by Roger Hayden
“Who’s there?” he shouted.
Josh felt his stomach tighten into knots. Had they been found out? Had others discovered them? Rob had always told him to not make too much noise during his fishing trips and not bring attention to himself. Was it too late to heed the warning?
“I’m not messing around, man,” Antonio called, holding his knife in the air. “Try me.”
A rustle came from the bushes as a man with a long gray beard and a rough, wrinkly face emerged. It was Grady, the hermit who had taken to bothering their camp as of late. He wobbled forward in his green jacket and torn, baggy jeans, appearing addled and drunk as usual. They had crossed paths with the old man a few weeks ago, when Grady had given them slurred and rambling warnings about coming dangers. This time seemed no different.
Josh felt relieved. Antonio kept his knife in view. Grady stopped when he was about five feet in front of them, leaned against a tree and let out a loud belch.
“What did I tell you last time, old man? Leave us alone!” Antonio said.
Grady raised his shaky arm and pointed at them. His eyes were wild and glazed over. “Buncha no-good punks … that’s all you are. Trespassing on my property…” His head stooped then went back up again. “How many times I gotta tell you to stay off my property?” he slurred.
“This isn’t your property,” Antonio said. “How many times do we have to tell you that? Get it through that thick, crusty head of yours.”
Grady’s face reddened. He looked confused, angry, and delirious all at once. His hanging arm began to shake violently, as if in a spasm. “You—you can’t talk to me … not like that. I want you off my property.” He tried to step forward but clung to the tree to keep his balance. “I want you off now!” he shouted.
Angered, Antonio took a couple of steps toward Grady, brandishing his knife. “Yell at me again, old man. See what happens.”
Josh leapt forward and grabbed Antonio’s shoulder, causing him to turn around. “It’s not worth it, man. We both know he’s crazy. Come on.”
Antonio calmed down and let out a big breath, almost as if he were relieved that Josh had intervened. He lowered his knife and stepped back. Grady clung to the tree, his wrinkled face filled with pure spite.
“News flash. You can’t own a mountain,” Antonio said, shaking his head in disgust.
“I can own anything I want!” Grady rambled. His hands went into his jacket, feeling for something. Antonio pulled his knife out again. Grady pulled out a flask, put it against his dry lips, and took a long drink that ended in a coughing fit. An air of relief came over the two boys. They weren’t sure what Grady was up to. Antonio slowly folded his knife and put it back in his pocket but kept his eyes locked on Grady.
“Let’s go already,” Josh said. “Enough of this guy.”
Antonio hesitated, but after a moment gave in. “All right,” he said, and knelt down to retrieve his fishing pole and bucket. He rose just as the old man was getting started again.
“You wanna know something else?” Grady bellowed. A light whooshing sound followed through the air. His face went blank with shock, and his body tumbled, falling flat onto the pebbles and leaves.
Josh and Antonio looked at each other, curious. Grady had simply slumped over without a word. They thought maybe he had passed out, but something wasn’t right. His legs and arms twitched, and then they noticed a long arrow sticking out from the back of his head.
“What the hell?” Antonio said.
Josh looked beyond Grady and saw several men dressed in camouflage jackets about twenty yards away, huddled in a pack. One of them was holding a bow.
“Nice head shot!” a lanky man with a handlebar mustache said. He gave a thumbs-up to the bearded man with the bow.
“Oh my God,” Josh said quietly. His feet felt frozen to the ground. Antonio was still transfixed by the arrow in Grady’s skull when Josh tapped him on the shoulder. He then looked up, noticing the men.
“Back to the cabin,” Josh said in a deadly serious whisper.
The men looked back—five of them in all—and noticed Josh and Antonio, it seemed for the first time, because they looked as panicked as Josh and Antonio did.
Josh dropped his fishing pole. “Run!”
The men sprinted forward, chasing them. Antonio went for his knife when Josh yanked him away. “Move!”
He got the message and bolted along with Josh, back up the trail toward camp. They could hear bushes rustling as the men raced after them. Another arrow whizzed right by Josh’s head and hit a nearby tree. He screamed out and pushed his legs as fast as they could go.
“Don’t let ’em get away!” a man shouted.
Antonio trailed slightly behind, gasping for air. Their legs felt like jelly as they ascended a steep hill. No matter how hard they pushed, gravity weighed them down. At his most frantic point, when he thought they were dead, Josh could hear the men’s voices fading. They were losing them.
“Come on!” he cried out to Antonio. “Keep moving.” They made it to the top of the rise and kept going with adrenaline racing through their blood.
***
Mila set some antibiotics on the table near Reba after having just set up an IV bag. Her condition was improving, and despite the terrible experience of retrieving the medical supplies, it felt good to be nursing again. Reba lay under her covers awake and in good spirits. Her color had returned, with her brief but healthy regimen of rest and medicine. She hadn’t recovered completely, but it was a good start.
“Dysentery?” she said to Mila, holding a warm cup of soup. “I’ve never had anything like that before in my life.”
Mila set a fresh glass of water on the nightstand with two pills next to it. “You’re not out of the woods just yet, but we’re getting there.”
“How did I get this … this infection?” Reba asked.
“I’m not sure,” Mila said. “Best guess is that you ate or drank something bad. Can you think of anything?” She hadn’t yet had the opportunity to ask Reba any questions about it. With her feeling a bit better, Mila thought the time was right.
Reba set her soup to the side and placed her face in her hands. “Oh dear…”
Mila looked up inquisitively. “What is it?”
She removed her hands, sounding ashamed. “We had some pickled ham I wanted
to finish before it went bad. That had to be it. I can’t believe myself. I should have known better.”
“But how did you get sick and not Elliot?”
Reba leaned forward and took the glass of water.
“Don’t forget your pills,” Mila added.
Reba took the pills and gulped them down with the water as Mila waited for her answer. She took another drink and continued. “He didn’t have any. Out of all nights, he said he wasn’t hungry.” She grimaced. “And don’t think I didn’t try to press him on it. So I had a piece and then threw the rest out.”
Mila crossed her arms over her lap and shook her head in motherly fashion. “You can’t take chances like that, Reba. You should know better. Now we need to check all your pickled foods.”
“There’s not much left now,” Reba said solemnly. “Which worries me. What did you find out? Is the power expected to come on anytime soon?”
“Looks like it’s going to be a while,” Mila said.
“Oh,” Reba said, sighing.
Suddenly they heard shouting from outside—the voices familiar. Mila shot up from her chair. “Josh…”
“What is it, dear?” Reba asked.
Mila hid her panic. “Nothing, Reba. Let me go check to see what’s going on. You need to stay in bed and finish your soup. I’ll be right back.” She exited the room calmly and then darted for the front cabin door once she was out of Reba’s view.
She swung the door open and squinted her eyes in the bright sunlight. Josh and Antonio ran right past the cabin and toward the meeting canopy where Rob and the others were still sorting out their ideas.
“Help!” Josh shouted
. “Help us!”
“Josh!” She ran down the cabin steps, chasing after the two fleeing boys. Rob, Carlos, Brad, and everyone else raised their heads and looked over, alarmed. Rob started running toward them. The distressed boys looked as though they had just run from a bear or some other wild animal.
“There’re people here! They killed Grady!” Antonio shouted. “Now they’re after us.”
The adults looked shocked. Intruders? Grady murdered? They all rushed toward the boys. Things suddenly began to feel very dangerous. They had not expected the threat to come to their camp so soon. Carlos dashed to his son as the two boys slowed and nearly tumbled against each other in exhaustion.
“What on earth are you talking about?” He held his son by his shoulders, preventing him from collapsing. Both boys gasped for air. Sweat drenched their clothes and faces. “Slow down and speak to me.”
Mila went to Josh as he rushed into her arms. She’d never seen him so shaken.
“Tell me, hijo,” Carlos continued. “Where are these men?”
“They’re chasing us. They killed Grady. Put an arrow through his head,” Antonio said, panic-stricken.
Rob stepped forward to break up the interrogation. “Everyone get your weapons.” He pulled a handheld radio from his pocket and spoke into it. “Elliot, we have intruders in the area. I need you to do a complete scan of the area and let me know what you see.”
He paused for a moment, waiting. Static blasted through the speaker, followed by Elliot’s distorted voice. “Ten-four. I’m looking but don’t see anything.”
“There are men in the area. According to Josh and Antonio, they killed Grady and then went after them. I need a positive I.D. on this group. How many and what weapons they have.”
“I told you, I don’t see anything.”
“Well, look harder!” Rob shouted. He lowered the handheld radio and noticed everyone looking at him. “We know the drill. We’ve practiced this before. Everyone take positions in your cabins and be armed and ready. Shoot anything that moves.”
Brad tilted his head in disbelief. “You serious there, Rambo? How do we even know if what these boys are saying is true?”
Antonio turned to Brad, red with anger. “Because we saw it!”
“That’s enough,” Carlos said, holding him back.
“I know it sounds extreme,” Rob said. “I’m no killer either, but after what we saw in town, we can’t take any chances. Move, people!”
He took Mila and Josh by the hand and rushed back to the cabin as the group dispersed, ready to defend their camp by whatever means necessary.
***
Arthur’s gang slept in the forest overnight. They each carried a backpack with camping gear that had steadily begun to weigh on their backs. They were exhausted and needed a rest. They camped out for the night, close to the community they intended to ambush. They discussed the plan, believing they had discovered the mountain people who had terrorized their town, killed one of their people, and stolen their hospital supplies. Finding them was an amazing stroke of luck, which they credited to Arthur’s instincts and steadfast leadership.
“We can’t take anything for granted,” Arthur told them as they sat in a circle under the darkness of night. “These people are stone-cold murderers. And they pose an immediate threat to our community.”
“So let’s go in there, guns blazing, and take ’em out,” Jerome said.
“It’s not that easy,” Arthur said. “They’ve been living up here for a while—years even. This is foreign territory to us, and we have to be careful.”
The temperature was rapidly dropping, and the men pulled out their sleeping bags to unroll them. The next day would be full of surprises for their enemies. The plan was simple. Or was it? Arthur hadn’t been too clear. But at the risk of being ambiguous, he addressed the group once more before they went to sleep.
“We’re ghosts. That’s the key. They won’t know that we’re here. And by the time they do, it’ll be too late.”
A feeling of excitement rose between the men. Arthur was delighted. They were, after all, convicts. Some convicted of murder, battery, assault, and grand theft. Normally, their instincts needed to be restrained and controlled, but not always.
“That isn’t to say we’re going to kill anyone,” he told them. “Not just yet. We assess the situation first.”
Their enthusiasm slowly waned at the suggestion of restraint. The men settled down in their sleeping bags without further discussion.
Arthur wasn’t quite finished. “Once we do make contact, we’ll take the appropriate action,” he continued, but no one was really listening.
“Hey, Mr. Mayor,” Dwayne said in a hushed voice.
Arthur looked over at him after plopping down on his sleeping bag. “What is it, Dwayne?”
Dwayne reached into his bag and pulled out a crossbow. His eyes lit up with pride. “How’s that for stealth, huh?”
Arthur smiled. “That’s very … proactive of you. Where’d you get it?”
“Swiped from the hunting store,” Dwayne said, smiling and pleased with himself. Everyone was on their backs and quickly falling asleep.
“Do you know how to use it?” Arthur asked.
“Oh yeah,” Dwayne said with a wave. “Used to go hunting with my dad all the time. I’m a regular straight shooter with this thing. Far as I can remember.”
Arthur lay back and looked at the stars—a million tiny bulbs glowing in the sky, without concern with what was happening below. “Hopefully you’ll get your chance tomorrow.” His eyelids fluttered and grew heavier. The sudden thought of posting a guard occurred to him, but he was too tired; so were all of his men. Instead, they drifted asleep, exposed and vulnerable to whomever came across them. But no one did.
Ultimatum
Arthur’s gang awoke the next morning to the sun beating on their faces and birds chattering all around them. Startled, they thought they had overslept, but only six hours had passed. Their bodies were sore from sleeping on the hard, rocky ground. They were on someone else’s turf, unknown territory. Unease existed among them for this very reason. But their mission was clear: eliminate the threat.
Arthur woke to find the root that had been digging into his back. He put his glasses on, stood up and stretched. “Morning, gentlemen. I trust you all slept well.” The men laughed softly.
They got up and stood around, still only half-awake, saying little to each other.
“Feel like shit,” Jerome said. He stretched his muscular, tattooed arms with a grunt. “But ready to take these scumbags out.”
The group nodded in agreement, ready and pumped up for action.
Arthur seemed less gung-ho. “Remember what I said. We approach with caution and assess the situation accordingly.”
“Jerome’s right,” Larry said. “Let’s do what we gotta do and head back home.”
Arthur frowned. “Don’t start getting overconfident.” He looked directly at Larry, daring him to contradict him further. Arthur was beginning to wonder if his most trusted right-hand man was in fact trying to take over. “Let’s pack up and move out.”
“Yes, General Mayor, sir,” Larry said, then added a mock salute.
The rest of the group—Parker, Eddie, and Dwayne—said little as they loaded their packs and munched on granola bars.
“Some coffee would be nice,” Dwayne said.
“Oh yeah,” the others agreed.
“What time is it?” Jerome asked.
Arthur looked up at the sky. The sun was low and under the clouds. Early morning. “We’ve still got the edge,” he said. “They don’t yet know we’re close. That’s our advantage.”
They assembled and left no trace of having been there, ready to get the job done. Arthur led them forward, up a steep hill, close to where the cabins were. They were focused and ready. The mountain people, so they had heard, were ruthless individuals, armed to the teeth. Savages who played by their own rules. But they were ready to face them, nonetheless, d
riven by pure vengeance.
After trudging through the thick brush, the group stopped. They saw a man in the distance—a haggard, drunk-looking man, holding onto a tree and shouting. Arthur pulled his binoculars out and observed. The old man looked to be alone, but he could easily blow their cover. He signaled to Dwayne.
Dwayne stepped forward as Arthur pointed ahead.
“That one of ’em?” Dwayne asked.
“I don’t know,” Arthur answered. “But if he sees us, we’re toast.”
Dwayne stepped back, knowing exactly what to do. He’d been hoping for such a chance. He pulled his crossbow out, fixed the arrow, raised it to his shoulder and aimed.
“What are you doing?” Larry asked, coming out from behind a nearby tree and zipping up.
“There’s a man ahead, but he’s alone,” Arthur said. “Dwayne’s on it.”
Dwayne steadied himself and shot an arrow into the old man’s head—a direct hit through the back. The man fell over as Arthur’s group rushed forward but then came to an abrupt halt. Two teenage boys were standing fifty yards ahead of them, frozen in place.
“Son of a bitch,” Arthur said.
“What do we do?” Dwayne asked, frantic.
Jerome pulled out his 9mm, spread his legs and raised his arms.
“No!” Arthur said, pushing Jerome’s arms down. “You’ll expose us.”
Arthur then looked at Dwayne, nodding toward the crossbow. “Do it!” But the boys had already taken off.
They chased after them, but when they reached the top of the hill, Arthur stopped. The boys were gone, and his men demanded answers.
“Why are we stopping?” Larry said. His voice was heated.
“They have a lookout!” Arthur said. He pointed up and tossed his binoculars to Larry. After a close look, Larry could see exactly what he was talking about. There was a man on an enclosed platform, with a hunting rifle cradled in his arms. He was talking into a handheld radio but hadn’t seen them yet.
“What do we do?” Jerome asked. “They seen us now. Might as well do this thing proper.”
