Blue Ridge Hideaway

by Cynthia Thomason

  There would be training programs for parents looking for work, activities and tutoring for teens on the verge of quitting school, baby-sitting for little kids who needed day care.

  That was okay. Let the charities save the people they could. It was too late for him.

  He shielded his eyes as the big truck rounded a bend and came into view on the other side of the fence. The huge monster was rolling, kicking up clouds of dust and gravel from its back tires. “What’s the hurry?” Jack said to himself. “They can’t build nothing till you get there.”

  Ignoring the truck, he continued raking and tossing rocks into the wheelbarrow until a loud explosion made his whole body tense. The tire on the front right side of the truck blew, spitting rubber shards all over the road. The vehicle swerved toward the fence. Jack dropped the rake and stumbled over the rocks he’d just unearthed. Unable to get away, he crouched as low as he could.

  It all happened in the blink of an eye. The truck careened in Jack’s direction at high speed. He was grateful for the ton of cement and wire that would keep the vehicle from invading his space. Better in prison than dead. But his gratitude was short-lived. The truck barreled into the fence, splitting the chain link as if it were made of pipe cleaners.

  Jack sprawled flat to the ground and crossed his arms over his head. In one breath-stealing glance, he watched the massive tire gyrate on its bent axle as it passed just inches from his skull. A little closer and his brain would have looked like cream cheese. He pulled his arms and legs close to his body, crawled over the concrete abutment and rolled once, ending up beneath the middle of the truck’s undercarriage. The vehicle continued to rumble over him, tearing wire and splintering cement in a path of destruction.

  Jack heard the guard’s voice issuing orders. “Get in one line! Back to the cell block!” The hiss and sputter of the truck engine mingled with the cries of fellow inmates and the thunder of his own heartbeat in his ears. Dust filled the area occupied by his trembling body. He coughed, tasting cement, and fought for a full breath.

  And then, in moments, the dust started to clear. Jack looked beyond the shelter he’d been forced to take under the truck and saw daylight. Just across the road, a few yards away, was forest, thick and green and beckoning.

  He started to crawl, as low to the ground as a snake. He wiggled to the other side of the truck and into the road. Just a few feet and he was in the scrub at the side. Weeds covered his head. He grasped handfuls of root and vine as his knees bit on solid ground and propelled him forward.

  “It’s fate,” he said through the dirt caking his lips. “This is a sign.” About a hundred yards into the trees, he stopped slithering and assumed a crouch. Looking back at the prison, he saw his cell mates being herded into the building. No one even called his name. Ha! They didn’t know he was gone. Bent nearly double so he couldn’t be seen from a distance, he ran through the woods.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THURSDAY MORNING WAS gray and overcast, a fitting environment for Dorie’s next to last day at The Crooked Spruce. When the skies opened up, she went to the front porch and took a few moments to listen to the rain gushing in rivers down the old Timber Gap Trail. Overhead, fat drops pattered on the tin roof of the lodge. Dorie breathed deeply, filling her lungs with moist, cleansing air. To her, the rain refreshing the mountain in spring was as much a small miracle as the sun shining through the new green leaves.

  She’d come to love Hickory Mountain with its variety of temperatures from crisp, clear nights to sunny, warm days. The animal sounds she listened to each night were now as soothing as music. And today was special, too, as the waterfalls swelled and the flowers were coaxed to bloom.

  She and Bret had enjoyed two more evenings on the swing. Meeting there at the close of their busy day was natural and comforting, and Dorie didn’t want to think about having to abandon this precious time. For long spells they sat in easy silence broken by minutes of spontaneous chatter about their pasts, their fears, their hopes.

  And on Wednesday night Bret had news. He’d heard from the sheriff that Dabney Shelton had been captured. The police were working on their case to accuse him of the arson crimes. But today was Thursday, and Bret hadn’t asked Dorie to stay at The Crooked Spruce for a longer period. And on Saturday morning, even if he had asked, she would have to go. She’d made a promise to Jack.

  And Bret hadn’t said that he wanted to explore the feelings they shared more deeply. Did he see a future with her as a possibility? Dorie wanted to tell him that he’d come to mean everything to her. But she’d stopped before spoiling what they had with an admission that might be too soon or too one-sided. Besides, her life was too complicated for this man and his son right now. She needed to fix her own emotional house before she could fully be a part of a family struggling to fix theirs.

  The outpost was nearly ready for hikers who wanted showers and a night in a warm bed. Dorie had answered internet questions about the camp from interested hikers. The website she’d designed was scoring more hits every day. The pictures she’d added of the cabins and the lodge made The Crooked Spruce look rustic and inviting. The bunk houses were painted and spotless with new mattresses and fresh linens. The bathhouse was functional and gleaming. The Crooked Spruce and its owner were ready to open their doors. Only Dorie was far from ready to let the door close behind her.

  The school bus brought Luke home a little after noon. Pine Crest Elementary was having a teacher planning session, which meant early release for the students. When Luke asked her to go pick pinecones for the fireplace with him and King, Dorie said yes. The threat from Dabney Shelton was all but forgotten, and every minute with Luke added an indelible memory she would take with her.

  “You and King go on outside and wait for me by the cabins,” she told him. “I need to respond to one more email from a potential guest, and then I’ll be along.”

  Luke grabbed a bucket to hold their loot and ran outside. Bret and Clancy had made a trip into town for hardware supplies and would be back soon. The property was peaceful and quiet. Outside the lodge, the trees rustled gently in the wind. Dorie was finishing her email when she heard King’s frantic barking.

  She hurried out the back door and ran toward the sound. She found Luke and the dog standing about fifty yards from one of the guest cabins. The hair on King’s back was standing up. His legs were stiff and straight, his head down. He inched forward, growling at the bunk-house door.

  Dorie put her arm around Luke. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, but Dorie, I think there’s someone inside that cabin.”

  It was possible. King was definitely in protection mode. Had Dabney escaped? No, surely not. But if he had, he very well might have considered The Crooked Spruce and its owner his next target.

  “I saw a shadow move across the window,” Luke said.

  “You go back to the house,” she said. “Go inside and lock the doors. Don’t open them to anyone but me or your dad or grandpa.”

  “I’m not leaving you here by yourself,” he said. “Let’s just call out and see if someone answers us.”

  She spun him around and looked into his eyes. “No! I told you what to do. I’ve got King here. I’ll be fine. In fact, with all his barking, I wouldn’t be surprised if whoever was in there hasn’t gone back into the woods.”

  Finally Luke obeyed and ran to the house. Dorie held King by his collar and hollered, “Is someone there? I’m calling the police.”

  With her heart hammering against her ribs, she did a quick survey of her surroundings and picked up a tree limb to use as a weapon. But she hoped she wouldn’t need it. Perhaps Luke had been mistaken. At any rate, she couldn’t just let someone ruin the work Bret had done in the cabin. A stern warning might make an intruder run off. Or...

  She backed toward the lodge. “I’m dialing 911!” she called. A false threat.
She hadn’t brought her cell phone.

  “Dorie!” The word cut through the air as a harsh whisper.

  The recognition of her name penetrated the rush of blood in her ears. “Who’s there?” she called again.

  “It’s me, Dorie. It’s Jack!”

  She dropped the limb and charged the door. Her brother’s head popped out. He looked around and retreated back inside. When she reached the door, he grabbed her arm and pulled her over the threshold.

  She struggled to catch her breath. “Jack, what are you doing...? How did you...?” In the dim light of the cabin interior she could see cuts and bruises on his face. He wore an embroidered Outer Banks sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up. Below his elbows, his arms were scratched. She placed her hands on each side of his face. He winced.

  “What happened to you?” she said.

  His arms came around her, and he buried his face against her shoulder. She wrapped him a hug and listened to him draw deep gulps of air. “Jack, just concentrate on breathing. It’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

  After several minutes he’d calmed enough to back away from her. He half stumbled to a cot and sank down onto the mattress. She sat next to him and examined his cuts. They were all surface injuries. He’d suffered worse skateboarding with his friends, but for some reason, these made her heart ache more than the wounds of a little boy.

  “Who did this to you, Jack?” she said. “Did someone abuse you at the jail?”

  He shook his head without speaking.

  “Then what? Did you do this to yourself?” A terrifying thought came to her. “Oh, Jack, did you escape?”

  His indrawn breath quivered. “I had a chance, Dorie. One chance in a million and I took it.”

  “What did you do? How did you get out? Was anyone besides you hurt?” She prayed he hadn’t injured a guard or another inmate. She looked around the cabin. Every inch of the small space was visible. They were the only two people inside, but still she said, “Did anyone escape with you?”

  Breathlessly he began recounting his adventure from the day before. She had trouble following his story. His facts seemed jumbled, the time line inaccurate. How could the truck accident, his reaction and his escape have happened in what he called a few seconds? He’d had no time to think, he said, to consider the consequences. He’d just seen an opportunity and acted.

  She took a deep breath. “So you crawled through the woods until you thought no one could see you?”

  He nodded. “A mile, maybe more.” He pointed to the scratches on his arm. “I couldn’t even feel all this at the time. I just kept moving.”

  There was still so much to ask, but her instincts took over. “I’ve got to get soap and water and some antibiotic ointment,” she said. “You wait here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  He wrapped his hand around her wrist. “Don’t go, Dorie. I don’t know if anyone’s out there. I think I heard another voice, and I can’t be seen.”

  Luke. Her mind scrambled to come up with a solution. She couldn’t hide Jack forever. And Luke was already aware that someone was on the property. But Jack needed time. She needed time to decide what to do next. “Okay,” she said. “But I can at least get water from the shower room next door.”

  She rushed out and returned less than a minute later with soaked paper towels. Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed where she’d left him, his face buried in his hands. She began washing his cuts.

  “What am I going to do?” he asked.

  She had no idea. This had happened so fast. It was all she could do to concentrate on the here and now, her brother’s immediate needs. “Have you eaten anything since yesterday?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I found half a box of breakfast bars in a Dumpster outside a 7-Eleven,” he said. “I ate those.”

  He’d foraged through a Dumpster? She didn’t need to think about that now. “Have you slept any?”

  “Yeah. I came up on an old camper in a parking lot. I guess it was stored there. And it wasn’t locked. I slept inside with the window open so I’d hear if anyone came along. No one did, so I got two or three hours’ sleep.”

  “And those clothes?” she said.

  He plucked at the trousers he was wearing. “These are prison issue, but since they’re just blue, I didn’t worry about them. I got the sweatshirt from a dryer in a laundry place.”

  He continued answering her questions, explaining how he’d remembered the name of the camp and how he’d hitched a ride with a trucker who dropped him in Mountain Spring. He’d walked the rest of the way, the journey taking almost six hours.

  “You can’t stay in this cabin,” she said. “You were right about hearing another voice. The little boy who lives here saw someone inside. It’s only a matter of time...”

  Jack stood and started pacing. “Why didn’t you say so? It’s been at least fifteen minutes. He’ll bring his parents.”

  “His father’s not here right now, but he’ll be back soon. We’ve got to move you somewhere else until I can think.”

  “There are other cabins,” Jack said.

  “They will all be searched,” she said. “I don’t know...”

  She never finished. Voices from outside broke into her thoughts.

  “It’s this one, Dad,” Luke said. “I saw Dorie go inside.”

  Bret’s voice drowned out his footsteps. “Dorie, are you okay? Answer me.”

  Under other circumstances, the sound of concern in Bret’s voice would have comforted her, but not now.

  Jack stopped walking and froze in the middle of the room. “Who’s that, the father?”

  “Yes,” Dorie said. She leaned against the door. “I’m fine, Bret,” she called. “There’s no problem in here.”

  She didn’t expect him to believe her. He would know something was wrong.

  “Dorie, I’m coming in!” Bret hollered. “Stand back.”

  “Stop him, Dorie,” Jack said. “If he sees me...”

  The door flew open, and Bret came inside with a rifle pointed. He aimed the weapon around the room, seeming to take in everything at once. “Get down on the floor,” he hollered at Jack.

  “Put that thing down,” Dorie said, stepping in front of her brother. “There’s no need for it.”

  His eyes narrowed. He stared at her, then looked past her to see Jack’s face. He slowly lowered the rifle. “Dorie! What’s going on? I thought Dabney had escaped and had you for sure.” He stared at Jack. “Who is this?”

  She thought about trying to make the situation seem less dramatic, but realized the futility of that plan. Jack had escaped. Bret was an ex-cop. This was truly drama at its worst. “Bret,” she said, moving away so Jack was fully revealed, “I’d like to introduce you to my brother. Jack, meet Bret.”

  * * *

  THE RIFLE HUNG at Bret’s side as he stood rooted to the wood plank floor. He stared at the kid in front of him, trying to make sense of the situation. The teen had Dorie’s deep blue eyes, her slim build and firm, often stubborn chin.

  “How did you get here?” Bret asked. “Did they release you?”

  “No,” Dorie said.

  “Not exactly,” Jack said.

  “Then how...?”

  Luke ran in the door panting with excitement. “Dad, did you shoot somebody?”

  “No. I told you to go back to the house!”

  Luke stared at Jack. “I always have to go to the house! I want to know who this guy is.”

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Bret said, holding the barrel of the rifle and balancing the butt against the cabin floor.

  Luke didn’t move, so Dorie said, “Luke, this is my brother, Jack. He...ah...he came for a visit.”

  Luke grinned. “Oh, cool. Hi, Jack.”

  Jack opened his mou
th to respond.

  “He’s not staying,” Bret said, interrupting him.

  Luke approached Jack, and every muscle in Bret’s body tensed. “Stay next to me,” he ordered his son.

  Luke stopped. “What happened to your face and your arms?” he asked Jack. “You been in a fight?”

  “Naw,” Jack said. “Nothing as exciting as that.”

  Dorie cringed.

  “Everyone okay in here?” Clancy came through the door wielding a shovel.

  “Yes,” Bret said. “You can put that down. You won’t be clobbering anyone.”

  Clancy glanced at the rifle. “I guess you’ve got things covered.”

  “This is Dorie’s brother, Grandpa,” Luke said. “He’s visiting. Isn’t that neat?”

  Clancy gripped the shovel more tightly and took a step back. “Your brother? The one that’s been at Broad...?”

  “Yes,” Dorie answered quickly, interrupting him. She gave a sideways look at Luke, warning Clancy to skip the details.

  “Pop, take Luke back to the house and keep him there. I’m going to be here awhile with Dorie and Jack.” He tried to sound normal for Luke’s sake, but no one would miss the edge of severity in his voice. He didn’t want anyone to misinterpret his intentions right now, and it was just as well that Luke knew it.

  “I don’t want to go,” Luke said. “Jack probably knows how to play video games, and I figured...”

  “You figured nothing,” Bret said. “Pop?”

  Clancy turned Luke around and pushed him toward the door. “Come on, kid. We can use this shovel to dig a hole or something.”

  “I don’t want to dig...”

  Further complaints were drowned out when Bret closed the door behind them. When just the three of them were alone, Bret looked at Dorie. “Did you know this was going to happen?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “No! How could you think that?” She gave her brother a sideways glance. “As a matter of fact, Jack, why didn’t the prison call me? I should have been the first person they notified when you went missing.”