by Glenn Roug
in a Gatlinburg chalet. This being Fall, there would be almost no one there. I could find an empty cabin in the mountains and break in and stay for a few months, no ID or even paying for it. I read that some people do this every year in the off season. Another person would have come up with a more brilliant plan than that, but having never been on the run limited me to simplistic thinking.
It took me twelve hours to get to Tennessee. I only stopped for gas, and twice entered a small town and drove around and again made unnecessary U-turns just to make sure I was not being followed. The sight of the Smoky Mountains and their giant woods finally instilled a sense of security in me. I went past Gatlinburg and got off the road and into the wood and drove among the trees for as long as I could, away from both the town and the hiking trails. The truck was not made for driving off road and it creaked and protested over the many bumps, and here and there a low-hanging bough would brush against the side and give me a scare as if someone was standing outside knocking for me to let them in. Then I found myself in front of a steep incline up a hill, and the trees became denser and I decided that it was as good a place as any to come to a stop. I must have been over a mile away from any road. It would take them days to find the truck, and even then, so what? No one could link it to me. And the cans of soda in the back would not spoil — the owner could even finish that delivery route I disrupted. I wiped my fingertips off the wheel and the door handle and anywhere else I touched in the cab and the back. I left the key in the ignition and walked away with my plastic shopping bags from the supermarket. There were a dozen of these and I must have looked ridiculous carrying them around with just two hands, stopping every few minutes to fix a torn handle or get a better grip. You don't see fugitives and hobos doing that in the movies. They have one backpack or bindle and they walk around carefree and whistle, and sometimes they have a dog, their best buddy to keep them company. I had ever-tearing plastic bags and a brownish beetle that sat on my sleeve, and I had no idea where I was in the woods or where I needed to go. But I drew comfort from the fact that no one knew where I was now. That was more than enough for me.
It was humid and not too cold. The sound of the cicadas on the trees was deafening, as if someone had turned on a thousand sprinklers all at once. No spot in the wood was free of it, but it was the kind of noise you could tune out if you were tired enough because it was monotonous. I had a sleeping bag in one of the shopping bags. I found a spot between two small hills, not visible from any trail, and slept for the reminder of the evening and the entire night. In the morning I heard a cough. I got up in panic and saw a one-legged, disheveled elderly man with a grey beard standing over me.
He had an old jacket on, and he was chewing gum. Next to him stood a small two-wheeled garden seeder which he dragged behind him, except that instead of seed the seeder carried the man's belongings, topped by an artificial leg. The seeder made no sound as it rolled forward. It must have been well oiled.
"How do you manage to go around in the woods?" I asked, pointing at the artificial leg. I knew it was not a polite way to start a conversation with a complete stranger, but the man did not strike me as someone who would be easily offended. I was still in shock from the events of the previous day, and welcomed any distraction.
"You be surprised how easy it is when you realize you ain't got no choice. Goes for everything in life."
"Why don't you put the artificial leg on?"
"The pegleg only slows me down. Gotta take care it ain't cracking or getting mud on it. Too much trouble. Would'a been different if I was cut below the knee, you see? A pegleg ain't so bad then. But above the knee like me, forget it."
"Then why lug it around in the first place?"
"'cause you don't leave your leg behind, that's why." He sounded a little irascible now. "What's with all the questions, mister?"
"I'm sorry, that's just the way I am: inquisitive and always sweating out the small stuff. I didn't mean anything by it." I got up and reached a hand. "I'm Al."
"Nathaniel," he said. He did not shake my hand. "You here to see black bears?"
"Yes," I lied.
"You won't be none too mobile with these." He pointed at the plastic bags. "No skin off my nose, but I think you ain't gonna get very far that way." He dove into his seeder and fished out a mud-stained backpack. "Here, I'll let you have this for twenty bucks."
I gave him the money and took the backpack. It would reduce the plastic bags to no more than four. I could live with four. I said, "Are you like a salesman, going around the woods looking for tourists?"
"First I walk round and see if I can't find me some junk that some idiots left behind, and then I turn around and sell that to other idiots who ain't got that junk yet."
I laughed. His expression did not change. A bee buzzed over him and his eyes followed it with some concern until it disappeared further down the wood, and then they kept following the course he assumed it took in there. He said, “I hate bees. All damn things do is sting and make honey and I don't appreciate neither.”
He sat down beside me, on the ground. It did not bother him that I did not invite him to join me. As far as he was concerned, the mountains and every inch of ground on them were free for all. "You in trouble," he said.
"No," I denied quickly. "I came a little unprepared, that's all."
"No one goes hiking like this." He pointed at the plastic bags again. "No one goes that deep into the woods with a dozen plastic bags 'less they was in real hurry to get away from someone."
"If you think I'm that dangerous, why did you approach me?"
"I didn't say you was dangerous. You look like someone won't harm a fly. But you also look like you in some kind of trouble. Again no skin off my nose. All I'm trying to say is, if you need somptin' from the outside world, I could bring it to ya."
"I'm not wanted by the law if that's what you mean."
"Ain't my business if you are and ain't my business if you ain't. I won't even ask for your last name. Just to tell you that if you need help, old Nat is your man. That's all."
Maybe I could trust him. I could not trust anyone else, and did not have much choice. He was not one of them, or he would have shot me long ago, in my sleep. You could not get a better opportunity than this, miles away from any witnesses. I said, "I'd ask you for help if I knew what it was that I needed. Someone's after me, yes, but I don't know who and I don't know why. How do you run away from someone you don't know?"
He rubbed his beard. "And you can't go to the cops neither, I take it."
I nodded.
"And you new to being on the run."
I nodded again.
"Maybe I can teach you a thing or two. I been living in hiding darn near my whole life."
"From whom?"
"Charlie."
"Charlie who?"
"The VC. I done gave 'em plenty of reason to hunt me down back in the day."
I read about such people but had never met one before. I wondered if he was armed. "I see."
"Who do you believe you running away from?" he asked, trying again now that he thought he had opened up to me.
"I told you, I don't know."
He waved a hand in acceptance. "You don't have to tell me. It don't bother me none."
"I'm not trying to be evasive; just don't know. They made an attempt on my life and killed sixty six other people, but I have no idea why."
Again the hand wave. "I ain't the type to poke my nose into other people's business. I learned to be happy by not asking questions. You be surprised how far you can go by not asking questions. Besides, you ain't in any need of questions; it's help you need. You welcome to stay with me if it suits you, until things clear up for you."
"Where do you live?"
He swept his arm across the woods.
"You live outdoors?"
He nodded.
"Very nice of you to welcome me to stay where I already am."
He shrugged. "You can stay here and make wise-ass remarks or you can come with me whe
re the rain that's going to be here in an hour's time ain't going to soak ya. Your call."
I went with him. He took us even further away from the road. On the way he told me he had many hiding places around. The one he was going to show me was not one of his best, he said, as it was half-exposed, but it was a good enough cover against the rain, and when he trusted me more he would show me other hideouts so good that Ho Chi Minh himself would step over them and never suspect there was someone underneath. After an hour's walk we arrived at a small cave, which was more of an overhanging rock that allowed a limited crawl space underneath. It was dark and not very deep, but wide enough to accommodate several people. You could sit there but not stand. He helped me get my things in it. He said I should not worry that it would collapse on us — he was worried about the same thing twenty years ago but it had not happened yet. I said I was not worried until he had brought up the subject. I opened one of my shopping bags and offered him a turkey sandwich. It smelled good, especially in the confines of the small space. He declined, saying he did not trust the stuff they put in commercial food nowadays. I nodded in understanding saying I also mistrusted preservatives, but he said it was not that; that it was the countries the ingredients came from, who hated the United States and put God knows what into the stuff. And then, as he was saying this, I saw a gigantic muzzle coming from behind me and snatching the sandwich away. I turned around in alarm and saw a black