The Mountain Read online

  Traber’s hand dropped to his waist and the straw tumbled to the floor. He stood up and took a couple of steps forward. “I didn’t believe it myself when that girl called up sayin’ they was runnin’ drugs outa here, and if I hauled ass up the mountain I’d find out for myself and, hell, I knew his daddy was runnin’ shine, but I thought all Butchie was growin’ was his goddamn trees! Hell, Horse-Trader, the last thing I—”

  “Cut the shit, Traber.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve got a hell of a lot bigger problem than this.”

  Traber wanted to say, ‘What in the Goddamn hell could be a bigger problem than this?’ But he didn’t. He looked Harry in the eye, and said, “What’re you talking about?”

  “Those goddamn Johnsons’ve got my niece, and I need you to help me get her back.”

  “What do you mean, they’ve got her?”

  “I mean they’ve got her up on that mountain of theirs, and if I don’t go up there and get her back—right now—I may never see her again.”

  “Just what in the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m talkin’ about her and Charlie Rodgers was up at Farley’s a few hours ago in that red Camaro I sold him this afternoon, and I just seen Willem Johnson and one of those inbred freak relations of his drivin’ it through the holler.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!”

  “I know what I seen, goddamnit. Now, c’mon, I need your help to get her back.”

  “I ain’t goin’ up no mountain in the middle of the goddamn night.”

  “The way I see it, you ain’t got no choice.”

  “Oh, I’ve got plenty of—”

  “Seeing how I just walked in on our town sheriff snortin’ cocaine in the middle of a goddamn pot factory.”

  “Goddamn it, Harry. That ain’t right. Hell, I don’t even know how to ingest the stuff.”

  “Big-assed sack of weed layin’ in the trunk of your car.”

  “That’s evidence!”

  “Can the shit, Traber. I don’t give a high Holy fuck if you’re snortin’ coke or drinkin’ one. You’re either gonna help me get Tina back or I’m gonna call the state police and let ‘em know what the hell you’ve been up to.”

  Traber crossed his arms over his chest, looked Harry dead in the eye, pursed his lips and shook his head. “You go on and tell whatever tale you want to whoever you wanta tell it to. I come up here on a tip and stumbled across the biggest bust in the history of this here county. Come mornin’, I’ll be a goddamn hero. Climb that mountain in the middle of the night? My ass!”

  Harry jacked the shotgun and leveled it at Traber.

  “Look, old man.”

  A thunderous blast made toothpicks out of the chair the lawman stood beside.

  “God damn, Harry!”

  The snick-snack of another shell being chambered drove a frozen spike through Traber’s heart.

  “Three seconds,” Harry said, his eyes narrowed, his face a sneering mask of hate. “That’s how long you’ve got to get your ass in gear, or listen to your guts paint the wall behind you.”

  Hands held before him, Traber said, “Okay, okay, Harry. Take it easy. I’ll help you, just… take it easy.”

  “C’mon then,” Harry said, and then stepped to the side, nodding at the doorway as Traber walked toward it. When Traber passed by, Harry followed him. Outside, a thick layer of fog blanketed the ground. The moon, which had been so full and bright, was now on the wane, obscured by wispy layers of a slow-moving cloud. Harry’s pickup sat at the edge of the yard, next to the police cruiser’s open trunk.

  Harry’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at the mountain. “The fuck is that?”

  “What?”

  “That,” said Harry, and Traber said, “What the hell?”

  Twin beams of light rose straight into the fog, painting pale white circles upon the sky.

  “You got a shotgun in that cruiser of yours?”

  “Yeah, I got one.”

  “I think you’re gonna need it.”

  Harry followed Traber to his patrol car, to the trunk where the bulging black plastic bag of marijuana lay. Traber leaned inside and shuffled the sack around, grabbed a pump-action shotgun, pulled it out and propped it up against the rear bumper. A worn, black canvas bag and a dark blue nylon windbreaker was in the trunk too. Traber grabbed the jacket and put it on.

  “Harry, are you sure you wanta do this?”

  “I don’t want to. I have to.”

  Traber sighed and zipped open the bag, grabbed a box of shotgun shells and sat it on the fender. Then he was back into the bag, pulling out a couple of speed-loaders and shoving the ammo into his jacket pocket. “Okay, Horse-Trader, lead the way.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “What?”

  “You first. Jump in the passenger’s side and we’ll get going.”

  Traber chuckled as he picked up the shotgun, grabbed the shells off the fender and slammed the trunk shut. On the way to Harry’s truck, he said, “What’dya think that light belongs to?”

  Harry said, “A car, a truck, I don’t know, something. Whatever it is, it’s pointing straight at the sky, and I’d like to know why the fuck it’s doing that.”

  Traber opened the passenger door and slid inside. He propped his shotgun against the seat, staring out through the windshield as Harry pulled his door open. Harry started to climb in, but Traber said, “Hold it a minute.”

  “What?”

  “Look up there.”

  Harry looked up to see a dark figure hauling ass down the mountainside. The cloud drifted away from the moon and Harry saw that it was Charlie Rodgers running haphazardly through the rows of fir trees—arms swinging and legs pumping as if the Devil himself was on his tail.

  Or one of those goddamn Johnsons.

  Down the mountain and onto the road, not slowing down until he was across the narrow wooden bridge, Charlie pulled up breathless in front of Harry’s pickup.

  “Jesus… Jesus, Harry,” he said, as Traber climbed back out of the truck. “They got her, Harry. Those goddamn Johnsons’ve got her.”

  “I’ll be damned,” said Traber. “And here I thought you were losin’ your marbles.”

  “They ain’t just got her. They got Thel Colbert and Brenda Sykes, too!”

  “Goddamnit,” Harry said. “Get in the fucking truck!”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The truck pulled onto the road, and Charlie said, “We were up at the old shack and—”

  “Goddamnit, Charlie. How many times have I—”

  “C’mon, Harry, just let him talk.”

  Harry shifted gears and stomped the gas pedal. Dirt kicked up from the spinning rear tires as the truck roared through the holler. He eased up on the gas, downshifted and hung a right up the old mountain road.

  “I’m sorry, Harry,” Charlie said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Charlie,” Harry told him. “Just tell us what happened.”

  But it wasn’t okay, and if Harry hadn’t needed the kid to get him to his niece, he would’ve pulled the truck over right then and there and kicked the ever living shit out of his sorry ass.

  “Like I said, we were in the old shack, and Cindy Jackson and a bunch of—”

  “Cindy Jackson?” said Traber.

  “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it either, but there she was leading them Johnsons through the door, and this gigantic, freaky-lookin’ son of a bitch started kickin’ the shit outa me. Next thing I know the lights are out, and when I come to, Cindy and Tina and that Johnson bunch was gone. I got my clothes back on…” Charlie looked over at Harry, who was looking at him like he’d just as soon stomp a mud hole in his ass as hear another word.

  “I’m sorry, Harry.”

  “Yeah, so you said.”

  “Keep going, Charlie.”

  “I could hear ‘em outside, so I crawled out the window and hid and watched them from the woods. The giant and some young-looking kid led Cindy and Tina o
ff toward the road, then that slow-eyed fucker came back inside the shack, probably—”

  “Arley Johnson.”

  “Huh?”

  “Young, shoulder length hair and a dead lookin’ eye staring off in the distance?”

  Charlie’s head bobbed up and down. “Yeah,” he said.

  “That’s Arley Johnson.”

  “I was damn glad I woke up and got outa there when I did, ‘cause why else was that son of a bitch comin’ back inside, except to kill my ass?

  “He come in and hurried back outside, fired up the Camaro and made his way back to the road. I just followed along behind him. When he turned up the mountain, I figured he was heading up to their camp. So I kept on following him, up and around and around and up—it was easy, really. He couldn’t go very fast. That Camaro ain’t built for these ruts and bumps. I just kept his taillights in sight, and after a while he pulled up next to Tina and Cindy and the rest of his kin. The guy drove into a clearing and left the Camaro behind some bushes. Then the lot of ‘em piled into an old beat-up-looking jeep, and up the trail they went. I kept after them a while longer, and then went back to the Camaro—figured I’d haul ass back to the valley and get some help, but the son of a bitch took the keys with him.”

  Twin beams of light pushed their way through the fog as they passed the cutoff to Charlie’s Lover’s Lane Shack. Harry kept the pickup moving from side to side in an effort to dodge the potholes and deep ruts lying in his path. They kept going until the road narrowed, and he could no longer avoid them.

  As they lumbered along the trail, Traber said, “You ever been up there, Harry? You got any idea how many we’re fixin’ to go up against?”

  “Huh uh.”

  “Huh uh you never been up there, or huh uh you don’t know what kind of a buzz saw we might be walkin’ into?”

  Harry huffed out a breath, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Both.”

  “Reckon we could use Butchie and those young guns of his about now, dope runners or no dope runners.”

  “Oh,” Harry said. “They’re runnin’ dope, all right.”

  “Not anymore, they ain’t.”

  Both men turned to Charlie.

  “What’re you talkin’ about?” Traber asked him.

  “I left the Camaro and hauled ass after them. Just when I got ‘em in sight again, somebody back down the mountain fired a shotgun. Next thing you know, all hell breaks loose and people are screamin’ and yellin’… three more shotgun blasts and I didn’t know what to do, follow the jeep? I sure as hell wasn’t going toward the gunfire. So I just stood there for a while, watching, waiting... listening.

  “I don’t know, maybe fifteen, twenty minutes later, I heard that shotgun going off again, and Butchie Walker calling out to whoever they was chasing. But now they were getting closer to me, and I sure as hell didn’t wanta be standing in the middle of the trail when they came around the bend. So I high-tailed it on up the path, figured I could find out where the jeep was heading, where they were taking Tina, maybe slip in and get her out, somehow.”

  Harry eased off the gas, downshifting to yet a lower gear as the cab of the truck began lurching from side to side. Several yards ahead, a narrow path intersecting with the pothole-laden road they were on began a gradual downhill descent. He rounded a bend and the road became steeper, the going a little tougher as they headed farther up the incline. Ahead and to the right, fog swirled through the cones of light they’d seen stretching skyward back at Butchie’s place.

  “Hold up a minute,” Traber said, opening the door, and then stepping out of the truck when it came to a stop. Harry shifted into Neutral, his foot on the brake while Traber stared down the mountainside at the headlights rising into the sky. He returned to the truck, jumped inside and slammed the door shut. “It’s a goddamn car pointing straight up the mountain.”

  “I heard the whole thing…” Charlie said, as the truck pulled forward, following the same winding trail Mark and Eddie and Brenda and Thel had taken moments before the Honda plunged over the mountainside. “… another round or two of shotgun blasts, Butchie Walker yelling his threats, then a sound like a car crashing into a tree. By then I was up on the ridge. I couldn’t see what was going on, but I heard everything.”

  The fog became thicker as Harry followed the road up and to the left, his headlights sweeping over the mountainside while the front of the truck angled steeper than it had since they’d started up the old mountain trail.

  Traber stared out his open window, and Harry said, “How much farther? We’ve gotta be nearing the top.”

  “We’ve got a good ways to go yet,” Charlie told him. “But we ain’t gonna make it all the way in this, unless you’ve got four-wheel-drive and some deep ruts in them tires.”

  “We’ll make it,” Harry said, and drove on.

  “What about Butchie Walker?” said Traber.

  “Wow, Butchie Walker. The ridge leads to Rickert’s Peak. About the time I was set to break out of the tree line and into the clearing stretching out before it, I saw the giant and his slow-eyed pal standing at the edge of the cliff with some other guy wearing a buckskin jacket. Talk about a mountain man—the son of a bitch actually had a bow, and a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder.”

  “Goddamn Willem,” Harry said, and Traber said, “That son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said. “I could tell he was in charge. The three of ‘em stood there for a long time, watching. Every once in a while that Willem guy would point at something. That’s when I saw those lights and knew it was a car crash.

  “After a while, they came away from the cliff, back to the mountain. Then they headed down, Willem on one side, his freaky kin on the other. That’s when I—there, over there, Harry.” Charlie pointed to the right. “Right over there, see where the trail branches off into those trees? That’s the way to the ridge. But we might as well stop and get out. You ain’t gonna make the steep hill we’re fixin’ to come to.”

  Harry stopped the truck. “We’ll make it,” he said, his voice strong and sure.

  “I’m telling you, you won’t.”

  “Maybe you oughta listen to him, Harry. We’re not gonna be able to haul ass back down the mountain if we get the truck hung up in there.”

  Charlie looked over at the old man. “You will get stuck.”

  Harry sighed, took his foot off the brake and slipped the truck into gear. “Ah, hell,” he said. “All right.” He edged the truck a little ways down the trail. Then he was mashing the clutch and shifting into Reverse, backing up until his headlights pointed down the mountain. He killed the lights and killed the engine. Doors opened and the dome light came on, and he and Traber stepped out of the truck, both men wielding their weapons as Charlie shut Harry’s door, and Traber pushed his door closed, and darkness settled in around them.

  “Anyway,” Charlie said, as they started down the trail. “When they went down, I went out into the clearing, over to the Peak and made my way out to the edge, got flat on my stomach and peeked down the mountain. I saw it all. Brenda Sykes and Thel and these two guys they were with at Farley’s came into the clearing. The next thing you know, a friggin head’s rolling—”

  “A head?”

  “Yeah, a head—about the time Butchie Walker and Bobby Jarvis come outa the tree line, a goddamn head comes bouncing out of the shadows. Thel runs and Butchie shoots her ass; Willem steps forward and fires an arrow into Butchie’s eye and one in his chest, Bobby Jarvis takes off and Arley steps out from behind a tree and guts the poor bastard. They fucking massacred them. Then they rounded up Brenda and Thel and their friends—oh yeah, Willem? He nailed one of those guys’ hands to a tree?”

  “Jesus,” said Traber.

  “Yeah, that was the first thing he did, right after the severed head showed up.”

  “You were right,” Harry said, as the trail banked hard to the right and almost straight up. “We wouldn’t have made it.”

  They struggled up the mountains
ide, heavy wisps of fog curling around their feet as they made their way forward. After a while, the path leveled off. But not for long, and soon they found themselves back on a steep uphill climb.

  They stopped for a minute, and Charlie said, “They started back up the trail and I hauled ass across the Peak and into the woods. Let me tell ya: my heart was pounding by the time I hid my ass in them woods. I’ve never been so scared in my life.

  “They had a jeep parked a little ways from the cliff. Willem and Arley and Brenda and those two guys got in it and took off up the trail. The giant carried Thel into the woods. He was making so much noise stompin’ through the underbrush, I decided to follow him. He took her into a cave. When he disappeared inside, I stopped. I was afraid he’d hear me. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t following that big bastard, and I sure as hell wasn’t chasing after the jeep. I knew Tina was either in the cave or wherever the jeep was headed—it couldn’t’ve been far; we were damn near to the top of the mountain. Anyway, I got away from there and hauled ass down—”

  The sharp report of a pistol firing in the distance cut him off.

  “What the fuck?” said Traber, as the gunshot echoed across the mountain, and Harry said, “C’mon!”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  They stepped onto the porch, Eddie and Mark in front, Tina and Dolly behind them and Brenda in the rear. Eddie looked across the clearing and up the mountain. Cindy and Gerald were standing on Elbert’s front porch. Gerald, who had a shotgun pointed in their direction, didn’t say or do anything. Just stood there, watching as Cindy called out, “I’m sorry, Tina!”

  Tina yelled back, “Not as sorry as you’re gonna be if I ever get my hands on you!”

  “It all went wrong! It wasn’t supposed to happen like that!”

  “Stupid little bitch,” Tina mumbled.

  “C’mon,” Mark said. “Let’s get going before something crazy happens.”

  Off the porch and onto the ground they went, Eddie looking over his shoulder at the shotgun-wielding mountain man, the only one he’d seen tonight who didn’t seem to have that hereditary dash of insanity about him, not like Arley and Willem, both of whom seemed to have been swimming in it. “All right, Dolly,” he said. “Which way to Grandma’s?”