Smoky Mountain Mystery 01 - Out on a Limb (29 page)

Leon
stepped out of the trees and onto the narrow rut.

Henry turned the motorcycle around and backtracked to where
Leon
was standing, soaked to the skin and out of breath. It was the entrance to a narrow path that would take him down to the road near
Hamilton
’s. Henry smiled to himself, not sure of
Leon
was real or if he was letting his imagination get away with him. But he had a head injury after all and could be forgiven for seeing things.

Leon
hopped on behind Henry and five minutes later, Henry turned off the engine and dropped the motorcycle in the trail, for fear of the noise giving him away. He explained his fears to
Leon
and they ran to the edge of the woods and stopped just before they might be seen. They might need stealth to make it the rest of the way to the store.

The two men presented a terrifying appearance. Henry’s head and face were covered in blood from the gashes caused by the hiking staff and the stone hearth. His clothes were ripped and he was bleeding from his forehead to his ankles from dozens of superficial scratches and scrapes caused by branches and briars during his ride through the woods.
Leon
’s clothes and hair were plastered to him and he was covered with mud and bits of leaves. In short, they looked like hell.

They felt like it too.

The
Hamilton
’s Store building was so
old,
the inner structure was made of massive chestnut logs. A couple of generations after the original trading post was built, after the park was established and life got a little easier, the logs were covered on the outside with clapboards to make the place look more refined. But the building had survived over a hundred years of storms, so everyone taking shelter inside the store was as safe as they could be.

Phoebe watched as Jill worked by lantern light, piecing a long coat from swatches of cashmere.

“This fabric is really nice,” said Phoebe. “It looks brand new. I can’t believe people sent sweaters like this to Goodwill.”

“They didn’t. Somebody left a box of
em
on the front porch
a
coupla
days
ago.”

Phoebe looked up at Jill, smiling.
“
Gotta
be one of the three Robin Hoodlums.
Those rascals do all sorts of good deeds, but they won’t do it unless they can figure a way of
doin
somethin
illegal at the same time.”

“Wonder who they stole the sweaters from?”

“No
tellin
,” said Phoebe.

“Well, the rest of the rich people’s sweaters are safe tonight. No one’s
goin
anywhere in this storm.”

The women laughed, not realizing how wrong they were.

Phoebe joked to Jill that the effect of the storm on White Oak was like a game of musical chairs. Wherever you were when the trees starting falling, it was best to sit down and wait.

The bad weather would isolate White Oak from any influences from the outside, either to help or to harm. But it would also prevent anyone who was in White Oak from being able to escape. Phoebe shuddered at the thought. She remembered Nerve’s prediction and hoped if any evil was headed their way it would be held at bay by the storm and not trapped amongst them.

***

Professor Whittington didn’t know how to handle himself in the mountains. For all his outdoor experience studying plants, he was still a city dweller. And, like most of the people who lived among gently rolling hills and flat lands, he had no clue what went on in the mountains during a storm.

He was headed for
Hamilton
’s Store driving his hideously expensive four wheel drive vehicle like a madman. He winced as it jounced to the full limit of its shocks and bottomed out repeatedly on the rutted roads. Although the car had been made for off-road travel, Whittington had no experience driving it in such conditions. The machine had never been subjected to indignities such as driving on a road strewn with tree limbs.

The wind was tossing tree branches across the road horizontally, like trash. They gouged and scraped the car’s glossy paint. But to Whittington, it no longer mattered. Good riddance, he thought. The behemoth got terrible mileage. It was going to be repossessed as soon as the finance company could find it. He was getting desperately low on gas, but hadn’t seen a gas station in nearly an hour.

But then his luck changed and he saw the sign. He didn’t realize
Esso
was still in business, but he wasn’t in any position to be brand sensitive so he pulled in and stopped next to the pumps.

He got out
to put
gas in his car and that’s when he saw the station was closed. He should’ve realized it because the lights were off. He sighed and got back in his car. He hated these people.

***

Lester fired up his chainsaw and set it against the side of a tree trunk. He’d selected this tree because of its size, too big for one man to move, and for its strategic location in the middle of a blind curve on a steep hill. Only a fool or a crazy person would round a curve on a hill, driving fast on a night like this, but, from what he’d heard, that Professor
fellow
was one or the other, maybe both. So this was just the place to teach him a lesson.

The chainsaw roared, the tree cracked and popped, then fell across the road. Its trunk and wide limbs spanned both lanes and made a roadblock twelve feet high. Lester would love to wait and shoot the
eejit
if he came this way, but he knew
that
wasn’t what Doc wanted.

Fate was felling a tree a couple of miles down the road on the other side of
Hamilton
’s. They’d decided this was the easiest way to prevent unwanted visitors without having to stand guard all night. The weather was terrible, so this tactic wouldn’t inconvenience the locals much because they’d stay at home, expecting trees to be down. In a few minutes he and Fate could go to their own houses and get comfortable knowing the store would be well protected tonight.

***

The Professor drove for as long as he could, which was for only couple more minutes. Lester had anticipated events perfectly. Whittington encountered the tree at 45 miles an hour before Lester had even packed his gear to leave. There was more than enough impact to deploy the car’s airbag and knock the heck out of the Professor. Lester laughed. He’d gotten in a good punch by proxy.

Whittington was shaken by the collision, but determined. The impact had killed the motor, so he tried to restart the engine. The powerful beast cranked half-heartedly, but wouldn’t start, so he got out. The wind-driven rain was ferocious. It peppered him like buckshot, stinging his exposed face and hands as he walked around his car, trying to assess the situation.

His
discombobulation
and frustration transmuted into a rage so powerful it broke something in him. He actually felt something snap. Whatever vestiges of humanity had been left in the man
were
there no longer. There was no longer any sense of proportion and no compassion.

He didn’t think the store was very far, so he decided to continue the rest of the way on foot. First though he’d have to find a way around the fallen tree. He’d walked only a few yards away from the wreck when he heard a gunshot. He looked down at himself,
startled,
expecting to see blood erupt from his chest, but there wasn’t any. Then he smelled gas, but before he could connect the dots the Mercedes exploded in a huge fireball.

The explosion picked Whittington up and hurled him into the branches of the felled tree. He hung draped across a limb, bent double, gasping for air. It knocked the breath out of him. He had to concentrate in order to resume normal breathing.

He tried to climb down, but managed only to fall and land on his feet for just long enough to twist an ankle,
then
he hit on his rear end, driving the sharp end of a broken stick at least two inches into the meat of his gluteus
maximus
.

Lester lowered his rifle and watched the Professor’s escalating misfortune with great amusement. This good guy stuff was more fun than he’d realized. He could torment a jerk to his heart’s content and no one would fault him for it. In fact, they’d
thank
him!

Whittington rolled onto his side, reached behind himself, and jerked the stick out of his butt, howling like a banshee at the pain.

***

Whittington stared at the bloody stick in his hand. He tossed it away and staggered about in a daze looking for a way around the wall of debris which now included pieces of his car. His eyes lit on the rifle case
laying
amid broken glass and other shrapnel from the wreckage. The case was scuffed and dented, but intact. He knelt and opened it. The rife was undamaged. He removed the gun and one of the boxes of shells and walked away leaving the flickering, smoking, sizzling mess behind him.

Lester was content to end the show with the big fireworks display, so he bent over to gather up his gear. He glanced up just in time to see Whittington disappear into the woods with a rifle. He stood for a second, staring open-mouthed in disbelief, then he took off running after him. He berated himself for trying to be a good guy. This was why it was better to just go ahead and kill some people.

***

Lester ran toward the gap in the trees where he’d seen the Professor go. He intended to catch him and put one in his head this time. The next thing he knew his feet went out from under him and he was swept through the air through no will of his own. When the motion arrested, found
himself
snared in a tangle of slender nylon-coated cables. It was a bear snare. He’d stumbled into a dad-blasted poacher’s snare.

The impact made Lester drop everything he was carrying and the cables trapped his hands against his torso. He and Fate were both carrying
walkie
talkies on their belts that were illegally-modified for long range use, but the device was just out of his reach. He strained against the metal cables until his hands were bleeding, but there was no way he could reach far enough to toggle the transmit button on the side of the radio.

He hung there in midair, bound, and looked up at the sky. At least the wind and rain had subsided slightly. The storm was moving on.

Gradually, he worked his hand down an inch more until with his middle finger, he was able to touch the squelch button on the top of the
walkie
talkie. He tapped out an S-O-S on it and waited. He hoped somehow Fate would hear it and come looking for him. He’d have to pass
Hamilton
’s on the way, and he’d be extremely suspicious of Whittington, even wandering around on foot, so with any luck he’d intercept the Professor before he did any more harm. Lester smiled at the thought. No one in their right mind would want Fate coming after them.

***

Whittington was bushwhacking his way through the underbrush, hoping he would eventually find the road again. He thought he was going the right way, but it was taking too long. He must’ve gotten turned around.

It was difficult to stay oriented. He was wandering around, dazed by the prospect of exposure for his crimes, the fight with Henry, the car wreck, the explosion, the storm, and the surreal landscape. Things kept getting worse. And the bad things were happening with less and less recovery time in between. He felt hysterical. Then he thought he could make out several black blobs moving toward him in the darkness, converging on him from different directions. He was frightened that they might be bears, so he shot at them.