by Chris Bostic
The clearing showed no immediate signs of previous inhabitants. Nothing but long grass covered a space maybe as big as the dirt area at my old t-ball field. Off to the left, the forest’s understory was cleared out like it’d been grazed by cattle. Tall trees held up a leafy roof over open woods.
A few wooden picnic tables were scattered among the tree trunks, indicating places where campers would have pitched their tents after a hard day hiking the trail. But Mom was nowhere to be seen.
I spotted a small, rickety wooden building well off to the side, about halfway back into the campsite.
“You check that out?” I asked Austin.
“The toilets?”
I nodded, convinced no stone should go unturned. Austin was less than convinced.
“No…gross.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Dad said. “Probably hasn’t been used in a while.”
I doubted that, but Maddie spoke first.
“It’s still a smelly pit toilet,” she said. “Mom wouldn’t be in there.”
She might have been right. As tough as Mom was, she wasn’t a fan of using shabbily-covered crap holes dug into the ground, just like the rest of us. Hold your nose and hover was my usual technique, along with taking as little time as possible.
But we had to look somewhere. “We should still check it out,” I said.
“Fine,” Austin agreed. Dad ended up being the one to go for a look. “Tell us what you find, Pops.”
“Babies,” Dad shot back over his shoulder. “It’s not that bad.”
We followed him across the campsite. I noted there definitely were clues that people had been there. Probably recently. Bits of papery trash were strewn about, and grass was matted next to the picnic tables where tents had been placed. Blackened coals were still evident in the fire pits. It was hard to say how long, but I was sure at least a couple groups of campers had been there within the last week or two. That was enough to set me on edge, but not enough to convince me to check the crapper.
The door banged shut on the outhouse, and Dad re-emerged. “No one in there.”
He picked the duffel bag off the ground and hoisted it over his shoulder. I reminded myself to thank him for not bringing our food inside.
“And…” Austin asked, leading.
“It’s got a bit of an odor,” Dad said. “I wouldn’t hide in there either.”
“Obviously,” Maddie agreed.
“Who said she’s hiding?” I said, picking up on the odd way Dad mentioned that. He surely didn’t mean it that way. Knowing Mom, she was probably off scouting around, though it was strange she hadn’t come back to get the rest of us first.
We walked away from the outhouse without anyone taking charge. We just knew better than to stand too close to it, especially if the wind changed direction.
Austin froze and pointed to the woods. I followed his finger to a dark shape slipping between the trees beyond the farthest campsite.
“Mom?” Maddie called, and I wanted to clamp a hand over her mouth.
“Shut up,” Austin hissed. He slunk to the nearest picnic table to somehow try to hide behind it. He couldn’t have been any more obvious.
“Seriously, dude?” I said, and quickly turned away from him to glue my eyes on the woods.
The shape materialized into a woman of average height and athletic build. Not imposing, but our mother obviously bore no resemblance to Big Foot.
“What are you guys doing here?” she said, while holding something in the front of her shirt, which she pulled up to look like a kangaroo’s pouch.
Rather than spread his arms wide for a hug, Dad kept his shoulder turned toward her, hands on hips. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I was looking for a water spigot. Don’t they sometimes have those back in the woods?”
“Not at the remote sites,” Dad replied, softening his tone. “You’re totally on your own out here.”
“Other than the crapper,” Austin added with a grin.
“Well…yeah.” Dad turned back to Mom and gestured toward her turned-up shirt. “So, nothing too exciting?”
“I found some berries.” She stopped at Austin’s hiding spot to deposit a pile of blackberries on the table. “They’re not quite ripe, but better than nothing.”
“That’s all?” Maddie complained. “I hate the seeds.”
“Sucks to be you.” Austin pushed her out of the way to grab a handful. “More for us.”
“Kids, there’s plenty to go around.” Mom popped one in her mouth, and offered a couple to Maddie despite her whining. “Trust me, the thorns are way worse than a few seeds.”
She took them reluctantly. “I just hate when they get stuck in your teeth.”
I was with her on that, but I would’ve suffered through worse for something other than granola or dried fruit. Though it was nerve-wracking wondering about where Mom had been, I couldn’t blame her for detouring to pick the berries. Even though they tasted sour, I was glad she’d found enough for all of us, as was my stomach.
“There’s plenty more back there,” Mom said, gesturing to the woods. “I was gonna get you guys to help, but figured you could use a little rest.”
Through a mouthful of berries, Dad mumbled, “Thanks.”
“No water though,” Mom said as she got in Dad’s duffel bag to pass around the jug. “Looks like this is all there is until we find a stream.”
“Or the other group,” Dad added.
“Right, Harold.” She beamed at him, and popped the last of the berries in her mouth.
I swished the water through my teeth to dislodge a few of the pesky seeds, though I imagined several were still stuck tight.
“A little over a mile to go,” Dad said as he unfolded the map. “It looks like Twenty is kinda close to a stream.” He pointed to the blue line to the east of the campsite.
“Then finish it,” Mom said to Austin, who tipped the jug back and swallowed the rest. “It’s less weight to carry.”
He harrumphed and handed the empty jug back to Dad. With one final look around, we trudged back to the trail at the entry to the campsite and headed off to the north.
The mountain ridge paralleled us from up high, not that we needed to use it for a reference. But it was still reassuring to know we were headed relatively flat through the valley. Or so I thought.
Several hundred yards past Nineteen, the trail started into a sharp incline. Sweat poured off me again before we’d gone very far, and I could hear the labored breathing of our whole family—except for maybe Mom.
“It’s like we’re climbing the mountain,” Austin complained.
“We kinda are,” Dad explained, as he gestured toward the top of the hill. “We’ll hit the cutoff for the Curry Mountain Trail up top. At least it’s almost all downhill to Twenty after that.”
“You didn’t…mention that…before,” Maddie said between gasps for air.
“It’s not far, hon,” Mom said. I noticed even her strides were becoming shorter.
It was definitely harder than the first part of the trail. I preferred the earlier stair-climbing of the rocky stream to the grassy incline with the sun beating down. But I had no choice in the matter. So I tried to block out the sounds around, even though it probably wasn’t the safest thing to do.
I transformed into a hiking robot. I took deep breaths and short steps and spent most of my time staring at the ground rather than the hill up ahead. It worked.
Dad came to a stop in the path and pointed off to the left at a wooden sign no bigger than a mailbox. “There’s the Curry Mountain Trail.”
“Yep, that’s what the sign says,” Austin replied, drawing a sharp look from Mom.
“We keep going on Meigs?” Maddie asked. She dropped to her knees while the rest of us hunched over but remained standing.
“Yeah, downhill,” Mom said. She walked on ahead of us to where the trail started to sharply descend. “This would be an awesome ski run.”
“I wish,” I sa
id. The idea of getting on a snowboard, or even a sled, sounded great. A little cold winter air sounded even better at the moment, although I knew if we were still out there come wintertime, snowy fun wouldn’t be the first thing on the agenda.
With barely a change of clothes, and summer clothes at that, I didn‘t see how we could spend more than a few months in the woods. I’d freeze during those cool October nights, if I could even make it that long.
I wasn’t one to worry about having the latest fashions, but it was hard coming to grips with the idea that all my heavier clothes were back at the house—and there would be nowhere to go shopping. Mom hadn’t said anything about packing long sleeves and hoodies, and she sure couldn’t knit us a new pair.
“I don’t have any clothes to stay the winter,” I blurted out.
“I know.” Mom’s lips pressed into a thin line. “None of us do anymore.”
“Anymore?”
“I said to pack everything you had. That meant winter clothes too.”
“Seriously? That’s not what I heard.” I looked at Austin and Maddie. She shrugged, looking as confused as ever.
My smart-alecky brother gave me his usual reply. “Well, duh.” He laughed under his breath. “You should’ve known this wasn’t a picnic.”
“She said vacation,” I fired back, and looked at Mom.
“Sorry,” she said softly. “We didn’t want to worry you, but…”
“It was wrong of us,” Dad said. “I’m very sorry.”
“Sorry?” I replied, but managed to choke back any further accusations.
A downcast Mom continued to explain, which was nice for a change. “Obviously we hoped it wouldn’t come to this, hon. We felt like there was a chance it wouldn’t end up dragging on too long out here. We wanted it to be a false alarm, so badly…”
“Or least be able to get back home sooner.” Dad looked to the sky before settling his eyes on mine. “I guess deep down we knew better.”
“Apparently,” I said, and surprised myself to find I’d moved over closer to Maddie, leaving a wide gap between us and our parents. “You guys wanted to plant a garden.”
“It would’ve been done by the first frost,” Mom said. “That’s still not winter.”
“That’s not important,” Dad interjected. “What it boils down to is, the visits from the Feds, the roadblocks, and all that was nothing new. But martial law, travel permits, the killing of peaceful protestors…that was the last straw for me. We had to take what little freedom we had left and do something.”
“Run away?” I said.
“Not exactly,” Dad replied.
“It’s more like a tactical retreat,” Mom added. “Regrouping, and doing what we can.”
I wiped the sweat from the brow as I tried to digest their words. Something important still appeared to be missing.
“So regrouping is hiding behind the church, and maybe meeting up with other groups?” I finally asked.
“I’ll explain more later, I promise,” Mom replied.
A flicker of anger rippled through me. Before I could say something I might regret, Maddie stepped up and boldly said, “No, Mom. We want to know now.”
Our mother traded a look with Dad. He shrugged and said, “I guess they have the right to know.”
“Fine.” Mom sank to a knee in the shade of the big trees and encouraged us to do the same. “Best as I could tell from the forums, there are several groups of folks out here, or at least on the way out here to meet up. Likeminded people like us who are sick of what’s going on in this country.”
“We’re not all here to hide,” Dad added. “Some of us are ready to do something about all this.”
“Like fight back?” I asked tentatively.
“If it comes to that,” Mom said. “We hope not, but you saw what happened to Marisol and Big Dave at the church. It might be our only option.”
My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into my palms. I sucked in a breath and listened as calmly as I could while Dad explained further.
“The idea is that people all over the country will rise up. It’s not just us. Someone strong will take the lead, I know it. People will rally around them, and we can finally remove this scourge from our country.”
I nodded numbly. In a matter of moments, we’d gone from simply hiding in the woods to potentially organizing some kind of resistance. It was too much to process.
My parents continued talking, mostly to Maddie to try to calm her down. I ended up tuning them out. Next thing I knew, I was standing on the trail ready to move out again.
The collar of my shirt was wetter than a washrag. I wiped the sweat from my brow again, and was about to ask Dad for the water jug when I realized it was empty.
“Let’s go,” Mom said as if we were burning daylight.
The only thing burning was my calf muscles. They throbbed from the climb, and I knew they’d be on fire once we headed downhill. As long as the cramps stayed away, I’d survive. Or so I hoped.
It was even steeper going down the mountain, and I could see where Mom got the idea of a ski run. It would’ve been wickedly fast. So fast I had to be careful with my footsteps while we hiked. It felt like I’d tumble all the way to the bottom of the hill if I slipped on a rock. The only benefit to the treacherous path was how it helped keep my mind off their recent revelations.
It was almost a surprise when we reached the valley below, quickly. I hadn’t taken my eyes off the ground in front of me all the way down, and finally looked up to see another incline in the distance.
“I thought it was all downhill,” I said.
“Oh, silly,” Mom said. “Nothing’s flat out here.”
Dad stopped to check the map one last time. “The hill’s not that big.”
“Not that big,” I scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
“Just come on,” Mom said. “We’re too close to quit now.”
“That’s right,” Dad added. “Twenty is up at the top…half-mile or less.”
As we headed up a gentle incline, I finally understood where Mom’s ridiculous statement about making a mountain out of a molehill came from. I barely had the energy to walk on flat ground. Any type of climb was sapping my strength like air leaking from a tire. I was already clumping along, wobbly and out of balance. It wasn’t pretty.
When we neared the top, we came to a stop along the side of the trail. Mom stepped back into the woods and motioned for us to follow her.
“Are we waiting here again?” Austin asked, and Mom nodded an exhausted reply. “I want to come with you.”
I’d have rather stayed and tried to get in another nap, but I really didn’t want her running off ahead on her own again. I was sure as soon as she caught her breath she’d tell Austin to wait with us.
“I’m coming too,” I volunteered, not wanting to be split up again. “We should all go.”
Mom allowed me to come along, but said, “Your dad can stay with Maddie.”
He looked like he was about to object, but when he pinched his mouth shut I didn’t push the issue.
I glanced at my sister. Her normally straight hair hung in sweaty clumps, matted to the side of her face. Overly red cheeks coupled with a mouth that sucked in air like a fish out of water. Inwardly, I agreed that it might be best to leave her behind for a minute.
“C’mon,” Mom said, waving at Austin and me. “Let’s go.”
We set off through the woods, keeping parallel to the trail. The breeze decided to quit, so we continued broiling even though we were out of the direct sunlight. I listened for any sound of noise from the camp again, but all was quiet other than our boots shuffling.
A sharp metallic clacking appeared out of nowhere, loud as a fire alarm. We froze as the slide loaded a shell into a shotgun. A menacing voice barked.
CHAPTER 28
“Hold it right there!” the man growled.
“Oh, crap,” Mom whispered under her breath. She held up an arm for us to stop, but I wasn’t going anywhere. Austin
stayed put too.
A thickly-bearded man in a camouflage shirt and dark pants stepped from behind a tree. His shotgun was leveled at Mom. Though my knees trembled, I stepped alongside her with hands up, palms facing out.
“We mean no harm,” Mom said as the gun slowly shifted from side to side as if it was remembering where all three of us stood.
“What’re y’all doin’ up here?” he asked sharply. His eyes narrowed to a squint, giving a rattlesnake appearance—even more so since he was coiled up and ready to strike. Images of Hatfields and McCoys ran through my mind, and none of them ended with anything other than a shootout. Only problem was we weren’t armed.
“Looking for Spotted Fawn,” Mom said, and I expected him to call us out for lying or wonder why we were out looking for deer.
Instead, he lowered the weapon and offered a toothy grin. All of his teeth were in place, assuaging any concerns he might’ve been a toothless mountain man.
“Is that right?” he said, changing from a grin to a smirk. “And what’s that exactly?”
“My friend,” Mom said tentatively.
“You don’t-”
“I have no idea what her real name is.”
“Very good,” the man said, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently, Mom passed the test. “Come with me.”
“Is she-”
He held up a finger to shush her. “You’ll see.”
We fell in behind him and weaved single file through the woods. The man whistled like a bird as he slowed, and a similar sounding whistle floated back to us.
A head popped out from behind a tree. The new man looked us over and nodded in a semi-friendly manner. We walked past without speaking, my pulse racing. I didn’t exactly feel like a captive. We were unbound, yet I was ready to run at a moment’s notice. Then again, I had no idea how many sentries they had posted out in the woods. Surely more than one.
Anxiety built to the boiling point when the woods opened up in front of us. Darkly colored shadows milled among the campsites beyond the closest picnic table. Humps rose from the forest floor, covered with leaves to look like bushes.
At the edge of the clearing, the man whistled again and waved to a pair of adults talking next to a picnic table. They each held up a hand to acknowledge us, but didn’t bother to turn around. While they continued talking, I noticed the top of the table was bare, but the underneath was crammed full of cardboard boxes.