor.”

  “Well, let’s find somebody and ask where the doctor might be,” Frank suggested.

  Finding somebody wasn’t going to be easy. The wooden buildings were old houses and most appeared deserted. Paint was flaking off the walls, and the windows were cracked.

  “It’s a ghost town,” Frank said. “I bet everybody left years ago.”

  “I would have,” Chet said. “There probably isn’t even a decent grocery store.”

  “Not so fast,” Frank said. “Looks like the place is populated after all.”

  About a hundred feet to the side of them the hikers could see two men walking and carrying a large sack between them. The two men were in their twenties, thin but wiry looking, with unshaven faces and long hair. They didn’t seem to notice the five strangers who had just emerged from the woods.

  “Hey!” Joe shouted. “Can you guys help us?”

  One of the men turned abruptly, startled. He dropped his end of the bag, which broke open, spilling the contents onto the ground.

  “Sorry about that,” Frank said, moving closer to the men. “We just wanted to ask you for directions.”

  The man didn’t reply. He stared angrily at the hikers, then glanced down at what had spilled on the ground.

  Frank, Joe, Phil, and Chet also glanced at the ground. What had spilled out of the bag was a huge pile of money.

  3 Vietnam Revisited

  The teens stared with their mouths hanging open. The two men stared back, surly expressions on their faces. An awkward silence hung between the two groups.

  “Er, can we help you with that?” Frank asked, not sure what to do or say.

  “Stay away,” growled the man who had dropped the bag. “What are you kids doing here?”

  “We just came off the Appalachian Trail,” Joe said.

  “Well, get back on it—right now,” the man said.

  “We can’t,” Frank said. “Our friend is hurt. He may have broken a leg.”

  “Go see Doc Harrison,” the man said, waving toward a wooden building. “And leave us alone.”

  “Thanks,” Joe said. “I think.” He gave Frank an odd look. “Seems there is a doc in town.”

  With Biff securely attached to the travois, the four hikers began making their way between two of the wooden buildings. On the other side was a crudely paved street, with a sign that read Main Street. Along Main Street was a genuine town, though it looked like something left over from an earlier time. Main Street was lined on either side with buildings, including a general store with a large wooden sign proclaiming it as Sugaree’s Shack. At one end the street branched off in two directions, one going toward a hill atop which the hikers could just make out what appeared to be a large mansion, the other toward some distant woods. In the other direction it vanished around a curve. As they walked along the street, Chet spotted a sign on the front of an old house.

  “Look!” Chet cried. “That sign says, Rhonda Harrison, RN.”

  “A registered nurse,” Frank said thoughtfully.

  “A nurse isn’t a doctor,” Biff said, concern raising the pitch of his voice.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” Joe said.

  “A nurse can help you with that leg,” Frank said. “Let’s see if Rhonda can fit you into her schedule.”

  Joe pushed the doorbell. An old-fashioned chiming noise came from inside.

  “At least the doorbell works,” Joe said. “Maybe this town hasn’t completely fallen apart.”

  There was silence inside for a moment, then the sound of footsteps. The door cracked open.

  A woman peered out. She was middle-aged, with graying long brown hair that appeared to be uncombed. She wore an exercise suit, and her face was covered with sweat, as though she had been working out. Her eyes were suspicious but not unfriendly.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Our friend here may have broken his leg,” Joe said.

  The nurse looked down at Biff, concern cloudi
ng her features.

  “Let me have a look.” She opened the door all the way. “Bring him into the house.”

  “Thanks,” Frank said.

  The hikers carried Biff into a large living room. The furniture was old and thickly padded, Frank noticed, but it was well kept. The pine-scented air freshener was not successfully masking a musty smell of mildew.

  “My name is Rhonda, by the way,” the woman said. “Rhonda Harrison. I’m a nurse.”

  “Where should we put Biff?” Frank asked.

  “Right here, on the sofa,” Rhonda said. “I need to examine him.”

  Chet and Phil stepped aside as Frank and Joe laid Biff gently on the overstuffed sofa.

  “Ow!” Biff yelled. “Did you have to drop me like that?”

  “We didn’t drop you,” Joe said. “We put you down like a teacup.”

  “Yeah, well, I think you just broke this teacup into a million pieces,” Biff groaned.

  “You’re okay, Biff,” Rhonda said. “I’ll take care of you now.”

  “Better than letting those guys take care of me,” Biff snapped.

  Rhonda crouched beside the sofa. With Frank’s help, she removed his hiking boots and socks. Because he had on shorts, she didn’t have to remove his pants.

  “Do you feel anything when I do this?” Rhonda asked, squeezing Biff’s toes.

  “Yeooowwwww!” Biff screeched. “Yeah, it feels like you’re hammering nails in my leg.”

  “Good,” Rhonda said. “That means there’s no nerve damage. What happened to you, anyway?”

  “He fell out of a tree,” Chet said.

  “From twenty feet up,” Joe added.

  Rhonda looked at Biff reprovingly. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “Well, it hurts,” Biff said.

  “Being alive hurts,” Rhonda said. “We’ll get you fixed up. Don’t worry.”

  “So what’s wrong with him?” Phil asked.

  Rhonda ran her hand gently along Biff’s leg. “He doesn’t seem to have any major injuries, amazingly enough.”

  “So we can hit the trail again?” Joe asked.

  “Not any time soon,” Rhonda said. “I’m just about positive your friend Biff has a break, up near the knee. And a serious muscle sprain. There’s a bit of swelling around the knee. I want to set his leg to keep it from moving. I don’t think he needs a hospital. They could x-ray the leg, but I think that would just confirm what I’m pretty positive about the leg—it’s broken. I think it’s better if he just rests here for a bit. He’s been pretty traumatized.”

  “Does that mean we’ll have to hang out here for a while?” Chet asked.

  “For a couple of days,” Rhonda said. “Then it should be safe to move him.”

  “Are you sure he can’t be moved now?” Joe asked. “Once you’ve got his leg immobilized, we could get him to a bigger town.” He raised an eyebrow at his brother, questioning Rhonda’s decision. Frank shrugged back.

  “I don’t recommend it,” Rhonda said decisively, ending all discussion.

  “Do you know a good restaurant?” Chet asked, changing the subject to one of his favorites.

  “Or a place to pitch our sleeping bags?” Frank asked.

  “You don’t need to sleep out,” Rhonda said. “Mrs. Hibley, next door, has a boardinghouse. I’m sure she’d be glad to put you up—and feed you,” she added for Chet’s benefit. “Only ten dollars a night.”

  “Good thing we brought some cash,” Joe said. “I never thought we’d really need it on the trail.”

  “Where will I spend the night?” Biff asked.

  “I’ve got a guest room,” Rhonda said. “I use it for patients. I keep my supplies there. Believe it or not, the people in this town occasionally get sick.”

  “Do you need us to move him in there?” Frank asked.

  “I’d appreciate it,” Rhonda said, pointing toward a back room. Frank and Joe began to lift Biff.

  “Not again!” Biff complained. “Don’t leave any bruises this time, okay?”

  The brothers carried him through the door. A large bed filled much of the room. Frank and Joe laid Biff on top of a thick down comforter.

  “Nice place,” Chet said. “I wouldn’t mind spending the night here myself.”

  “Break a leg and you’ll be welcome,” Rhonda said.

  “Uh, no, thanks,” Chet replied.

  “Now let’s get down to business,” Rhonda said to Biff.

  Biff’s expression mirrored his fear.

  “Don’t worry,” Rhonda said. “I’m not doing surgery. But I have to immobilize your leg.”

  “Okay,” Biff said. “Just keep any knives away from me.”

  Rhonda smiled and kiddingly held up a sharp scalpel with an evil glint in her eyes. She put the scalpel down and examined his leg again. His knee was puffy and dark red. There were several bright red lacerations on his calf, some of which appeared to be infected.

  “Ewwww,” Biff said. “It feels like something’s about to come bursting out of my leg like in an Alien movie.”

  “Probably something green and hungry,” Joe said. “Like Chet.”

  Chet gave Joe a dirty look. “I’m not green....”

  “Okay, you guys, give Biff a break,” Rhonda said.

  “Hey, I can take it,” Biff declared. “I give back as good as I get.”

  “Lie down, Biff,” Rhonda said. “I’m going to clean your wounds, then prepare your plaster. This will take about half an hour, and you’ll need to lie still for a while to let the plaster set.”

  “Why not just use one of those Velcro splints?” Frank asked. “That would be a lot easier.”

  “I don’t have any more,” Rhonda said. “I don’t have access to a continuous supply of medical paraphernalia out here in the woods.”

  “This is great,” Joe said. “We’ll be laid up in this town for days before Biff heals.”

  “Not that long,” Rhonda said. “We’ll get Biff moved soon enough.”

  “There go our plans for hiking another hundred miles on the trail,” Frank said.

  Rhonda gave Frank a stern look. “I don’t think you want to go without your friend. And you can always come back sometime later to finish your hike.”

  “Sorry,” Frank said guiltily. “If Biff needs time to heal, we’ll stick around, of course.”

  Rhonda opened a cabinet next to the bed and pulled out several rolls of surgical tape. She laid the tape next to Biff and began wrapping it around his leg. Biff’s face contorted with pain, but he remained silent.

  “So,” Chet asked. “How did you become a nurse?”

  Rhonda pulled another layer of tape around Biff’s leg with a twist of her arm. “In Vietnam,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Biff’s eye’s fluttered open, despite his pained expression. “Vietnam? You were in ’Nam?”

  “Yeah,” Rhonda said. “From ’67 through ’69. I worked at a Mobile Surgical Unit near Da Nang.”

  “Wow!” Chet said. “A MASH unit. Like on that old TV show.”

  “It wasn’t much like TV,” Rhonda said. “It was mostly boring—until they’d bring in a helicopter filled with guys who had been shot full of bullets or who had stepped on land mines. A lot of the soldiers didn’t live to get home. But we did our best to keep them alive.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Joe said, not knowing what else to say.

  “The Vietnam War was fought mostly in jungles, with snipers waiting to shoot you when you didn’t expect it,” Rhonda continued. “I know guys who still can’t sleep because they’re worried that somebody’s hiding around the corner to kill them. They don’t like to remember what happened. A lot of them saw their best friends get killed.”

  “I can’t imagine going through that,” Joe said.

  Rhonda looked up from the bandage that she was wrapping around Biff’s leg. “Be grateful that you don’t have to. I lost some friends over there. Some really close friends.”

  “Did you have a boyfriend over there?�
� Phil asked.

  “A husband,” Rhonda said. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  Silence fell over the room. Finally Biff said, “While I’m here, maybe you can tell me some of what you saw.”

  “Maybe,” Rhonda said. She stood up and walked to the cabinet, where she removed a plaster kit to apply to the bandages she had just wrapped around Biff’s leg.

  A smile creased Rhonda’s face. “I haven’t told my stories in a long time. Maybe it’ll be good—for me, too.”

  “It must be pretty painful to recall some of it,” Frank said.

  “You can’t imagine,” Rhonda said, rubbing plaster over Biff’s bandages. “Nobody can imagine.”

  Frank cleared his throat. “Maybe we should have a look around the town while Rhonda fixes Biff up.”

  “What town?” Chet asked. “I didn’t see anything outside except a few old buildings.”

  “There was that general store across the street,” Joe said. “Sugar’s Shack or something like that.”

  “And we need to find a room at Mrs. Hibley’s, next door,” Phil said.

  “Then let’s go,” Frank said. “You’ll be okay, Biff?”

  Biff smiled gamely as Rhonda slapped plaster onto his leg. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

  “Actually, this really would be a good time for you to get out and take a look around Morgan’s Quarry,” Rhonda said.

  “Okay, everybody,” Frank said. “Let’s clear out.”

  Frank, Joe, Chet, and Phil left the guest room and headed across the living room to the front door. Outside, it was still daylight, though Main Street was deserted.

  The sign that proclaimed Sugaree’s Shack was directly across the street. It looked as though it had been painted many years ago, though the picture of a smiling woman’s face next to the name looked as if it had been done by a talented artist. Beside the crumbling wooden buildings, the sign seemed almost out of place.

  “Let’s take a look over there first,” Frank said. “Then we’ll get a room.”

  Frank pushed open the door to Sugaree’s Shack. Inside was an old-fashioned general store, with unpainted wooden shelves and a large counter in the rear. The shelves were poorly stocked, but a few items of food and a couple of tools were available. Behind the counter, a young woman in her late teens looked up expectantly. She had blond hair that reached to her shoulders and bright eyes. She seemed particularly interested in Frank.