by Hunt, Jack
Beth hurried, concern spreading on her face. Something wasn’t right.
Several times she nearly lost her footing and had to reach out and brace herself against a tree. As she picked up speed and her boots disappeared below, snow piled through the small opening around each boot, and soaked her jeans.
Still, she didn’t even think about that, her mind stayed on the sight of smoke — that was until she reached the mountain road. It was unplowed. How could that be? It was always plowed. Locals, and visitors trying to head west, relied on upon that road. It was completely untouched barring abandoned vehicles. It was the strangest sight.
She walked past one, two, six vehicles on the way in.
No one was inside.
One even had the doors left wide open and looked as if it had been rifled through.
Beth hurried towards the cluster of buildings that made up Ryerson, questions bombarding her mind, panic rising in her chest. Snow-covered from head to toe, her lungs burned as she ran. Up ahead smoke rose into the chilly air coming from not one but several buildings that had been burned to the ground. She could see what looked like the burned-out steel bones of a Toyota sedan that had gone through a storefront. There had been a collision between two vehicles, with one of them turned on its side.
Her father’s workplace was west on the outskirts of town, requiring her to cut through. With her stomach in her throat from running so hard, she slowed; taking in the sights and trying to catch her breath. Vehicles clogged up the two lanes of Main Street which wound its way into the heart of town. Many of the residents were out clearing the sidewalk of snow, others trying to push vehicles that had collided out of the way, while others talked among themselves. Beth avoided the crowds but listened to the conversations as she passed: No my phone is still not working. What would cause the cars to stall? They all shared the same pained expression. It was like something out of a bizarre horror movie. What had happened?
12
The closer Beth got to the Outdoor Education Center, the more abandoned vehicles she found encased in snow. No roads had been plowed, making the journey even more of a slog and a challenge. Eagles Nest, which was the name of her father’s center, was created nine years ago after generous donations. It had allowed her father to purchase a property on 200 acres of land, five minutes outside of Ryerson in the Pisgah National Forest. At the end of an off-the-beaten path was a collection of eight cabins offering lodging and activities for young people from kindergarten age through to twelfth grade. Her father Rhett had the dream to learn and teach in the mountains since he was a boy. He’d seen the abuse of resources and the way nature had been neglected and children raised in a world of technology. His passion to explore new valleys, climb ridges, paddle rivers, feel the rain on his face and experience plants and animals had led him to build the center. And, for the most part it had been a success.
Beth had spent many a summer helping her father at the center while her mother worked outside of town. It was where she’d cut her teeth in the wilderness, learned responsibility and gained valuable leadership qualities.
Tired, cold and hungry, she saw the familiar sign buried below snow. She didn’t need to see the words to know what they said: Respect yourself, others, and the natural world. It was a motto that drove him to spend days, weeks and months with campers.
“You better have a good excuse,” she said, expecting to find him wallowing in self-pity, surrounded by bottles of alcohol. For all his strengths, the death of her mother had blindsided him. He didn’t expect it, nor did Beth. The manner in which it happened went contrary to her choice of career and view of the world. Two years later, Beth still wrestled with it. It seemed like such a waste of a life. She learned a lot about her mother after that, things that her father didn’t share and things her mother had hid from her.
Towering drifts of snow sent a frigid windblown spray at her face as she got near. Beth pulled at her hood, kept her head low and pressed into the clearing. “Dad!” she hollered, her voice disappearing in the vastness of forest. In the summer it would have been packed with kids dressed in colorful T-shirts and shorts, running from lodge to lodge, or hanging out at the snack bar or taking in one of the workshops or hiking trails and rivers. Now it was empty and silent. Nothing but white. The ATV wasn’t parked outside which concerned her. Had he even made it here? Or was he had at a bar in town?
Her worst fear was he’d had an accident.
That question was soon answered when she found the front door ajar and a large snowdrift blown through. The wind howled. There was no way he would leave the place unlocked. There was no damage to the property which meant no one had broken in.
“Dad?” her voice echoed as she entered the dark octagon-shaped log cabin that was used for sleeping, administration and a central hub for campers. The familiar scent of pine brought with it memories. With just a year left until she went off to college, she was going to miss helping out in the summer as a staff member. Beth noticed the door to the main office was open. Papers were scattered over the floor. Had the wind done that? She called out to her father but got no response. It was only when she stepped inside that she saw a chair turned over, and a pair of female legs.
Instinctively her hand reached for the P320, taking it out and moving in.
As Beth came around the office counter, Helen’s body came into view.
“Helen.”
She was in her mid-fifties, a hard-working woman, single, no kids. She had been one of a few that had volunteered her time to the center long before her father was able to pay. Beth dropped down, touching her skin. It was icy cold. There was a deep, red and purple mark around her throat which indicated strangulation.
Fear.
She hadn’t felt anything that came that close.
Beth had faced close calls with cougars and bears but this was on another level.
This was impossible. No. It couldn’t be. Denial hit her hard. Ryerson was a safe community. Residents had each other’s backs. Who would have done this? Most in town knew about the center. She staggered back from the body wanting to cry out her fathers name but words stuck in her throat. Were they still here? No. There were no tracks in the snow. This had been done in the storm. Beth raced out, calling for her father while keeping her gun out in front of her. “Dad!” She hurried down the corridor that led into an open space where campers would have breakfast.
Beth froze at the familiar sight of her father’s jacket.
“No. No. NO!” she screamed rushing forward, dropping to her knees beside her father’s motionless body that was face down. There were two bullet wounds to the back. His face was swollen, bruised, as were his knuckles as if he’d put up one hell of a fight.
“Dad. Dad!” she cried out, grasping a clump of his jacket and burying her face in it.
Beth wasn’t sure how long she remained there but it had to have been over an hour, two maybe. She had all but drained her inner well of tears before she lifted her head. Losing her mother was hard enough at her age but now her father? She sat across from him, staring, unsure of what to do, if anything at all. What now? Her entire world had revolved around her parents. She ran a hand over her face wanting to cry again but unable to. All she felt was numb. Complete numbness.
She got up and left the room and searched for a blanket, sheet, tarp, anything she could use to cover their bodies. Once done, she went throughout the property and noticed that the three ATVs they owned were gone including the one her father used. In addition to this the storage room that held food had been cleared out. Every shelf including bottled water had been taken. She moved on to the next room that had climbing gear, tents, tarps, sleeping bags, water treatments, stoves, lighting, first aid, clothing, electronics and backpacks, it was all gone. Her father had poured his money into purchasing lots of gear so that anyone who didn’t have enough money didn’t go without.
Was this a robbery gone wrong?
The Christmas season was the only time of the year when her father and H
elen were alone at the property. Had someone targeted it? Or were they an opportunist? No, it had to be something more. Her father would have gladly handed it all over to avoid a confrontation. He believed in staying alive, not fighting over items that could be replaced.
But what other reason would they have been killed?
Without answers, Beth did the only thing she could: leave and head back to town to inform the police. Like traveling the same road to work unconsciously and arriving at a destination without recollection of having driven there, Beth found herself standing outside the Ryerson Police Department with no memory of walking there. She entered the stone and wood building with an American flag flapping in the breeze to find concerned residents speaking to an officer at the front desk. They were grossly understaffed to handle something of this magnitude.
“Vehicles. Internet. Power. Water. Cell phones. Nothing is working. I want to know what is being done?” an angry man yelled, slamming his fist against the counter.
“Sir, we know about as much as you do right now. As you can appreciate, with the weather we’ve been having and cruisers not working, our top priority right now is ensuring the safety of residents.”
She could have said something. Dropped the bombshell about her father being dead but she didn’t. So overwhelmed by grief and shock, she stood at the back of the lobby watching as if in some trance state. Ahead of her was a long line of people wanting answers.
“Is it a terrorist attack?”
“Ma’am. I don’t know.”
“And what about power? My mother could die from this cold,” a woman yelled.
“We’re doing the best we can to speak to the utility company but until we have some answers all we can do is apologize and ask you to go home.”
“Go home. Go home!?” A young man in a plaid shirt shoved his way to the front. “That’s not good enough. There are people relying on this power to survive. We need a generator.”
“I believe you can still buy one.”
“With what?”
“Cash works,” the officer said.
“Oh yeah, I just have an extra thousand dollars sitting around for days like this. No. The city should be rolling out some kind of emergency plan.”
“And you will be the first to hear about it,” the officer said.
Beth didn’t stand a chance at being heard. The uproar from the twenty-odd people crammed into the lobby was deafening. Questions were thrown out, voices raised and each one was thinking their situation mattered more. Beth lowered her chin and walked back out and sat down on the snow-covered step even as a cold blast of wind chilled her to the bone. She didn’t care. While she was waiting there, out the corner of her eye she saw a female officer shrugging on a winter jacket from the back of her cruiser. She looked over at Beth and squinted. “Is that you, Beth?”
She didn’t respond.
The female officer strolled over adjusting her duty belt looking as if she was getting ready to start a shift. Her hair was pulled up into a severe black ponytail. As she got closer, Beth recognized her as someone who’d dropped off her kid at the outdoor center. Her name was Sylvia Robson. “What are you doing here?” she asked before glancing through the glass doors at the mob. “Rhett inside?”
She shook her head trying to summon the words to tell her but they wouldn’t come out. Maybe it was because she didn’t want to believe it, or perhaps saying it would make it final. “You okay, Beth?”
Tears welled in her eyes as Sylvia crouched in front of her placing both hands on her knees. “Hey. Hey, what’s up?”
“He’s gone.”
“Who’s gone?”
“He’s dead.”
“Beth. Who?”
“My father.”
Silence followed.
Her words registered.
“Rhett is dead?”
And just like that it all spilled out, everything she’d seen. The officer gripped her shoulder. “Look, honey, there’s a trailer around back that’s heated by a generator. Why don’t you go and sit in there while I look into this. Just tell them I sent you.” Beth nodded and followed a short path around the back of the department to a single-wide 12 x 60 trailer; the type often seen on construction sites. With the power down, they’d set up a facility to operate out of that would be easier to heat than the main building. No wonder the officer inside at the front desk was dressed in a heavy coat, beanie and gloves. She ascended the steel steps and entered one of the two brown doors. Inside, a wall of warmth greeted her as did a male officer by the name of Tim Sturgeon. “Can I help you?”
“Officer Robson asked me to wait.”
“Sure. Take a seat.”
She sat down and watched four officers talk among themselves. They had a large map on the wall of Ryerson and the surrounding areas, and one of them was pushing in colored pins and discussing a plan of action.
While she sat there her mind shifted to Landon. A hand rose to her forehead. Oh no. In all the chaos she’d almost forgotten him. She couldn’t have another death on her conscience. Beth got up and walked out without giving them a statement. “Hey kid,” a cop said as the door swung shut and she bolted; heading for the one person that might be able to help.
Dr. Gregory Banks had invited her mother and father for dinner on two occasions. He owned a gorgeous five-bedroom home nestled on over seven acres of property, on a knoll buried amid the lush forest. Beth could remember entering the home and looking up at the soaring ceilings, floating staircase, granite countertops, high-end appliances and being surrounding by an abundance of glass that let in natural light. It was a million-dollar home, a mixture of stone and wood that he’d had custom built for his family. Unlike her father, her mother thought such things mattered. Beth recalled the uncomfortable conversation around the table that night. Her father looked like a fish out of water whereas her mother was in her element. The differences between the two of them were so stark that she often wondered how they ever stayed together. Her mother worked a regular job thirty minutes outside of Ryerson, and was interested in the finer things in life, and her father’s passion was the outdoors. Somehow, they managed to merge the two and compromise.
It took her twenty minutes to reach his home.
She figured he’d be at the medical center or offering his services at the hospital in Linville but as she got closer, she saw him beyond the glass. His expression brightened at the sight of her then faded as he opened the door.
“Beth. What are you doing here?”
“I need your help.”
13
It was beyond strange. Stalled vehicles clogged the main arteries in and out of towns and hamlets; fires burned out of control and everyday electronic devices no longer seemed to work. Russ thought he was trapped in an episode of The Twilight Zone or having a vivid nightmare.
After killing the cops and relieving them of their weapons, they’d circled around Maggie Valley due to the commercial airliner that had torn through the town turning Main Street into a blazing inferno. The hike to Ryerson would have taken roughly forty hours had they not hijacked a blue 1971 Beetle in the early hours of the second morning. Like many other curious onlookers, Russ couldn’t believe his eyes when he heard the roar of an engine, and saw it slaloming around stalled vehicles on US-19E.
Of course the driver had no intention of stopping as they watched the Beetle veer around a family that tried to flag them down for help.
Survival. It was all about staying alive. Every man for himself.
Having already witnessed the death of three police officers, he didn’t bat an eye to Tommy’s suggestion to open fire on it. They didn’t stop to discuss morals. No, instead the three of them stood in the middle of the road, equally spaced out, Glocks raised and ready to unleash hell. They aimed for the windshield to avoid damaging the engine. People moving along the road stepped back in horror as rounds shattered the glass, a mist of red sprayed and the driver lost control and coasted to a standstill only a stone’s throw away.
Acting fast, they dragged the driver out and hopped in, tearing away.
He remembered looking back in the rearview mirror and seeing a crowd gather around the driver’s body and looking at them. What were they gonna do? Cell phones didn’t work. Cop cars were nowhere to be seen and even if they were nearby, they weren’t functioning.
So why was this car working? The only thing they could conclude was that it was built on really old technology, a motor that didn’t have a hint of electronics. At least that’s what Tommy said, that kid considered himself an expert on vehicles, and anything else for that matter, but that was debatable otherwise he wouldn’t have dropped out of college.
Before stealing the vehicle, the highway that night had been cluttered with people going both ways. Some asked them if they knew what had happened, as if they had the answers or could reveal a fragment of the puzzle. But he had no idea. He didn’t expect anyone else did unless they were individuals linked to the event, like government, military or some expert. The average joe? Please. When people weren’t working as a slave in a nine-to-five job they had their nose buried in a movie, a book or social media. That was reality for the largest percentage of the population. They would have seen the media cover wildfires, floods, tornadoes, and storms that knock out power, but those were common disasters, events that America had bounced back from time and time again. But this? This made no sense. Seeing people walking along the road, cars broken down, planes dropping out of the sky, multiple crashes, buildings on fire with smoke rising was strange — not even terrorists were smart enough to coordinate an attack of this magnitude. They’d had this discussion on the way home. If terrorists were planning to strike, they would target large cities or military installations, key areas that would hamstring the country or garner international attention, not small towns in America. Especially not North Carolina. There was no reason, no incentive. At least not one he could see.
