Mango Digger

by Bill H Myers

  Instead of answering, “Yes,” I said, “I think we should go. We don't know if Kat is up there or not, but we have to check. It'd be bad if she was stuck and we didn't do anything. It's not like we have anything else to do tonight.”

  Abby smiled. “That was what I was hoping you'd say because, even if you didn't want to go, I was going. By myself, if I had to.”

  A clap of thunder in the distance announced the approach of a second storm. If we were going to go, we needed to leave soon before the heavy rain turned the dirt roads into slop, if it hadn’t already done so.

  I motioned to the motorhome. “Let's go inside and get ready.”

  Abby led the way, and I followed. Inside, we gathered up a few supplies. A blanket, a first aid kit, a six pack of water, three large trash bags to use as makeshift raincoats, and the map we'd gotten from Digger. We weren't expedition ready, but we had most of the basics. The only thing missing was food.

  We hadn't eaten since earlier in the day, and my stomach was rumbling. It was saying, “Fooooood.” It knew we needed to eat, especially if we were heading out into the wild with a good chance of getting stuck and having to spend the night in the Jeep. I didn't want to have to do that on an empty stomach.

  I turned to Abby, “You hungry?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, starting to get that way. What do you have in mind?”

  “Burgers. From Burger King. There's one about five miles back, across from the Hot Springs Village gate. We could get food there. Wouldn't take long.”

  She nodded. “Sounds good to me. You ready to go?”

  “Almost. All I need to do is top off Bob's food and lock up in here.”

  She motioned to the door. “You do that, and I'll put our supplies in the Jeep.”

  She went outside and I went back to top off Bob's food and water bowls. I let him know we'd be away for a bit, but he didn't seem to care. He was in one of his “if you love me, let me sleep” moods.

  I left him to his nap and went through the motorhome lowering the privacy shades. I didn't think anyone would try to break in, but in a campground you never know who your neighbors are. They could be saints or they could be sinners. Having the privacy shades down kept them guessing whether anyone was inside or not.

  With the motorhome buttoned up, I grabbed the remaining supplies, locked the doors, and headed outside to join Abby in her new Jeep.

  She was sitting in the driver's seat, fiddling with something on the dash. The back hatch was open, probably because that's where she wanted me to put the supplies I was carrying. I unloaded them, closed the hatch and joined her up front.

  As soon as I settled in on the passenger seat, I asked, “You want me to drive?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Walker, I know you're asking just to be polite. It's not that you think I can’t drive a stick, right?”

  There was only one correct answer to the question, and I knew it. “Yep, I'm asking just to be polite. I totally trust your driving skills.”

  She nodded. “That's what I thought you'd say. Now buckle up and hold on.”

  The truth was I'd never seen her drive anything. Not a car, truck or motorhome. I didn't know if she knew how to drive or not or, if she did, whether she could drive a stick. But I was about to find out.

  She started the motor, put the Jeep in first gear and we headed out. I was immediately impressed with how well she handled the five-speed transmission. She shifted the gears and worked the clutch like someone who had been doing it all their life. It was obvious it wasn't the first time she'd driven a manual.

  When we reached the highway, she turned right, away from Crystal Mountain, toward Burger King. She quickly got the Jeep up to speed and, judging from her smile, I could tell she was enjoying how it drove.

  At one point, she took both hands off the wheel and said, “Look at this, steady as it can be.”

  The Jeep tracked true, not pulling to either side, which was a good sign. Maybe it was in better condition than the two hundred thousand miles on the odometer suggested.

  We quickly reached Burger King, and Abby pulled up to the speaker at the drive thru. She ordered two Whopper Juniors, two small fries, an apple pie, and two large Mellow Yellows. She didn't bother to ask what I wanted; she just placed her order and drove up to the window to pay.

  She paid for the food, handed me the bag and pulled back out on the highway, this time going north toward the dirt road that would lead us to Crystal Mountain.

  After getting the Jeep up to speed, she asked me to unwrap a burger for her and set one of the bags of fries in her lap. We were going to eat on the run. I unwrapped the burger, put the fries where she wanted them, and she ate while she drove.

  Following her lead, I ate one of the burgers and most of the remaining fries and washed it down with the Mellow Yellow. It probably wasn't the healthiest combination of food, but it was better than riding on an empty stomach.

  It didn't take us long to get to FR 132, the Forest Service Road that supposedly led to Crystal Mountain. Abby slowed and pulled onto the road and stopped.

  She turned to me and asked, “You have the map?”

  I did.

  “Good, you read the directions and I'll follow.”

  I nodded. “Okay. First thing, set your trip odometer to zero.”

  She looked at the dash and pressed the button that said 'Trip Reset' until it showed zero.

  “Now what?”

  “Go down this dirt road for three-point-seven miles. That's where we go left. Then, at four-point-eight miles, we go to the right.”

  She looked down at the shift lever and moved the transfer case into four-wheel drive. She put the Jeep into first, and we headed slowly down the road.

  The Jeep’s headlamps did a pretty good job of lighting up the path directly in front of us but didn't penetrate the dark forest on either side. A layer of water on the road, a couple of inches deep, glistened with the reflection of our lights.

  Deep ruts suggested another vehicle had traveled the road recently. I couldn't tell if they were going up the mountain or heading back to the highway, but if the driver had any sense, they'd be heading toward pavement, away from the dirt road we were on.

  At the three-point-five-mile mark, Abby said, “We're almost to the first turn. Tell me when you see it.”

  The windshield was starting to fog up from all the humidity and Abby had the defroster on full trying to keep the glass clear. The rain had returned; small random drops at first, then a steady downpour. Lightning in the distance gave us a snapshot of the surrounding mountains.

  We'd gone less than four miles since leaving pavement, but it felt like we had traveled into a distant world—one without artificial lights or signs of human habitation.

  At exactly three-point-seven miles, the road veered to the left, just like the map had said it would. I pointed and said, “There, to the left, go that way.”

  Abby nodded, shifted down from third into second, and kept the Jeep going the right direction. The tracks we had been following, the ones that had left the deep ruts, were no longer with us. The steady rain on the dirt road had melted them away.

  The whine of the Jeep's four-wheel drive transmission was reassuring. It created a sense of invincibility. If anything could conquer this road, it would be the Jeep. At least that’s what I hoped.

  At the four-point-three mark, Abby slowed and asked, “Where's the turn? There's supposed to be one here.”

  I rechecked Digger's map and quickly saw the problem. “The turn is at four-point-eight, about a half mile ahead of us.”

  Abby nodded, downshifted into first and drove on. The trip odometer had just clicked over to four-point-six when she suddenly slowed. She pointed out the window and said, “Somebody's on the road, up ahead.”

  I wiped the fog from my side to get a better view. She was right; someone was standing in the road ahead of us. Waving a flashlight, trying to get our attention.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “What are y
ou folks doing out here this time of night?”

  The man asking, the one who had been holding the flashlight and standing in the middle of the road, was wearing a Forest Service poncho with a badge clipped on the front.

  He had walked up to Abby's side of the Jeep and signaled her to roll down the window. It was raining, and she rolled it down just enough to talk.

  While she was doing this, the ranger swept his flashlight through the Jeep, checking the back seats, and then checking me.

  He repeated his question. “What are you folks doing out here this rainy night?”

  This time, Abby answered. “We're looking for a friend. We think she drove her rental car up on the mountain. She hasn't returned, so we came out looking for her.”

  The ranger nodded. “Your friend? What kind of car was she driving?”

  “A rental. A Kia, I think.”

  The Ranger nodded again. “You folks part of the Rainbow camp?”

  Abby shook her head. “No, we're not with them. We're staying over at Coleman's, trying to find our friend. Have you seen her?”

  The ranger, standing the rain, pointed down the road and said, “I don't know if it is your friend's or not, but there’s a car on the side of the road up near where people park to dig crystals. When I checked on it, no one was inside.

  “I don't recommend going up there. The road is pretty messy and with this rain it'll get worse. Be better if you just went back and waited for daylight. There's a turn-around just ahead.”

  He focused his flashlight toward a wide spot in road just in front of us. “Right up there. See it? It's a good place to turn around.”

  Abby nodded, thanked the ranger and rolled up her window. He stepped back, and she put the Jeep in gear and headed where he had pointed. When we reached the turn around, she kept going. She wasn't about to go back and wait till morning.

  With both hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road, she asked, “We still going the right way?”

  I looked at the map. “Yep. According to this we are. We veer right in point two miles. Then we go straight until the odometer shows fourteen. That'll put us at the Crystal Mountain parking area.”

  Abby nodded and kept driving, keeping both hands on the wheel except when she needed to shift gears. The little Jeep hadn't missed a beat, but as the road conditions got worse it was taking more work to keep it on track. The combination of the muddy surface and the hidden rocks underneath made for a rough and challenging drive.

  At four-point-eight miles, she saw the turnoff to the right and took it. The road was narrower than the one we had been on and immediately went up a steep hill. Small streams of mud cascaded down it, exposing rocks and the occasional glint of crystals.

  Abby had downshifted into second to make the climb; the little Jeep responded with a surge of power. It was built for these kinds of challenges.

  When the road leveled out, she shifted into third and asked, “You think it's her car? The one the ranger said was parked up there?”

  I didn't know the answer and I couldn't figure out why there wasn’t anyone in it. With the rain and dropping temps, being inside the car would be the safest place. Even if it were stuck in the mud, it would provide dry shelter. Kat would know that and would be inside unless she was unable to get to it.

  I didn't mention this to Abby. All I said was, “I hope it's her car and I hope she's in it.”

  I expected Abby to have more to say about it. But she didn't. She just drove, in silence. With the rain beating down even harder, it was getting difficult to carry on a conversation in the Jeep. Maybe that's why she wasn't talking. Or maybe her 'gift' was giving her bad news.

  At the five-point-three mark, we went uphill again for another long stretch. At the seven-point-one mark, the road flattened out for a mile then headed up again. The uphill runs were the hardest. Abby would downshift and the Jeep would surge at first but then slow as the steady climb against gravity took its toll.

  When we reached a flat section, she'd shift into a higher gear and gain a bit of speed. But with the added speed, she had to be careful. The rain had turned the loose dirt on the top of the road into a slippery muck. Too much traction would spin the tires, and the Jeep would slide toward the ditch on one side or the steep drop-off on the other.

  The hidden rocks were another problem. When the Jeep's front tires hit a big one, the steering wheel would push away from the rock, taking us in an unexpected direction. With the narrow road, the rain, the slick mud and the hidden rocks, Abby was working hard to keep the Jeep from going over the edge.

  I could tell she was getting tired. The see-saw action of the wheel, the constant shifting gears, the pushing of the clutch and the stress of being out on a dark dirt road in a rainstorm in the middle of the night were taking a toll on her.

  I was tempted to volunteer to take the wheel, but seeing the determined look on her face, I decided if she wanted me to drive, she'd let me know. So I kept my eyes on the road ahead, the odometer and the map.

  Forty minutes after leaving pavement, we had covered thirteen miles. As the navigator, I let Abby know. “We're almost there. Just another mile.”

  She nodded but said nothing. She just kept driving.

  Just before the odometer reached fourteen, we saw a car on the side of the road ahead of us. A Kia with its back tires sunk deep in the mud. We had finally found what we had been looking for.

  Abby dropped the Jeep into first and rolled up behind the car, close enough so the Jeep's headlights lit up the interior. She shifted into neutral, set the parking brake, and looked over at me.

  “You want to get out and see if anyone is in it?”

  It struck me as funny the way she said, “if anyone is in it.” Instead of saying Kat's name, she said “anyone,” like she already knew Kat wouldn't be inside.

  We'd left the motorhome in such a rush that I'd forgotten to bring the rubber boots we'd bought at Walmart. They would have come in handy walking in the muck just outside my door.

  Still, we had gotten this far and found what I hoped was Kat's car, so I wasn't going to be too worried about getting mud on my tennis shoes. I opened the passenger door, hopped out and immediately sank to my ankles in the mud. It was soft and cooler than I expected.

  The rain was still coming down and I was getting wet, so I didn't waste any time getting over to the car. I pulled out the flashlight I'd brought with me and swept the interior. There was no one inside, but there were signs someone had been digging crystals.

  A wicker basket in the back seat was filled with them. Next to it, a dirt encrusted screwdriver, the kind sold back at the mine. Next to the screwdriver an empty water bottle.

  There was a stack of newspapers in the front passenger seat, next to another basket filled with crystals, some wrapped in paper. A brochure for Hot Springs Village, the retirement center we'd passed on the way to our campsite, sat on the dash. A pair of lady's sandals lay on the floor under the steering wheel.

  I checked the doors and all were locked, which meant I couldn’t get inside, but it was clear no one was in the car. I went back to the Jeep and climbed into the front beside Abby, my shoes dripping mud on her clean floor mats. She didn't seem to mind, or if she did, she didn't say anything.

  I reported my findings. “No one in the car. Doors locked. Baskets of crystals on the seats. Lady’s sandals on the floor. Empty water bottle in the back. No sign of a struggle.”

  Abby nodded but said nothing. After a moment I asked, “So what do you think?”

  I figured she could use her 'gift' to sense things out. If she couldn't, maybe she’d think of something I'd missed.

  Instead of answering my question, she said, “Watch your feet. You're getting mud in my new Jeep. I've only had it an hour, and you're already getting it dirty.”

  I laughed because if she thought the inside was getting dirty, she should see the outside. From the windows down, the green Jeep was now mostly brown from the mud being thrown up by the tires.

  We
were still parked behind the empty car trying to figure out what to do next when Abby started working the horn, one long beep followed by several short beeps.

  The Jeep's horn was loud. Not the polite, “Please excuse me” sound of newer cars. In the Jeep, it was more like, “Get the heck out of my way, you moron!”

  It was loud enough to be heard for miles. If anyone was nearby, they would hear it. Abby was using it as a beacon, letting whoever had left the car, know we were there.

  A minute after the first set of horn blasts, she repeated the sequence. One long blast followed by several short ones.

  Then we waited.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  With the windows in the Jeep rolled up to keep the rain out, they had fogged almost as soon as we'd stopped. With the two of us inside and the high humidity outside, fogging was inevitable.

  Every few minutes, we'd use our shirt sleeves to wipe the fog away so we could see. Abby would blast the horn; we'd wait a minute or two and then wipe the windows to see if anyone had responded.

  After fifteen minutes, no one had.

  It was dark up on Crystal Mountain. There were no streetlights, and the stars and moon were hidden by the thick clouds of the rainstorm. Anyone in the woods without a flashlight could easily get lost. On a rainy night, trying to find your way off the mountain, cold and wet without a light, would be a struggle.

  The Jeep's headlights were on and could be seen maybe a hundred feet down the road. But in the woods off to the side, they wouldn't be noticed. Thinking about this, I turned to Abby and said, “Use the flashers.”

  The Jeep, like most modern cars, had bright yellow emergency lights that would flash on and off. The flashing was designed to attract maximum attention, letting nearby drivers see and avoid a stalled or broken-down vehicle.

  Up on Crystal Mountain, the flashing lights might help guide someone in the woods back to the safety of the road.

  Abby looked over at me and said, “Cover your ears.”

  I knew what she was going to do and put my hands over my ears. Again.

  She grinned and hit the horn. This time, a succession of blasts, lasting a minute, spaced about five seconds apart.