This Rock (13 page)

“Might be,” I said.

“Where is Moody tonight?”

“Don't know,” I said.

“This is Moody's car,” the first deputy said.

“Me and Moody own it together,” I said. “He's my brother.”

“We're going to keep an eye on you,” the first officer said. “Like we keep an eye on Moody and Wheeler and Drayton.” Before I knowed what was happening he kicked my feet out from under me and I fell hard on my knees on the pavement. My ankle hurt like a nail had been drove through the bone.

“You don't want to come back to Gap Creek,” the second deputy said.

“Now get out of here,” the other one said.

• • •

W
HEN
I
REACHED
the gap and turned off under the poplars there, Moody didn't appear until I switched the lights off. Suddenly he was at the window. “Where the hell you been?” he said.

“Been talking to the deputy sheriffs,” I said. “They was looking for you.”

“They didn't find nothing,” Moody said.

“I ought to beat the hound out of you,” I said.

“Is he mad?” Moody said in baby talk. “Is my widdle bwother going to cwy like a baby?”

“What if I'd been arrested?” I said.

“Be good for your preaching career,” Moody said. “Lots of preachers have been to jail.”

We loaded the cans in the backseat and waited for a big truck to groan and grumble up the mountain, gearing down for the worst grades and then gearing up again. The truck seemed to take forever to reach the gap and pass, but it finally did and we watched the tail-lights as it started down the other side.

“Now where?” I said.

Moody took a drink from a bottle he had in his pocket. “Go where I tell you,” he said.

“Where are you telling me?” I said.

“I'll tell you when you need to know,” he said.

“Do I go north, boss?” I said.

“No, we're going to take it back to South Carolina, you fool,” Moody said.

I pulled onto the highway and started up the long grade toward the Green River valley. The Model T rode smooth and low with the load in the back. I figured Moody was taking the cans up to Cedar Springs to unload somewhere near Wheeler's house. Or maybe up on Mount Olivet, closer to where Drayton lived. We was rounding the last curve before you go straight down toward the river when I seen the police car in the driveway of the summer house built by Mr. Leland, the cotton mill big shot from Spartanburg.

“I thought that car turned back,” I said.

“It's the North Carolina sheriff, you idiot,” Moody said.

The patrol car turned on its flashing lights just as we went around the bend.

“Faster,” Moody hollered.

“Now what?” I said as the police car got closer and turned on its siren.

“Step on it!” Moody hollered.

“This thing won't outrun the police,” I said. I seen the South Carolina deputies had called the Tompkins County sheriff. I felt like I'd been hit in the belly by the end of a two-by-four. The little motor of the Model T
tut-tut-tutt
ed but wouldn't go any faster. I double-clutched and shifted down to second. The road ahead looked steeper than a roof, and in the headlights it stretched out longer and longer.

“When you get to the top you can go faster,” Moody said.

“We'll never get to the top,” I said. The police car was getting closer and closer. I seen it was a Dodge and could outrun us any day. With its red lights flashing it looked like a dragon blowing fire. I pushed the gas pedal to the floor, but it didn't do no good. I wished I was dead. I wished I was home in bed. I wished I had ignored Moody when he come back drunk and humble.

“Faster!” Moody shouted.

“Why don't you get out and push,” I said.

I stomped down on the pedal again, wishing I could pedal the car like a bicycle. A sour brash belched up into my throat.

“When you get to the top, turn onto the logging road,” Moody said.

“That don't go nowhere but in the woods,” I said.

“It goes to Terry Creek,” Moody said.

“What if they shoot out our tires?” I said.

“Won't make no difference on that road,” Moody said.

When we finally got to the top of the grade the Dodge was closer than a hundred feet. As it got nearer, a spotlight played over the Model T. The police car got so close its flashing lights seemed to be inside our car. I thought they was going to ram our back bumper. But suddenly the car whipped around and come alongside us. I seen a deputy in the passenger seat holding a pistol and pointing toward the shoulder, ordering me to stop. The police car pressed up against our car, not more than a foot away. The powerful Dodge made the Model T look like a buggy.

“Now what, big brother?” I yelled. There was no way I could turn
off on the haul road with the patrol car on my left. The dirt road was only a few hundred yards ahead. If I was arrested with all the liquor in the backseat, I'd be sent to the pen in Atlanta same as if I'd been bootlegging for years. Wouldn't make any difference that I'd never done it before.

“You're so smart, tell me!” I hollered at Moody. He set like he was in a daze and he didn't know what to say.

The sheriff's car was easing ahead, and I seen what they was going to do. They was going to cut us off and force me to stop. I hit the brakes and the police car sailed on past. When we come to a stop I seen what looked like the logging road to the left.

“That's it!” Moody hollered. “Turn!”

The patrol car screeched to a stop a hundred yards ahead, but I didn't wait for it to turn around. I whipped the wheel to the left and run one tire in the ditch and hit a sumac bush. But it was the haul road all right, narrow and growed up with briars. Limbs reached out across the ruts and I shifted down to low.

“Don't slow down!” Moody hollered.

“You want to run through a tree?” I said.

The road was just a faint parting of the brush in places. It turned quick around stumps and rocks. In the yellow headlights it was hard to pick out the routes. Limbs brushed against the windshield and scratched the sides of the Model T. I drove fast as I could, and the car bucked over rocks and potholes like a wild horse. I got banged so hard my foot flew off the pedal several times. I was shook so bad I couldn't see nothing in the mirror.

“Do you see them?” I said to Moody.

He turned around and looked back. “Don't see a thing,” he said.

“I ever get out of this I'll never do anything you say again,” I said.

“And you'll say your prayers three times a day and read your Bible and kiss Mama good night,” Moody said.

The road run across a branch, and water splashed out in feathers on both sides of the car. I thought we must be close to where the logging road run into Terry Creek. The Johnson boys had logged off these woods and the Lewis place three or four years before, and there was rotting logs and stumps and scrub all along the road.

I don't know who seen it first, but there was a glimmer in the rearview mirror just as Moody screamed, “Shit!” The sheriff's car was a good ways behind but still following. I was hoping they'd give up on the logging road. Through all the brush and scrub I could see their lights flashing.

“Damn!” Moody hollered and pounded the dashboard.

“Any new ideas?” I said.

“When you get to the road, turn the lights off,” Moody said.

“I can't see where to drive,” I said.

“Ain't no other way,” Moody said. “Unless you have some wonderful inspiration.”

I couldn't tell how far behind the police car really was. It might be half a mile, or it might be a few hundred yards. The lights bounced in and out of sight like they was tossed on waves. The lights turned this way and that way.

“Thing is,” Moody said, “don't go near our house, or Wheeler's house.”

“I'm not worried about Wheeler,” I said.

“If they arrest Wheeler he'll lead them to us,” Moody said. “Or his mama will.”

For once Moody was thinking clear. Whatever happened, I wanted to stay away from the Green River Road. I never wanted Mama to see me driving a load of corn liquor and running away from the police. And I didn't want Annie, or nobody else, to see me either.

When I finally got to the Terry Creek Road I switched the lights off and turned right. If I could get to the Bobs Creek Road I could head over to Cedar Springs and maybe get from there to Mount Olivet. Or I could lose the police somewhere on the little winding road up to Pinnacle. On the rough narrow roads they couldn't go much faster than we could.

At first I couldn't see a thing in the dark in front of me. It was just a wall of black. I slowed down and eased forward.

“Don't hit the brakes,” Moody said.

“I thought of that,” I said.

It was like picking out shadows in a deep murky pool. I knowed where the road was but I really couldn't see a thing. It would take a
while for me to get my night eyes again. I let the car slow down on its own. A brake light would give us away for sure.

Just as I was beginning to see the gray fringe of the road a little bit, the flashing lights come into view behind. Would they follow us or turn south? I reckon I was holding my breath. My hands was stuck to the steering wheel with sweat. The lights stopped behind me and then disappeared. I started to breathe again. And then all the headlights and flashing lights come into view. They had just gone behind a clump of trees.

“Shit!” Moody screamed and pounded the dashboard again.

“What's your next idea?” I said. I seen I was going to have to think of something quick. Moody was not able to help me. I heard a door open and a breath of cool air washed into the car. I turned to see what had happened. Moody had jumped out of the car while it was rolling slow.

“Hey!” I hollered, but Moody had leapt over the bank and disappeared into the dark.

Now you're really on your own, I said to myself. You have twenty gallons of blockade liquor in the back, and you're driving a car registered in your name as well as Moody's. If you jump out and leave the car, they'll still find you. They'll come to the house and arrest you. I didn't have no choice but to keep going. And I didn't have no choice but to turn the lights on again and drive as fast as I could.

But as the road lit up ahead and the lights shot forward into the night, I had an idea. It probably wouldn't work, but at least it was an idea. I had to stay far enough ahead of the sheriff's Dodge so they couldn't shoot my tires out. And I had to stay far enough ahead so they couldn't see when I turned my lights off again. There might be time for me to get all the way to Mount Olivet.

I drove so fast the Model T leaned on curves and the cans of liquor shifted and rung against each other. I hit rocks and bumps and potholes that sent the car off the ground. I had to stay a good ways ahead of the police. I run up on the bank in one curve below the Shipman place and almost tipped over. And I run out into the edge of Stanley James's field before I found the road again. But I held on like I was on a bucking sled going down a mountainside. I had to make it
to where Bobs Creek crossed the road before the patrol car caught up with me. I was thrilled more than I expected to be. I had to beat those cops.

Where the road forded the creek it was shallow, with a rocky bottom. I had crossed there before, I'd waded the creek fishing for trout, and I'd trapped the upper reaches of the creek. I knowed the bottom was mostly bedrock for a quarter of a mile before the first shoals at the foot of the mountain. Soon as I splashed into the ford I switched off my lights, stopped, and turned right.

You damn fool, I thought as the Model T reared up on one side and dropped on the other. The logging road had been a smooth highway compared to the creek bed. The tires jarred on shelves and dipped and banged on separate rocks and over logs. You can't do this, I thought, and pushed the gas harder.

The cans in the backseat leaned and banged against each other. If there had been room they would have tipped over. The car's front end heaved over a lip of rock and then dropped with a splash. If I hit deep mud or quicksand I was finished. The little car shivered and the engine coughed. I let it roll to a stop and waited to see if the patrol car went past.

I figured the ford was maybe a hundred and fifty feet behind me. If the deputies stopped and shined their spotlight down the creek, they could see me. In the dark I didn't dare go any farther. If I hit a really big rock I'd break an axle or the engine block.

I waited for the flashing lights to appear. Had the police turned back? Had they turned out their lights and was they looking for me on the creek bank? I waited and waited so long I had to let my breath out and breathe again. Finally the flashing lights appeared and descended into the ford. The car seemed to stop there. I ducked down my head like they could see me. But when I looked up again the lights was climbing up the other side, and then they went behind the trees. I rolled down the window and listened. The roar of the siren got lower and lower, and then all I could hear was the mumbling and humming of the creek.

Jumping out of the car, I stepped into the creek. The cold water come up to my sore ankle and made it ache. But I didn't have time to
worry about my sore foot or favor it. Flinging open the back door, I grabbed one of the cans. There was hazelnut bushes all along the creek, and I backed into the brush and felt my way to a little opening where I put the can down. Splashing through the cold creek, I got the other three into the brush. There was briars and thorns there too and I got raked and cut on my arms and legs.

But what a relief to be rid of the liquor. Without the jugs in the car I didn't even care if the cops stopped me. I backed the Model T up the creek slow as I could without stalling. Every jolt of the car hurt my foot and ankle. Every time a tire dipped into a pool I thought I was stuck. I had to open the door several times and look back to see where I was going. The rearview mirror was useless in the dark.