New River Breeze

by Ed Robinson

I left early the next morning, climbing the hill out back and ducking into the trees. I shot Brody a wave before I disappeared. She was shaking her head as she waved back, probably thinking what a fool I was. I hiked at a crisp pace for most of the way, testing my legs. I felt strong. Before I got too close to the plateau where old Pop had once grown his weed, I slowed and stopped to rest. I sat on a flat rock and took in my surroundings. This trip had once been intimately familiar to me, but I hadn’t been up here in a long time.

  I relaxed and slowed my breathing, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of my surroundings. The sound of the creek was ever present, but I also picked up the bird songs and the rustling of the leaves. I smelled pine most of all, but under it was earth and wood. I remained still, letting it all come to me; feeling the vibrations of nature. Eventually, I began to drift through the trees as if someone was hunting me. No one was there, but I wanted to feel what it was like. I needed to get back into a certain mode; becoming a ghost-like Pop. Not even the birds could know I was there. I slid my deerskin shoes between the leaves and sticks without making a sound. I was never in the open, instead slipping from tree to rock in smooth motions that couldn’t be heard. I forced myself to keep the progress slow and silent. Eventually, I came to a place where I could see out over the plateau. I watched it for ten minutes, making sure I was alone. Finally, I gave up my hiding spot and walked through the dirt of the old pot farm. I was king of the mountain, and it felt good.

  I climbed up onto the rock ledge that led to Pop’s cave. The brush blocking its entrance had browned and fallen off in places. I poked my head inside and found nothing disturbed. A few spider webs had grown in the corners, so I grabbed a stick and swept them away. I crawled into the corner where Pop slept and sat on the musty bedroll, looking back out of the entrance. He had lived here for years, unbeknownst to any of us below. This had been his mountain. He had staked his claim on a piece of no man’s land and survived without stealing what he needed to live. He was likely the last of the true mountain men. I was only playing at it, but I would need the skills he taught me to handle Ed Pennington.

  I sat in silent contemplation for a long time before boredom got the best of me. I decided to redo the branches that concealed the cave entrance. I don’t know why it just seemed like something I ought to do. I used my heavy knife to chop new pine limbs and dragged them along the ledge. I kicked the dead and brown stuff over the side and went to work rearranging the new, green stuff. When I finished, I realized it was too late to make it back down the mountain before dark. I climbed off the ledge, gathered up the dead limbs, and took them away; hiding them in thick brush far from the cave. I gathered up some sticks and dried branches to make a fire. I built it on a flat spot there on the plateau and warmed myself as the sun went down.

  I asked myself a question. Did I give a shit about Ed Pennington, or was it more important for me to win? I did feel sorry for his mother. I knew that Brody had genuine compassion, but I didn’t seem to care as much about the near-anonymous man. Maybe if I knew him personally, I’d sympathize. I had honestly cared about some of my old friends down in Florida, so I had that capacity. I’d even put myself in danger to drag One-legged Beth away from the mangrove druggies. I’d rescued those Russian girls in Pelican Bay. I’d clubbed a much bigger man in the head with a hammer to prevent him from raping a young Cuban girl. I didn’t have to do any of those things. I did them because I cared.

  Since moving to the mountains, I’d had even less social interaction. I didn’t have friends here. I had to fly all the way to the Caribbean to help someone that I was once close to, and I’d probably never see her again. So why bust my balls over this Pennington character? I needed a good reason to care about his plight, but all I could come up with was pleasing Brody, and maybe proving to myself that I still had what it takes.

  I sat there by the fire and tried to put myself in his shoes. He was alone in the wilderness, just like I was at that point in time. Was he creeping into a campground to nab a quick meal? Was he asleep somewhere deep in the forest? What did he think about besides food and escape? We thought he might have some level of autism, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have all sorts of thoughts running through his head. He just wasn’t good at verbalizing them. His social skills were far more stunted than mine, but it wasn’t his fault. I chose to be a recluse, even enjoyed it sometimes. He had chosen a similar path, in his own way. People sucked, so he avoided them. We had that much in common.

  I turned my thoughts to bringing him in. Outrunning him was out of the question, even though I was as fit as I’d been in a long time. I could track him down, find his camp, and try to talk to him, but I didn’t expect him to listen. I could have Red chase after him, but to what end? The answer stayed just out of reach. I wasn’t able to devise a plan that I knew would work. I got tired of thinking about it. I’d have to resort to my old method of bringing missions to a successful conclusion. I would wing it.

  Unburdened with heavy thoughts, I doused the fire with water from the creek and made my way in the dark back to the cave. It was peaceful up there but in a lonely sort of way. I didn’t mind sleeping on an ancient bed of blankets and a sleeping bag, but it was much nicer to sleep next to Brody in a warm, comfortable bed. I toned down all those thoughts and closed my eyes. The creek sang me to sleep just like it did at the cabin.

  Pennington ran in my dreams for most of the night. He kept looking for that finish line that never came. He had fear in his eyes, not of me, but of some unseen danger. He would look back over his shoulder without breaking stride. He ran all the way to the ocean, and when he got there, he turned around and ran all the way to another ocean. One day, he would have to stop. That’s when I could get through to him.

  It took me a minute to realize where I was when I woke up. It was still dark in the cave, but the sun was starting to show itself above the ridges to the east. I crawled out of my hole and pissed over the edge, creating a tiny waterfall that pooled in the dirt below. I drank some water and ate a granola bar for breakfast, hoisted my pack, and climbed down onto the plateau. A lot had gone down in that place, but no one ever came here anymore. It felt like sacred ground. Cody Banner had killed Pop here, and later I’d killed Banner near the same spot. Brody and I had harvested the weed crop and lugged it all down the mountain.

  This is where I’d learned to walk like smoke. That meant something to me, as I’d need to use my mountain skills to perfection if I wanted a chance against Pennington. I stood there and soaked in the aura of the place before turning and starting the trek home. I felt like I was ready to take my game to Ashe County. I’d gotten what I needed from this place. I was as ready as I’d ever be.

  Brody was out on the porch tending to her plants. We had flowers, bird seed for the songbirds, and hummingbird feeders out there. It was an oasis where we could sit and watch the creek go by, made homey by a woman’s touch.

  “How’d it go, mountain man?” she asked.

  “It went well,” I answered. “I’m ready to face Pennington.”

  “You came up with a plan?”

  “Nope, just gonna wing it,” I said.

  “That sounds like the old Breeze,” she said. “Now take Red out and wing a Frisbee or something. He’s been up my butt since you left.”

  I played with my hound dog for a solid hour. He would run forever if I let him. I couldn’t help but think there was some way he could help me on my mission, but I couldn’t figure out exactly how. I was going alone, at least at first. If I found the need to enlist Red I would. I’d learn the lay of the land first, find Pennington’s camp, and take it from there. Something would come my way; some opportunity that I would grasp. I was going into the unknown, but I would solve the riddle. I’d bring the man child home somehow.

  That night I studied a map of the area I’d be searching. There were five campgrounds on the fringes of the Thurmond Chatham Wildlife Area. There was a state park at Stone Mountain to the east. Raccoon Holler Campground was to t
he west, outside the boundaries of state land. Multiple creeks intersected the wildlife area. The Blue Ridge Parkway skirted the northern boundaries. Longbottom Road ran along the southern edge. There was a valley right in the center that was split by Lovelace Creek. The closest campground to Lovelace was Doughton Park. The other camping areas were along Meadow Fork. A man could get good and lost in between. That’s where I figured Pennington was holed up.

  I prepared for a long stay in the wilderness. I planned to set up camp myself, and use it as a base of operations. Once I located Pennington’s camp, I could relocate at will, keeping him within striking distance. I put a fully charged cell phone in my pack but left it turned off. I’d only use it if I needed Brody to come pick me up. If I couldn’t get a signal, I’d have to hike until I found one. I had a GPS, pistol, food and water, and a tent. I had a knife and even a fishing rod. I rolled a blanket and attached it to the bottom of my pack. I could take fish and water from the streams. If I got desperate, I could shoot small game with the gun. I had a Zippo lighter to start fires with, plus spare fluid and flints. I planned to wear my mountain Zen clothes the entire time, but I packed extra socks and underwear. It was a heavy load, but I wouldn’t be carrying it while hunting my prey. I just needed to pack it all into the interior and set up camp.

  I had Brody drop me off at the Flat Rock Ridge trailhead, off Longbottom Road. I warned her that I might be gone for a week or more. I was determined to see this through. I had all my gear, and there was no point in turning back now. She wished me luck and gave me an extended hug.

  “Be safe, Breeze,” she said. “I know you need to do this, but come home to me in one piece.”

  “I will,” I said. “I promise.”

  The hike started smoothly as I made my way through Grassy Gap to the Basin Creek Trail. That’s where I veered off the worn trail of previous hikers and set off into the wild. I walked north along Basin Creek, which was about halfway between the Doughton Park Recreation Area and Lovelace Creek. I found a good spot that overlooked the valley but was below the higher elevations of the wildlife area. The hike didn’t bother me at all. I still felt strong. I used the remaining daylight to pitch my tent and set up for the long haul. I gathered rocks to form a fire ring and got a blaze going just as it started getting dark. I left what food I had in the pack, and put the pack inside the tent. That way, neither bears nor Pennington could steal it. I heated the meat from a military-style meal in a tin cup over the fire. It reminded me of my army days, but back then they called them C-rations, and they came in a cardboard box. They’re MREs now, meals ready to eat. You can’t stop progress.

  Sixteen

  The tent and bedroll were a step up from the cave on top of McGuire Mountain. The air was fresh and clean, I had a good spot close to the creek, and I was as far from civilization as I could get in the wildlife area. Getting there and setting up had not worn me out. I was ready to begin tracking down Pennington. I slept well, with no dreams to haunt me. After breakfast and a morning constitutional, I set out to find my man. I used the GPS to keep track of where I was, meandering along the creek. I moved slowly and silently, stopping occasionally to listen. I worked a grid back and forth from the creek’s edge, heading north. Half the day went by, and no sign of him was seen. I had to turn around and head back.

  On the second day, I moved much faster until I got to the point where I’d left off. It took half the time to cover the ground. I started a new grid and searched until late in the afternoon. There was still no fugitive to be found. It was dark before I got back to camp. I ate and slept, and the next morning I packed my gear and hiked it all further into the woods. I remade camp near where I’d given up the previous day’s search. It was much more difficult to travel with the extra weight. There would be no searching that day.

  I found his camp on the third day, or at least someone’s camp. The little army surplus pup tent was zipped up tight. He could be inside sleeping or not home at the moment. I sat down on a log and waited. Three hours later, Pennington crawled out of the tent.

  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” I said, startling him.

  “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

  “Your mother misses you,” I said.

  “How would you know?”

  “I talk to her,” I said. “She asked me to find you.”

  He was fully dressed, including beat up running shoes. I could tell he was about to run.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll find you again. You can’t escape me.”

  He eased away from the tent and jogged off into the woods. I let him go. There was no point in running after him. I’d found him once, and I’d find him again. I took a leisurely hike back to my camp and relaxed for the rest of the afternoon. Just before dark, I snuck back to the perimeter of Pennington’s camp. I watched him pack up his few belongings and take down his tent. I did not reveal my presence. Instead, I followed him until he stopped and started setting up a new camp. I marked it on my GPS and snuck away. I returned the next day to pay him a second visit. He was making a sandwich outside the tent.

  “They taste better when they’re not stolen,” I said.

  He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of my voice.

  “You again,” he said. “Leave me alone.”

  “Don’t run off yet,” I said. “Go ahead and eat.”

  He took another bite, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “You some kind of survivalist?” He asked. “Special Forces or something?”

  “Nothing like that,” I said. “I just like wandering around in the woods. Helps me clear my head.”

  “How did you find me so fast?”

  “I followed you yesterday when you relocated,” I said. “You’re not so fast with a heavy pack on.”

  “I’ll go so far; you’ll never find me.”

  “But why?” I asked. “Nice warm bed for you at home. Mom’s cooking too.”

  “Can’t go back now,” he said. “I’d be in too much trouble.”

  “Not so much we can’t fix it,” I said. “Come on back with me, and I’ll help take care of things.”

  “I don’t know you,” he said. “I don’t trust folks I don’t know.”

  “Your coach was asking about you,” I said. “He’s worried about you too.”

  “That was a long time ago,” he said. “Don’t matter now.”

  “If you keep running I’ll keep tracking you down,” I told him. “That’s the way it has to be. Much easier to give up and come with me today.”

  He got to his feet and stretched a little. Then he took off like he’d been shot out of a gun. He was a mile away before I could get to my feet. The boy sure could run. I spent a few minutes poking around in his tent. He didn’t have much. It was hard to see how he survived, but then I remembered that he stole everything he needed. That wouldn’t continue into the winter. There’d be no one to steal from unless he switched to vacant cabins as the Beech Mountain Hermit had done. Hunger can drive a person to most anything I suppose.

  I came back later that night, but he didn’t return. I made myself comfortable in the bushes and waited. I was there most of the next day. I gave up and went back to my camp to get some nourishment and proper rest. When I returned to Pennington’s, it was still vacant. I checked his tent, but nothing was missing. He had spent two nights away from the place. I hope he hadn’t abandoned it. I spent the day trout fishing in the creek. It took me a while, but I landed a decent sized rainbow for dinner. The fish was roasted over the fire and tasted pretty good considering I had no seasoning or side dishes. It was the first mountain trout I’d eaten. Fishing had become sport rather than sustenance since I moved here. During my days in Florida, not catching a fish meant not eating sometimes. How things had changed.

  I snuck back to check on Pennington that night, but everything was gone. He’d packed up and moved on, probably far away. This ordeal was going to drag on for far too long. I went back to my tent and consulted the map. I’d already cove
red the majority of the Chatham Wildlife area, so I guessed that he’d try to hide on the other side of Lovelace Creek. Stone Mountain State Park was on the far eastern side of the bush. He wouldn’t get too close to that, but close enough to rob campsites. I’d have to relocate my camp again, that meant packing and hiking with a load. It also meant crossing the creek.

  It took me most of the day to break down and then find a way to the other side of the creek. I performed a delicate balancing act stepping rock to rock with my pack on. Eventually, I had to get my feet wet, but I made it across. I hiked with wet shoes part way up a slope until I found a level place to pitch the tent and settle in for the night. I had to settle for a granola bar and water dinner. It was too late to go back down to the creek and try to catch a fish. I scanned the map and discovered that multiple smaller creeks ran through the woods in the area. Scott Ridge was between Garden Creek and Widows Creek. It looked like a good place to start searching. I took off my wet socks and hung them up to dry. Pennington wasn’t going to make it easy for me.

  I reconnoitered the ridge the next day. I didn’t find my man, but I did see a few good fishing holes. I had a nice fish dinner that night, which helped to recharge my batteries. I crossed over the ridge the next day and started looking near Widows Creek. Back and forth I went, up and down the slope. Where the hell had he gone? I followed the creek to a waterfall, which was too close to a road for my boy to be hiding. The following day I walked along Bullhead Creek, heading north. I came to a fork in the river, crossed over, and followed Rich Mountain Creek even farther north. I wandered too far from my tent and had to spend a night with no shelter and no food. I did not find Pennington, but I could feel him out there somewhere. I was getting close, but I had to retreat the next morning and get back to my camp. I ate the last of my food stores. I was down to just a few bottles of water. I had to decide to keep up the hunt or call for a pickup. I knew in my bones that I was close, but I also knew that I’d soon be hungry and thirsty. I chose to move my base over to Rich Mountain Creek and try to catch fish. There was a trailhead near Stone Mountain Road where Brody could pick me up, but first I’d give it one more try.