The End of the Trail (2 page)

“Oh, yeah,” Joe said. “It was
your
idea. Remind me to put a snake in your sleeping bag tonight.”

Chet stuffed three sardines into his mouth at once. “I wonder what a
snake would taste like?” he said, gazing at his empty plate as though he expected
to find more sardines on it.

“Probably like chicken,” Frank said.

“We have chicken?” Chet said, too busy swallowing to catch
every word Frank said. “Have you been holding out on me?”

Frank rolled his eyes. “No, we don't have chicken. Or
chalupas. Or quarter-pound burgers. Or Starvin' Guy microwave dinners. Or any of
the other things you've been asking for all week.”

“Boy, I wish we had a microwave,” Chet said. “And
something to put in it.”

Joe polished off his last sardine and leaned back on his elbows.
“So, Phil, to get us going tell us one more time why the Appalachian Trail is so
cool.”

Phil Cohen's face brightened. He loved sharing his vast knowledge.
“There are so many reasons,” he said excitedly.

“Which you've told us two hundred times, at least,” Chet
said under his breath.

“The Appalachian Trail stretches from Georgia to Maine,” Phil
continued.

“So does Route 95,” Joe said. “And it starts in
Florida.”

“The Appalachian Trail follows the crest of the Appalachian
Mountains,” Phil continued.

“Which must be why my legs are so sore,” Frank said.

“There are more than forty thousand different species of insects
along the trail,” Phil said.

Biff picked at a sardine. “I think this is
one,” he said, holding up a finger with a black dot on it.

“Ewwwww,” Chet said. “You mean there are insects on our
food?”

“Don't worry, Chet,” Frank said. “Insects are
protein, like hot dogs.”

“Really?” Chet asked.

“Yeah,” Joe said. “We'll have Aunt Gertrude bake
us a cockroach casserole when we get home.”

“And finally,” Phil said, slightly annoyed at the
interruption, “the Appalachian Trail is something that everybody should
experience. The American wilderness is vanishing rapidly, and we're lucky that we
still have a chance to explore it.”

“Let's have a big round of ‘America the
Beautiful,'” Frank said. “‘O beautiful for spacious skies . .
.'”

“Can't we sing something a little newer?” Biff
asked.

“Do you know any other songs about ‘purple mountain
majesties'?” Frank asked. He waved at the view behind the group. Just
visible through the trees was another mountain range, grayish blue in the morning sun.
“We've got our own purple mountain majesties. Looks pretty good.”

“I want a better look,” Biff said, springing to his feet.
“I'm going to climb Joe's tree.”

“We have to get moving soon,” Frank said. “We've
got a schedule to keep.” He was too late. Biff was on
his way
to the tree Joe had been hanging from just minutes earlier.

Frank polished off a cracker and washed it down with a swig from his
canteen. “Well, looks like it's time to hit the road again.”

“So soon?” Chet said. “Hey, how about a second helping
of sardines?”

“If we take a second helping,” Joe said, rising from his
sitting position and stretching his arms, “we'll be out of food before we
get to the end of the trail.”

“Hey!” said a voice from far above. “You really can see
water of some sort from here.”

All heads turned to see Biff hanging from Joe's tree limb.

“Okay, Biff,” Frank said. “Come on down. We've got
some hiking to do.”

“I'll be down in a minute,” Biff said. “Great view
up here. If I move a little farther out on the limb, I might be able to see all the way
back to Bayport.”

“That's highly unlikely,” Phil replied.
“Bayport's too far over the horizon. Maybe you could see all the way
to—”

A loud snapping sound interrupted Phil. Biff had shinnied out to the far
end of the tree branch, his legs and arms wrapped around it.

Stunned, they all watched as the branch split in two and Biff plummeted
twenty feet to the ground!

“Biff!” Joe cried, rushing forward. But he was too late. Biff hit the ground with his knees and crumpled into a heap.

Frank ran up to where his friend lay. Biff wasn't moving. He seemed to be unconscious.

“He's hurt,” Frank said. “Let's check him out, Joe.”

Joe crouched next to Biff and gently lifted his wrist, placing his thumb on Biff's pulse.

Biff moaned. “Hey, what're you doing? Let go of my hand.”

“Glad to see you're alive,” Frank said.

“Yeah, I'm alive,” Biff said. “Why shouldn't I be? The last thing I remember was ... I was looking at a great view. What happened?”

“You fell out of the tree,” Chet told him.

“No wonder I feel so awful,” Biff said, putting a hand on his head. “How did I get this headache?”

“Could be a concussion,” Frank said. “We'd better get you to a hospital.”

Joe leaned over and stared deeply into Biff's eyes.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Biff said. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I'm checking your eyes to see if you have a concussion, Biff,” Joe said. “Your pupils are the same size and don't appear to be dilated. I think you're okay.”

“Hey, I'm terrific,” Biff said. “I work out every day. A little fall out of a tree isn't going to hurt me.”

“That wasn't exactly a
little
fall,” Joe said. “You fell twenty feet. You could have been killed.”

“I'm made of iron,” Biff said. “Just give me a hand to help me stand up.”

“If you're made out of iron,” Frank said, “how come you need help standing up?”

Frank held out his hand. Biff grabbed it and began pulling himself up. Suddenly he screamed in pain and fell back.

“Yow!” Biff exclaimed. “I think I broke my leg.”

“Oh, great,” Joe said. “You're injured and we're out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Does this mean I can have his sardines?” Chet asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“No,” Frank said firmly. “It means Biff will probably get
your
sardines. And we have got to get Biff to a doctor—fast.”

“A doctor?” Joe asked. “Then we'll need to locate the nearest town.”

Phil grabbed his backpack and opened a flap. “I've got the map right here. We'll find a town and carry Biff there.”

“Carry Biff?” Chet said jokingly. “How much do you weigh, Biff?”

“Never mind that,” Joe said. “We'll carry him together. We can make a travois out of some tree branches and those bungie cords we brought with us.”

“A travois?” Chet asked.

“It's kind of a like a stretcher,” Frank said. “Native Americans used them for transporting food.”

“Here it is,” Phil said, stabbing a finger at the map. “There's a town called Morgan's Quarry that can't be too far from here. I'd say it's about ten miles away.”

“Ten miles?” Frank said. “We won't get there until afternoon.”

“Well,” Phil said, “the second nearest town is Brighton, which is about seventy-five miles away.”

“On second thought,” Frank said, “maybe Morgan's Quarry isn't so far away after all. How do we get there?”

“There's a side path about two or three miles
from here,” Phil said. “We head straight down it and we'll end up on the east edge of Morgan's Quarry.”

“Okay,” Frank said. “Let's make that travois and get moving.”

Biff made a sour face, but it was clear that he wasn't going to be walking for a while. Joe and Chet gathered branches while Phil and Frank pulled the cords from their backpacks. First they placed two bundles of branches side by side and laced the cords between them, strapping them tightly to the branches at both ends. Then Frank and Joe grabbed Biff by the shoulders and midsection and laid him on top of the contraption.

“Hey, guys, take it easy,” Biff complained. “You aren't carrying food on this thing!”

“Be careful with his leg,” Frank told Joe. “It might hurt when we set it down.”

“Cool,” Joe said. “Maybe we can break a few extra bones for good measure.”

“Very funny,” Biff said, but he lay still as the two brothers gently made him comfortable on the makeshift stretcher.

“Done,” Frank said. “Now let's drag and carry him to, um ...”

“Morgan's Quarry,” Phil answered.

“Yeah, that's the place,” Frank said. He lifted one pole of the travois, and Joe took the other. Together they would pull Biff on the travois while Chet and
Phil walked beside it to protect Biff from branches and rocks. Chet and Phil would take the second shift at pulling.

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.”