by Joe Russell
Dave walked up to her without a word and put his arms around her affectionately. He didn’t want the discomfort of having all of her things soaked and the stress of her phone probably being ruined to spoil the entire trip. She hugged him back and he could tell she was upset, but trying to keep it in, as she usually did.
“Hey,” he whispered to her, “at least he didn’t knock me in. You’re pretty nice,” he grinned at her.
She rolled her eyes and agreed, “Yeah, good for him at least.” She paused and took a moment to regard her little sister and Mike as they worked together to set up the tent. It was obvious to someone watching that Jen was moderately experienced with this kind of stuff and Mike was just trying to help. But that was the thing, she thought. At least he was trying to help. “Hey,” she whispered back to Dave, in a more serious tone. “Despite knocking me into the creek, I have been impressed with Mike. I mean, he’s out here, right? And he’s trying to help and he hasn’t complained too much. Look at them; he’s totally into her. He’s out here because of her. That counts for something, right?”
Dave raised his eyebrow at Sandra, not quite expecting this. After all, she was less outspoken, at least in this department, but he hadn’t thought that she’d take to Mike, at least not so quickly. However, she has a point, he thought. Mike wasn’t the kind of guy that Dave typically hung around with, and the way that he dressed, spoke, carried himself, and the things he was into, left him with their gender being about the only thing in common, besides the state they were from. And some days, Dave would have challenged that too. But here he was, like Sandra said. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I guess you’re right. We’ll see, though. The weekend isn’t over yet.”
✽ ✽ ✽
The rest of the evening was uneventful. Jen and Mike had eventually gotten their tent set up and it wasn’t too wet, at least on the inside. Dave and Sandra had set up their Snugpak tent that Dave had unreluctantly purchased after losing their old one the previous year. They had gotten a pretty good fire going and made an awesome dinner of assorted Mountain House freeze-dried packs. Dave knew that when eating outside after a long day of hiking, just about anything tastes gourmet, but he guessed it really didn’t matter whether it actually did or not. After dinner, they had put all of their trash into a plastic kitchen trash bag, tied it shut, and Dave hung it about fifteen feet up in a small Red Maple tree back downhill toward the main trail. They had cleaned their mess kits in the creek and set them out to dry overnight. They sat around the campfire until it was dark, each of them getting up occasionally to find more sticks to put on the fire. Fortunately, it hadn’t rained in several days, so they didn’t need to chop or baton any large sticks just to get dry firewood. It was a pleasant evening and Dave could tell that Sandra was indeed feeling better, and Mike, to his credit, had never seemed too bothered in the first place. It hadn’t exactly been a smooth start to their excursion weekend, but they were enjoying it nonetheless.
They retired to their tents around what Dave guessed to be nine-thirty. He would never had said this to Sandra, at least not during the trip, but it was kinda nice to be out here without any digital electronics, he thought. This was how he liked it.
He laid on his back with his sleeping bag half open. He hated being hot when trying to go to bed and although it was cooler here in the mountains than it probably was back home in the valley, the night hadn’t cooled off quite enough to be comfortable. Dave didn’t care, though. Kind of like the old expression about fishing, ‘being uncomfortable out here is still better than not being out here at all’. His right hand went subconsciously to the scar on his forearm. He could still feel the uneven skin and wondered what scar would last longer, the physical one he was feeling with his fingers or the psychological one he was getting over in his mind?
He pushed this thought out of his mind. As much of a realist as Dave considered himself to be, he wasn’t pessimistic. At least, he didn’t think so. Plenty of people thought he was, but he believed that was because they were naive toward the world, so it was impossible for them to see him for what he really was. They thought the way he distrusted the world and pretty much everyone in it was sad and in a sense, he agreed with that. However, he felt that it was sad this was how the world was, not how he was. He didn’t think all people, or even most were bad, but there were enough sprinkled in to warrant caution toward all of them. Some people gave everyone the benefit of the doubt, revoking their trust from a person or organization once it had been betrayed, but Dave was the opposite. He wasn’t nasty or cruel toward anyone really, but only put his trust in people who had earned it. This resulted in what some would consider a pessimistic world view but for Dave, it was insurance that he and the people he was responsible for wouldn’t easily be victimized, in any sense of the word, by someone who hadn’t already earned his trust.
He looked over at Sandra’s peaceful face as she slept. He loved her so much and was looking forward to the rest of their lives together. He wanted to protect her in this world that was so beautiful, but could be so dark as well. He hoped it would never come to that, but knew he would do anything to protect her. Anything.
Chapter 6
Wardensville, West Virginia. September, three years earlier.
“A
ll right, if I leave here in about fifteen minutes, I’ll probably get there about the same time you do. See you then.”
Dave hung up the phone and began changing clothes. He wanted to get to his grandparents’ house around the same time they did, especially if they needed his help. His grandmother had fallen in her garden, had broken her wrist, and was getting out of the hospital in less than a half hour. He finished changing, got a quick bite to eat, and headed out to his truck. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in September. Sandra was out shopping with her mom, and he figured he’d go see his grandparents for a few hours.
He got in his truck and hit the road. It was a few minutes out to US Route 11, which he would take a few miles south and then take VA 55 West into West Virginia toward Wardensville where his grandparents lived. After a few minutes, he looked down and realized that he could use a stop to get gas. It wasn’t close to being empty, but Dave didn’t like letting it get down below half of a tank, especially when driving a good distance from home. He stopped to fuel up in Strasburg, the town where Sandra had grown up, before heading west toward the state line.
About an hour after he’d left his house, Dave turned onto their long driveway. He noticed that he was running a few minutes behind schedule and figured they were probably home by now. As the house came into view, he did indeed see their car, but also an older Pontiac that he didn’t recognize. He pulled up outside of the attached garage, which was where they usually entered the house. He looked at the car some more, trying to evaluate the situation. He knew that his grandparents led a Bible Study at their house several days each week, so it wasn’t uncommon for other people to be here. Still, he couldn’t help but think that the car wasn’t what he imagined the other retired couples would drive, and something didn’t seem right. He pulled his Beretta from the truck’s center console, shoved it in his back pocket, and quietly got out of the truck.
He cautiously entered the garage, listening for anything unusual. When he was almost at the door that connected the garage to the rest of the house, he heard a crashing sound like something - or someone - falling to the floor. He heard shouts that he couldn’t quite decipher, but some were definitely the voices of his grandparents. He stiffened, his mind racing, knowing he needed to do something, but not sure what. He hadn’t seen anything yet, but he could assume that his grandparents were being attacked by home invaders. He thought about calling the police, but knew that out here, it would be at least twenty, maybe closer to thirty minutes before help would come and by then, it would certainly be far too late to stop whatever was happening now. He was brought back to reality by the sound of more shouting. This time, from a man’s voice that he didn’t recognize. And he could make out the words. “I think
I heard something outside. Larry, go out and make sure it ain’t nothin. If it is, take care of it.”
Dave froze, knowing that in a matter of seconds the door would open and one of at least two invaders would be staring at him. He had his gun but knew if he used it now, he would give away his position and the man inside could use his grandparents as hostages. He looked around frantically for a place to hide, but realized that when the man saw his truck, it would alert him that he was here somewhere. As his eyes darted around the garage, his gaze fixed on the next best option - a long crowbar hanging on the wall above the workbench.
Quickly and quietly, Dave grabbed the crowbar and took a position against the wall beside the door. Trying to stay as close to the wall as he could, he cocked the crowbar back like a major-leaguer aiming for a grand slam. Time passed in slow motion as the door opened from the inside of the house and a man began to step through. As soon as the man’s face broke the plane of the door frame and Dave confirmed that he did not recognize the man, he swung the bar with all his strength at the man’s face. The man’s eyes grew wide and his hands began to come up by instinct, but it was too late. The back side of the crowbar collided squarely with the bridge of his nose with a sickening crunch and his head was jolted backward, spraying a little blood on the ceiling. Fortunately for Dave, the man’s neck - and nose - broke most of the impact, and Dave was able to grab the front of his shirt and keep him from falling too hard on the floor. With the shouts still coming from inside, Dave was hoping that they wouldn’t have heard what just happened. He looked down at the man’s still body. Dave wasn’t necessarily intending to kill him, but right now, he didn’t really care. These people were attacking his grandparents and he had only one goal, and that was to stop them. The extent of the injuries that he inflicted in the process was their problem.
He stepped over the body, laying the crowbar down gently on the concrete floor. He drew his pistol and held it a low ready position as he entered the house. He knew the layout and was able to guess where they all were, based on the shouting. As he turned the corner, he saw his grandmother laying on the ground and his grandfather being pushed up against the wall by another man he didn’t recognize who had his back turned to Dave. His grandmother was shouting at the stranger, who was shouting at Dave’s grandfather.
“Just tell me where they are!” the intruder yelled into Dave’s grandfather’s face. It was then that Dave noticed the revolver in the man’s hand, pressed to his grandfather’s stomach. “I know that bitch just got out of the hospital, I done saw you leave! Where are the damn pills?” he barked.
Dave’s grandfather just stood there with his hands raised, but wasn’t talking. Dave had had enough. With his Beretta raised toward the man’s back, he yelled, “Hey, asshole! Drop the gun or I’ll shoot!”
Everyone quit their yelling almost immediately. Dave had no idea what would happen next, but was hoping that the man would comply. He was standing so close to Dave’s grandfather that Dave was nervous about shooting. The man turned his head, the revolver still pointed at Dave’s grandfather. “The hell are you?” the man asked, half alarmed and half annoyed.
Before Dave could answer, Dave’s grandfather brought one hand down, pushing the nose of the revolver to the floor, and the other to the man’s chest. The old revolver barked, but did no damage. With surprising speed and strength for a man in his mid-seventies, Dave’s grandfather shoved the man to the side, away from him. After stumbling a few steps backward, the man regained his footing and began bringing up the revolver in Dave’s direction. However, Dave had instinctively caught on to what his grandfather had done and had kept the man’s center of mass in his own gun’s sights as he moved a safe distance away from his grandfather. As soon as he saw the man raise his gun, he fired, hitting the intruder in the chest. The man flinched as the 147 grain +P round impacted, but didn’t drop his gun. Dave recovered his aim quickly and fired a second shot, this one hitting him at the base of his throat and ripping out the other side, spraying clumps of guts and bone on the wall behind him. This time, the man’s body went limp and crumpled to the ground.
This entire time, which happened in a matter of seconds, Dave had been acting on instinct more than conscious thought. It all happened faster than his mind could react, but he was glad that he’d fired before the other man had hit him or one of his grandparents. He was frozen for a moment, staring at the gruesome scene in front of him, when his grandmother’s scream snapped his attention back to what was happening. He turned to his left in time to see a third intruder, this one larger than the two skinnier men that he had already incapacitated, charging him. When Dave finally saw him and his mind registered what was happening, the man was only a few feet from Dave, wildly swinging a large kitchen knife down toward Dave’s face. Maybe out of conscious realization that he wouldn’t be able to bring his gun around fast enough, or more likely out of instinct yet again, Dave raised his left arm in a high-blocking motion just in time. The large blade connected with the bone in Dave’s forearm and the two men went to the ground. The intruder was on top of Dave, now holding the knife point down with both hands. The drop-point was only inches from Dave’s throat, and he was pushing up on the man’s wrists with all his strength, in an attempt to keep the blade away from him. When the men had collided and Dave was taken to the ground, he had dropped his pistol and as if to excuse itself from the remainder of the fight, it had bounced and slid several feet out of his reach. Although Dave was strong and in good shape, this man had a clear weight advantage and had Dave mounted, and Dave knew he was losing this battle. The blade was now against his throat and he could feel the prick of the tip, piercing his skin slightly. The world was going black from the exertion of literally fighting for his life. Just then, as his consciousness was deserting him, Dave heard a sharp crack, which caused him to focus. He saw the man’s head, only inches from his own, jerk slightly to the side and then his entire body went limp on top of him. With his last burst of strength, Dave pushed the attacker’s body up and off him, letting it roll to the side. He laid there on his back, coughing and gasping for breath, before finally sitting up.
He looked to his left and saw his latest attacker laying belly up on the floor, his head rolled disturbingly toward Dave. On the man’s left temple, Dave could see a small hole with a little trickle of blood flowing from it. He turned and saw his grandfather helping his wife to her feet, his North American Arms .22 magnum pocket revolver in his free hand. Dave’s grandfather had purchased it more than a decade ago and had carried the tiny gun in his pocket pretty much every day since.
Dave looked at his grandfather, who looked back at him. It was the first time they’d made eye contact since Dave had arrived. Dave’s grandfather gave him a thin smile and stretched out a hand to help him up.
“I was wondering when you were going to pull that thing out,” Dave managed to croak with a dry voice, taking his grandfather’s hand.
Chapter 7
Spruce Knob, West Virginia. Present Day.
Dave awoke in the morning with a groan. As much as he loved camping and being out of doors in general, he rarely slept well when he did. He supposed it was a combination of the hard pad he was on and the fact that when camping, he always seemed to wake up several times to go to the bathroom. Last night had been no exception.
The tent was still very dark, but that was by design. He figured that being tactically-oriented, it was built that way to allow for sleeping in the daytime if you were travelling at night. He could tell that it was indeed morning though and despite his sleeping bag mysteriously feeling cozier and more comfortable than it had all night he decided, barely, to get up and get moving.
He dressed as quietly as he could so as not to wake Sandra and slowly unzipped the tent flap. He guessed it to be around seven-thirty. The sun had not yet risen high enough to clear the ridge to the east but looking up, he could tell it was already becoming a brilliant day. He slipped his hiking boots on, tied them loosely, and lumbered out of th
e tent.
To his surprise, Mike was already up and working on a campfire. Great, Dave thought. Now, I have to talk to him. He instantly felt guilty for this reaction. Feeling torn, Dave approached the fire pit where Mike was crouched and greeted him with a groggy good morning.
Mike turned and greeted him back. He had gathered some small branches and had set them over some smaller twigs and leaves from the ground. He lit some of leaves which almost lit into a real flame, then just smoked and went out. “This keeps happening,” Mike told Dave, sounding a little frustrated. “I guess they’re damp from being on the ground.”
“Yeah,” Dave agreed, “especially early in the morning. They might dry out some during the day if the sun shines on them, but definitely damp now.” He walked over to where they had left a few items the night before on a boulder and picked something up. “Here,” he said, “this will help.”
“Huh? What’s that?” Mike asked curiously.
Instead of answering, Dave held out the can of bug spray and doused the leaves and sticks with it. He then took a match, lit it, and threw it on the leaves which instantly went up in flame like a pile of charcoal soaked in lighter fluid. “Kinda cheating, but it works,” he said with a grin. “How about some coffee?”
Dave retrieved his steel canteen cup and mess kit from his pack. He filled the canteen cup with water from a canteen, placed the lid on it, then set it near the edge of the fire. The two sat in silence for a few minutes watching the fire, which was now burning well. Finally, it was Mike who spoke.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said. “I feel stupid for falling in, but even worse for knocking in Sandi. I just…” he trailed off. “I feel so out of place out here.”
