Desolation

It had been 21 years since Craig Bowdell and Mike Concord graduated high school.  Two inseparable boys, who chose different paths, look to make up for lost time.  At their twenty year high school reunion they make a pact to meet one year later and hike the most remote areas of Maine together.  Neither expects anything more than a week of catching up on each other’s lives amid the beauty of desolate wilderness.  But deep in the remote forest of Maine, evil lurks… waiting for the unaware.  When you’ve lost your way the last place you want to be is in Desolation.

Desolation (des-uh-ley-shuhn)

1.      act or instance of desolating

2.      the state of being desolated

3.      devastation; ruin

4.      depopulation

5.      dreariness; barrenness

6.      solitary misery; wretchedness

7.      a desolate region; barren wasteland

Origin

Late 12^th century Latin – desolationem meaning, “action of laying waste,” also “sorrow” or “grief.”  Early 13^th century Latin – desolare meaning, “condition of being ruined or wasted.”

Isaiah 17:8-11

⁸ They will not look to the altars,
   the work of their hands,
and they will have no regard for the Asherah poles
   and the incense altars their fingers have made.

 ⁹ In that day their strong cities, which they left because of the Israelites, will be like places abandoned to thickets and undergrowth. And all will be desolation.

 ¹⁰ You have forgotten God your Savior;
   you have not remembered the Rock, your fortress.
Therefore, though you set out the finest plants
   and plant imported vines,
¹¹ though on the day you set them out, you make them grow,
   and on the morning when you plant them, you bring them to bud,
yet the harvest will be as nothing
   in the day of disease and incurable pain.

1

Craig Bowdell had driven his rental car from Bangor, Maine to Powderdam in remote northwestern Maine.  The drive took three hours, and he only stopped once to use the restroom and buy a diet Mountain Dew.  The sign welcoming all to Powderdam was only 100 yards from another sign that wished them well and asked them to come again.  A small merchant store, post office, gas station, auto service shop, and drug store were all there was to the small town nestled in the Maine Mountains.  One two-lane road split ten houses and the businesses, and behind the store was a grass air strip where four planes in various states of repair were parked in a makeshift hanger more rusted than painted.  The airstrip of grass was framed on either side by large round bales of hay. 

            Craig checked in with the store owner, who also owned the small airport, if one could call it that.  He was instructed where to park his Jeep SUV rental, and which bay in the hanger to have his friend pull his plane.  Very few words were exchanged.

            Mike Concord had told Craig he would land in Powderdam by 3pm, checking his watch, Craig noted that he had a good thirty minutes before the expected arrival.  He grabbed his backpack from the car and found a seat by the hanger.  He extracted a book he had bought in Bangor when he landed, and began reading to pass the time.  Maine in late August was delightful.  The temperature hung around seventy with a slight breeze that cooled all it touched.  The mountains surrounding Powderdam encircled a tiny valley and appeared to wall the place by natural means. 

It was no time at all until the whine of a Cessna 182 could be heard in the distance over the southern mountains.  Slowly the plane edged closer then banked against the western mountains at the far end of the runway descending rapidly in a curve.  The red stripes on white stood out against the pre-autumn green, and Mike Concord leveled out landing smoothly on the grass.  Rolling and bouncing to a stop in front of the hanger, Mike swung the door and emerging smiling from ear to ear.  Craig rose from his seat walking toward the plane.  The two men embraced as though they were long lost brothers who had not seen each other in years.

“How was the flight?” Craig asked.

“Fine, no problems, it is an absolutely beautiful day.  “How ‘bout your flight up from Virginia?”

“I hate to fly, but I did my time.  Now the drive from Bangor was spectacular.  You are supposed to pull into that space at the end,” Craig responded pointing to the destination.  The two men rolled the plane the short distance and went inside to pay the owner for the space for the week. 

The store was like the town, like going back in time.  The wood floor was traffic-worn going from light grey in the middle of pathways to stark brown along the edges.  The shelves were not laid out with any semblance of order.  Mike nearly laughed out loud when he saw lemon crème cookies right beside rat poison.  On the left side of the store an ancient looking counter extended the entire side of the store.  The cash register was decades old with $2.84 still visible on the little tabs in the top glass revealing the change from the last transaction.  The top of the counter was some sort of laminate with color faded.  Any hint of newness was a long lost memory, not only for the counter, but the entire store if not the entire little town. 

“That’ll be $20 to rent the hanger,” the old store owner said barely making any eye contact.  His features were gaunt, his eyes sunken, his nose crooked, his fingers boney and long.  He face was wrinkled in excessive fashion, and he wore dark denim coveralls with a red plaid shirt.  Only a sprig of hair encircled his head barely above his ears.  There was no one else in the store that Mike or Craig could see from their vantage point.

“I got that,” Mike said concerning the hanger charge.  “How much is the camping and hiking permit?”

Not looking up the old man asked, “How long?”

“Today is Friday, so we’ll be back one week from tomorrow,” Mike added.

“For the two of you that’ll be $80.00 total.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of that,” Craig replied. “Do you have water purification tablets?”

“What’s that?” the store owner asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mike chimed in, “I have plenty.”  The store owner with concerted effort mashed on the buttons of the old register, and Mike and Craig paid for their week in the Maine wilderness.  Mike looked at his watch; it was 3:22 as they left the store.

The Jeep SUV threw gravel as Craig exited the parking lot and took a paved road that became a graveled road in less than a mile.  Mike had the map of their destination out in his lap studying the details.  It had been drawn by hand on a piece of legal sized yellow paper.  “After the paved road turns to gravel, Steve says we’ll pass four separate logging roads off to the left over twenty-five miles – take the fifth road to the left.” 

“How much time has your buddy Steve spent up here?” Craig asked.

“He said one trip two years ago or something like that.  He said this was as desolate a place as you can find in the lower forty-eight.  The nearest house is around seventy miles away from our farthest point out on the loop.”

“That is desolate,” Craig replied.

“Dude, loosen up, we got a week to just be away from it all - the clients, the hassles, the pains, the crazy schedules, and the lights, nothing but us and the universe above us.  You know we should have done this several times in the last 20 years.  Man, can time get away from you or what?”

“Yeah, it can.  I remember we were going to keep in touch, so much for that.”

Mike laughed, “No joke, we both missed the ten year reunion.  I just can’t believe it had been 20 years since we had seen each other or even talked.  Up to the point you went off to college, I’m not sure we missed a day.  Then nothing until the 20 year class reunion.  Crazy.”

“Here is road number one.  We better keep track, it wouldn’t be good to miss the road – especially traveling 25 miles on gravel.  That’ll take a while.”  The two began to reminisce.  They spoke of football games, friends, girls they dated, the Main Street Drive-in, teachers, coaches, camping trips, the town pool, the first arcade that was really a pizza place.  Some memories were fuzzy.  Some were gone as though they never happened.  Some memories were so emblazoned it was if the events had just happened.  They were fond memories of growing up in the small north Georgia town of Lily Gap.

Then they began to get caught up on what had become of them since high school.  Craig had accepted a scholarship through his dad’s company to attend the University of Virginia where he walked on as an undersized kid, and actually started at strong safety the last half of his senior season after a promising sophomore became academically ineligible.  He graduated on time with a degree in Business and married Sarah Purk, a cheerleader and art major.  The two of them settled in Charlottesville and Craig went into banking while Sarah was hired as a high school art teacher.  She also began painting landscapes and started having a decent local following that later blossomed into a regional following.  Craig accompanied Sarah on hikes across Virginia and shared her love of the outdoors as she took her creations from inspiring vistas to canvas inspirations.  They had two children, Demura, now twelve, and Preston, eight.  Last year Craig was promoted to Director of Commercial Finance for Atlantic National Bank based out of Charlottesville. They had three Golden Retrievers, Polly, Molly, and Gertrude.  A month ago Craig finally moved the family out of their suburban three bedroom brick starter home into an exclusive gated community with three to five acre tracks of land. 

Mike took a more old-fashioned route to success.  After high school he spurned college, and decided to stay in Lily Gap to help his dad with his small, but flourishing nursery and landscape business.  Concerned with harsh chemical fertilizers and insecticides, Mike began tinkering with different combinations of organic material fertilizers, herbicides, and insecticides.  He worked tirelessly and as “green” initiatives started to gain wide acceptance, he was positioned to grow his business.  He landed contracts to supply high-end garden and plant stores throughout the south while selling several of his organic concoctions to manufacturing companies for sizable amounts of money and future royalties.  Last year he began to experiment with landscaping construction for artificial creeks, waterfalls, and ponds.  His experimentation had grown into seven teams of Nature Artisans (as he calls them) who traveled the Southeast creating landscaped water based designs.  There had been two failed marriages, no kids, but he had been seeing Mystery Saygo for three years.  They had what he called, “An understanding.”  Craig had no idea what that meant and he didn’t ask, at least not yet anyway.

“This is road number five, what next?” asked Craig.

“Let’s see, stay on the logging road veer right after crossing a small creek that goes across the road.  The right fork will be a rougher logging road.  It says we’ll need to be in four-wheel drive then.  This creek is around five or six miles out according to Steve.”

“Well, it will be hard to miss a creek running across the road.”

“No doubt.”

“So what does Mystery do?  That’s an unusual name.”

“Yes, but Mystery is pretty unusual, too.  This sounds corny, but she writes fictional mysteries under the pen name of Jessica Westmoreland.  The publishers thought her name would be too hokey.  Who would believe it?”

“Wow, that is weird.  How many books has she published?”

“Ten books, and none of them have sold well, but three.  Her fifth book was a hit about a waitress who solves a murder in her small town and starts her own private investigator business moving to Atlanta.  The book did so well that the publisher wanted her to do a sequel, so she did, and it sold double the original.  The third book sold double the second, so books five, six, and seven have made her very wealthy.  But, get this, she hates the character in the successful books, I mean loathes her.  Her last three books flopped, and the publisher wants a fourth in the series next year so they can make some money.  Mystery is contemplating killing off the character in book four of the series.  You could say the publisher is very concerned.”

“You don’t say,” replied Craig.  “How did you meet?”

“It was a Christmas party at the old Booker Inn, black tie affair.  We were the only ones who broke the dress code.”

“So she’s just like you.”

“No, I wouldn’t put that off on her, but she is a bit of a maverick.”  Several more stories were recounted about Mike and his rebellious nature until they finally came to the small creek that flowed across the road.  Just passed the creek was a weedy logging road off to the right.  It didn’t even look like a road. Craig engaged the four-wheel drive and eased onto the road.  The surface was very uneven, but travel wasn’t unbearable.

“This road will dead-end at the top of a low ridge,” Mike read. “There will be just enough room to turn around when you get back, so leave your vehicle there and follow the ridge to the west.  The trail is vague, but recognizable.  Eventually you’ll come to another less traveled logging road that will take us deeper into the wilderness and loop you back to where you started.  Supposedly that logging road is locked off from other roads.  If we stay on schedule we’ll emerge on the eastern end of the low ridge where the logging road plays out.” 

“This must be the foot of the low ridge,” Craig said peering ahead through the dense forest.  The road ascended a small rise then a rugged switch-back placed them on a gradual trek up the side of the ridge.  As they reached the top the road narrowed and ended in a thicket of moosewood.

As Craig pulled the Jeep to a stop, Mike commented, “We are on the top of the ridge, but we’ll have to back out, there is no room to turn here.” 

“I guess we can worry about that later.  We can probably get the Jeep turned at the switch-back.  We’ll just have to be careful.” Craig replied.

Branches of moosewood scrubbed the doors as the two men exited the Jeep and pulled their packs from the back.  Both packed extremely light with a one man tent in each pack with dehydrated food, lightweight clothing, and a canteen.  “West is that way,” Mike said pointing.

“Do you mind if I pray before we go?” Craig asked.

“Oh, sure, go ahead,” Mike responded and closed his eyes bowing his head.

“Gracious Lord look out for us on this trip.  Thank you for good friends and good times, may we create memories that last forever.  Thank you for your creation let us not take it for granted as we are reminded of your limitless work.  Lead, guide and direct us through these lands and bring us safely back.  Bless our families back home.  We give you this week in Jesus name.  Amen.”

“Alright, we’re all prayed up,” Mike said.  “Tell me, when did you discover God?”

“I’m not sure I discovered him, but he discovered me.  In college I began to drink and party too much.  I was searching for something.  I wasn’t sure who I was or what I wanted to do.  I went to a gathering of Christians who invited me to a bible study.  I have no clue why I went; again I think I was just searching.  Anyway, I told someone of my identity crisis and they said it was about whose you were, not who you were.  I can’t explain what happened at that moment, but something did.  Jesus became a reality and has been ever since.  Funny thing though…the answer to whose I was also eventually answered the question of who I was?  Crazy, huh?”

“No,” Mike smiled, “Not crazy at all.  There is definitely something to spirituality, just not for me.  I can’t get past hell, pious hypocrites, and bible thumping dogmatic crazy men.  Other than that, I’m a believer, man.”  Craig laughed, but he felt a pang of sadness for his friend as well.  They began their journey dodging the underbrush and briars, which had hardened in the lateness of the season.

“Are you sure we’re on the right trail?”  Craig asked.

“Trail?  What trail?” Mike replied.

“Exactly.”

“We followed the directions to a tee.”

“It’s right at five,” Craig said looking at his watch.  “Let’s find a decent camping spot and get a fire started.”  Mike nodded.

They marched on through the woods on the top of the ridge until they discovered a place large enough and level enough to camp.  They ditched their packs and began collecting wood, which was strewn about in abundance.  Both had a hard time finding a place to pitch their tent, but with work they successfully finished the task, each on opposite sides of the fire.  The sun dropped rapidly as they got the fire started and the temperature plunged with the absence of the sun.  They figured they were still within a quarter-mile of the Jeep. 

His hands were calm.  His mind was racing.  Every last nerve in his body was at strict attention, but his breathing was as relaxed as though in the midst of an afternoon nap.  The gun lay in his lap polished to a high sheen.  The wood and metal he admired.  The ammo was loaded, the safety was off, and the scope had been tested.  He thought of the kill, that moment when he had supreme power over his target and a wry smile came about his face.  He took a bite of beef jerky and savored the meat and spices. He marveled at the desolation of Maine, and thought about his first mission off I-70 in Utah years ago.  Over 100 miles of nothing separated Green River from Salina.  The target was a solo camper hiking through the San Rafael Swell.  He never knew what hit him.  The bullet struck the back of the neck and nearly severed the head.  He watched for two days as all manner of animals come to feed on the body.  Two weeks later only a pack, shredded clothes, a pair of boots, and bones remained.  It was a long walk out, but satisfaction made short the work.  Henry Jack Harmon, the target, was never found.

Dining on dehydrated roasted chicken and rice they sat quietly watching the fire.  The temperature dipped down near forty, and the glow of the fire bounced off the surroundings casting flickering light upon the foliage. 

“What is your biggest regret?” Mike asked out of nowhere.

Craig thought a moment, reflected back through time, and said, “Not keeping up with a lot of people, including you.  I think I just let life speed by without enjoying more of it and keeping up with people that meant the most.  There was a sense that all the tomorrows were the right times to contact folks, but the string of tomorrows grew into years…two decades for us.  Like you said earlier, I can’t believe it has been twenty years, twenty-one years now.”

“You know,” Mike pondered out loud, “You really think you’re living, but then you look back after awhile to see what you’ve got to show for it, and…well, you wonder, or at least I do.  Have I really lived?  You know, made a difference in the lives of others…I’m not so sure.”

“Your regrets?” Craig asked.  “I gave you mine.”

“Yeah, you did.  I regret I don’t have a family, but yet I can’t see myself in the house with the picket fence, the snot-nosed kids, or the nagging wife.  The first two marriages ended ugly.  Matter of fact, thinking of the previous two marriages, the thought of not having a family diminishes the regret.  Perhaps adoption would be the way to go; I’d like to have a kid come to me about twelve.  I think I could handle it from there.  I regret not going to college, but it is just as well, I would have flunked out in a year.  But, it would’ve been fun.  I regret not making a couple of deals that would have netted a lot more money, but you live and learn.”

“It’s not too late for a family with Mystery.  40 is the new 20 – people have kids in their forties all the time now.”

“That’s absurd, Craig.  As much as I hate being alone, being with someone else all the time is worse.  I gotta have my space and I’ve gotta be me.  Anything that cramps that has got to go.  With Mystery it is the best of both worlds, and the kicker is that she feels the same way.  That is having your cake and eating it too, my friend.”  The two laughed out loud.

“If you say so Mikey, but I’ll tell you – the snot ain’t so bad, the right wife is a blessing beyond compare, and there are other fences than the white picket fence.”  Another chuckle filled the night as the two friends sat in the darkness by the fire.

Mike got up and poked at the fire retrieving three pieces of wood to bank the blaze.  “What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Craig asked.

“For one, we have to find the trail.  I figured we’d make more progress today, so we have a few miles to make up for the week.”

“I thought there would be more of a trail here on the ridge, but this is just bushwhacking if you ask me.”

“Steve said it had been a few years, you know.  After all we are in the wilderness and not too many folks know about this place.  I just hope the trail off the ridge is discernible.  If it ain’t that’ll make for a long week, but hey, it is an adventure, right?”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.  Hey, do you remember that night we defeated Spivey when we were seniors?”

“How could I, you changed the play in the huddle that won the game.”

Laughing Mike replied, “Yeah, Coach Bonner didn’t say it, but he was seething underneath it all.  I’m not sure the win even helped.  When Buck brought in the play, I knew we were doomed if we ran it.  They had blitzed third and long all night, we didn’t have time for the double deep in he called.”

“So you opted for the quick slant to me.”

“Yeah, and both inside linebackers came just like I thought.  On your third step you broke hard toward the middle like I knew you would.  We practiced  that route a thousand times in four years.”

“I remember when I looked back the ball was already on the way, a perfect spiral.  The corner gave me cushion because of down and distance.  I just focused on the tip of the ball and made darn sure I caught it.”

“You never broke stride.”

“Didn’t have to…like I said the ball was where it was supposed to be.  I tucked it and took off for all I was worth.  The safety had cheated over to Benny’s side; he was the all-conference receiver, not me.  All I could see was green grass.”

“You never looked back.  I just kept watching number eighty-seven in bright yellow over Navy.  The crowd went wild and the scoreboard read 30-28 with thirty-two seconds to go.  It was the only time I remember actually hearing the crowd.”

Laughing Craig replied, “I remember the crowd as well, but I kept thinking someone was catching me, that must be why they were so loud.  I was afraid to look back.”

“Sixty-three yards you ran – you know I only threw the ball about seven.  We hadn’t beaten Spivey in thirteen years, and before that only once in ten.  And, you know what?  We haven’t beaten them since.  That is twenty-one years of futility.”

“But we beat them that night, didn’t we?  And, if you hadn’t changed the play we wouldn’t have.”

“Well, you did the work, I just made sure to give you a chance.”

“Have you ever thought what might have happened if I had dropped it?”

“No, but it wouldn’t have been good.  First, Coach Bonner would have killed me.  I’m talking full fledged homicide.  Second, you would have gone down in history as the kid that dropped the pass.  I’ve met guys that have that moniker.  Dropped passes in big moments have ruined lives.  People don’t forget.  By the way, Coach Bonner is finally retiring this fall.”

“Amazing.  How does a guy like him keep on coaching for years?  It is like the whole town is okay with his mediocrity.”

“Craig, c’mon, you know Bonner made friends with the right people.  If you had money and influence, then your boy would get taken care of on Friday night.  The team never mattered to people like that.  All that mattered to them is that little Johnny got to play quarterback, never mind that he couldn’t throw or run.  The only reason I was allowed to play quarterback was because none of the power brokers had a boy within two years of us, and I was the best quarterback the town ever saw.”

“You were, and I think Bonner resented that, too.”

“Sure he did, but I think he liked the winning season.  We got put out of the playoffs in the second round, but at least we got that far.  I think Bonner thought he’d stick it to me one last time, when he gave Ted Whiss the Most Valuable Player trophy for the year.  But, I’ll tell you Craig, that didn’t bother me because Ted was a good guy and very good lineman.”

“The award isn’t for good guys.”

“No, but everyone knows that Bonner’s MVP awards are a farce.  Ted’s trophy is still on display at Whiss Hardware.  Ted runs the store now, his dad died four years ago. We eat breakfast together about once or twice a week, but rarely ever talk about the old days and football.”

“How many records do you still own?  They can’t take those away.”

“No, they can’t.  Let’s see, I still have most yards passing in a season and career,  most passing touchdowns, wins as a starting quarterback, most completions for a season and career, and highest completion percentage for a season.  Probably a few more, but that is such ancient history.”

“Everyone thought you’d go to college and play.”  There was a long pause, and Craig thought perhaps he had struck a nerve of regret.

“Nah, Chattanooga, Western Carolina, and Wofford were the best offers I got.  When we visited Chattanooga, dad went.  He looked so out of place as we were wined and dined.  I thought to myself that I couldn’t leave him, so I didn’t.  There hasn’t been a day I regretted that part of the decision – never even once.  Football is a colossal waste of time that consumes way too much of our society, and it is worse in small towns like Lily Gap and Spivey.  It is like trying to catch a fleeting star by the tail.  You want what you think is there more than what the reality can offer.” 

“I guess,” Craig replied, “I don’t regret playing at Virginia.  I went back to my dorm room several nights and struggled to sleep as pain and fatigue sapped my body.  But, there were moments Mike, great moments when the fleeting star was awful close to some greater reality.  I believe those moments are captured when guys come together as part of something far beyond themselves.  I can’t explain it, but it was there.”   

The night waned and the fire drew down to hot coals.  High above, the night sky was awash in celestial lights as Craig and Mike crawled into their tents.  They both thought they were miles and miles from anyone.  That was not the case…

The fire was tiny, just a small flame in a cramped thicket.  He knew he mustn’t be seen. He sat and polished the weapon with intense care.  There was no tent, just stars overhead, and a thick sleeping bag.  The next day he would leave the camp and there would be no sign of his night spent there.  He looked up at the stars, less fascinated by the twinkling lights; instead it was the darkness that captured his imagination.  The universe is dark, he thinks to himself.  Only tiny suns here and there give off any light, all but inconsequential when compared to the expanse of darkness.  The darkness feels like a safe place, a haven or refuge where he can be understood.  This world in which he exists can’t even begin to understand him, and he has given up on trying to be understood.  The lights he envisions as images of his targets.  Though there are many, the space in between is vast.  This brings him comfort in knowing the long periods of waiting are just spans in the expanse.  When the time comes the target is terminated; a supernova of the flesh and the wiping out of a soul.

The morning greeted Mike and Craig with a blanket of thick fog making visibility almost zero.  Only the first few feet of trees and bushes were distinct in the thickness of the smoky cover.  There was no wind and the silence of the morning was uncomfortable for Craig, every move sounded like a landslide.  He looked at his watch, 6:37am.  He had been up for about an hour reviving the fire and fishing out a small kettle from his pack to brew coffee.  The brew was boiling nicely as Mike emerged from his tent. 

            “Morning,” Mike managed from a raspy voice.

            “Morning,” Craig replied.  “Would you like some coffee?”

            “Sure, how’d you sleep?”

            “Not bad, only woke up a couple of times.  I’m an early riser so I’ve been up for about an hour.  I didn’t wake you did I?”

            “No, I usually wake up early myself, but I could never get comfortable last night.  There was a stick or something that I kept dodging in the night under the tent.”

            Handing Mike a cup of coffee the men stood close to the fire to ward off the cool damp morning.  Craig pointed to the west, “The trail was invisible in the light of day, so how on earth will we find it in this pea soup?”

            Mike laughed out loud, “Yeah, well we’d better wait till we can see something before we go looking for nothing.” 

            Through the fog in spots a bright blue sky could be seen, and finishing their coffee, Craig and Mike packed their tents.  The fire was smothered out by dirt and debris and anything flammable was removed from the rocks that encircled the pit.  The fog began to lift and they made ready to move out.

            Mike said, “Our first priority is to find the loop logging road and then water.  I have about a half canteen, which will go pretty quickly out here in bush.  How much do you have left?”

            “About the same,” Craig replied.  They moved carefully along the ridge weaving their way through more passable undergrowth.  The ridge became rockier, and footing was difficult.  They neared a clearing where the forested floor of fallen leaves gave way to brazen granite and stone.  The last of the fog was lifting now in strands about them.

            “Let’s get to a vantage point on this open rock-face.  Maybe we can see better and get a glimpse of the loop logging road.” Mike stated. Craig nodded and followed him out on the rock which was perched high on the ridge. 

At first he only heard voices, maybe laughter, but somewhere in the fog to the south he heard targets.  He held his breath listening.  He exhaled quickly then held his breath again.  Words were not discernible in the quiet of the morning, but this was the unmistakable sound of humans talking.  On a morning like this – their banter could carry for miles.  The campsite was now history, no sign anyone had ever been where he slept.  He moved quietly listening between his steps, making certain every footfall found quiet earth and leaves.  He focused supremely on each step never getting ahead, and never looking behind.  Every now and then he would stop and survey the fog hugged ridge across the way where he knew he’d heard voices.  He continued until he saw a tree lying on the forest floor, a victim of a lightning strike.  The foliage was sparse here affording a view of the other ridge.  He waited patiently, sometimes counting to fifty, other times focusing on a clearing where a rock face of the ridge was exposed, always listening, and sometimes hearing.  The targets were drawing near.

Craig and Mike stood atop the precipice.  Maine unfolded before them unlike anything they had ever seen.  The low ridge they were on was adjacent to a much higher ridge with a lush valley in between.  The blue sky visible through the last of the fog could be seen dotted with billowy clouds.  Try as they might, there was just no evidence of the loop logging road anywhere to be seen. 

            “What’s that?” asked Craig.  The question had barely been heard by Mike turning toward an assumed direction when a sharp clap registered on the rock to his left at the same time a gust of wind nearly toppled him.  Instantly a distant sound of a rifle shot rang out through the valley.  Craig had been looking to their right at a rush of swirling fog riding a massive gust of wind which had prompted the question.  These things all happened in mere seconds of one another, and Mike reacted to the rifle shot quickly and decisively.  He bolted toward Craig tackling him as the two of them vanished from the rock-face falling between two spruce trees as another shot rang out. 

            “Was that… Did someone just shoot at us?” asked Craig, who had scrambled behind a small boulder.  Mike didn’t answer, deep in thought.  He was calculating in his mind where the shots had been fired from and what was their next move.  He surveyed the rock-face and waited for another shot.  “Mike, you alright?”

            “Fine,” Mike finally answered.  “I would like to think someone mistook us for game, but this is not the season for anything.  I think someone just tried to cap us.”

            “Why?”

            “No clue, but I think that was a very high caliber rifle, the sort that’ll take down an elephant.  Probably some rogue up here in the mountains trying to protect something, hide something, or on the run from something.  I guess you run the risk of crazies no matter where you go.”

            “If we move quickly we can get back to the Jeep and get out of here.” Craig stated.

            “We need to stay hunkered down for just a bit.”

            “Why?  There’s no way he could see us through what lies between here and the Jeep.  We could barely walk through it.”

            “I hear you, but I’m uneasy about going back that way.”

            “Why?”

            “I don’t know.  Intuition, I suppose.”

The targets were locked in.  Stunned, he accessed the situation.  A wind on a quiet foggy morning was about as common as snow in July.  At the exact moment he pressured the trigger the breeze hit and just the tiniest fraction of movement caused the shot to be off line.  For the first time ever, he had missed, and two targets were involved.  He searched through the scope of his rifle along the rock-face, but saw no sign of the targets. They had dove back to their right just as he fired the second shot. No doubt they  will go back the way they came to their vehicle, he thought.  He knew he had to make a decision – fight or flight.  Targets had never survived; there had never been an opportunity to fight.  Perhaps these two were different.  Maybe they were worthy adversaries.  That was it.  They weren’t targets at all, but adversaries.  This thought excited him.  Slinging the rifle over his shoulder he began to weave quickly down the ridge as silent as possible with short steps.  There was only one road onto that low ridge.  The adversaries were sure to be as predictable as targets.   

“Look, I understand intuition, but what about practical common sense?” Craig asked.  “Why not just get outta here while we can.”

            “How do you know we can?” asked Mike.  Craig didn’t respond.  Mike continued, “Whoever shot at us did so from that larger ridge across the way.  They used a rifle that meant to kill and kill decisively.  When they shot at us, we weren’t supposed to walk away, but we did.  They are on the move and coming our way.  My guess is we’ll be tracked back the way we came.  The shooter may have better knowledge of these woods, and know where we would have parked.”

            “Mike, we are several miles from anything civilized.  Walking out of here is insane – if this guy doesn’t kill us this wilderness will.” 

            “Maybe, but Craig you’ll have to trust me on this one.  I’m telling you that we don’t stand a chance going back that way.”  Mike’s words were quiet and stern loaded with conviction.

            “Okay…okay then, let’s go.  We have a week’s worth of provisions.”

            Mike eased up and they both began making their way around the rock-face.  They were sure to avoid being seen over the low ridge and eased into the woods to the west.  Their pace quickened.  Mike said, “When the shooter gets to the Jeep then he’ll carefully track us to the rock-face.  From there he’ll attempt to track us on foot or just give up.  I’m not sure which.”

            “Then we should be less concerned about what sort of trail we leave and just put as much distance between us and him until he figures out what happened.  What do you figure time wise?”

            Mike stopped, “Maybe 8 hours, maybe 10, maybe less.  Let’s double time it.”  Craig nodded and the two began to rip through the woods for all they were worth.  When they got tired they would rest briefly, but not long as the memory of the two shots and the intended kill occupied their minds.  By mid-day the low ridge played out in the fork of a stream.  They re-supplied their canteens and inserted water purification tablets. 

            Craig had an idea, “Mike, what if we traveled in this creek for a while.  That could surely get him off our trail for awhile or at least slow him down trying to discover where we get out.”

            “Yeah, good call,” Mike replied.  “If we run this creek till dark then cut off and make the best of night travel maybe we can rest tomorrow morning.  Can you handle that?”

            “I’m still in pretty good shape.  Can you handle it?”

            Mike smiled.  “Let’s go.”  They had gone maybe 20 yards when Mike stopped.  “You know there is a part of me that wants to get this guy.  The farther we go the more ticked I get.”

            “I know what you mean, but survival should be our aim, not revenge.”

            “Craig, you are still the voice of reason.”

            “Good because you are the voice of gut instinct.  Perhaps with both we have a shot to get outta here with no holes in us.”

 2

His pace slowed significantly as he approached the crest of the low ridge.  Mentally, he had begun to prepare himself for the reality of escape by his targets.  If there was no escape then they would become adversaries and the thought made him almost giddy with excitement.  From the top of the ridge he maneuvered his way to the west of the end of the road.  Step then listen, step then listen, was his rhythmic dance.  With great stealth he moved to a position where finally he saw the dark green metallic surface of a Jeep SUV.  He smiled.  They were now adversaries, no longer targets.

Craig and Mike made great time down the creek.  The rocks were slippery, but not as encumbering as the surrounded undergrowth.  They continued to worry less about noise or the trail they were leaving behind, and more about putting as much distance between them and the rifleman as possible.  They both expressed doubts over whether or not the man would follow them.  However, these doubts didn’t dissuade them from their new mission to walk out of the wilderness of Maine.  The creek gathered more tributaries and widened marginally.  By late afternoon they reached their first obstacle, a 20’ waterfall.  Mike peered off the falls as though contemplating a jump. 

            “No, Mike.  Jumping is not an option.  The creek bottom is a mass of stones.  You can’t possibly know how deep that pool is.”

            “Yeah, but if we go around that will be the first trail we’ve left in four hours.  He’ll know we’ve gotten this far and whether we veered away from the stream or back in it.  We are getting close to nightfall, and the plan was to hit the woods.”

            Craig thought for a moment then replied, “What if we hit the woods now a little earlier than planned.”

            “It’s just too obvious.”

            “What if we go around and continue in the stream all night.”

            “Too dangerous at night, we might slip and get injured.  We’ve also burned a lot of calories.  Who knows when we hit the wall or what this amount of effort will do on our food supply.”

            Craig nodded then said, “I think we should go around this waterfall and perhaps walk backwards.  Maybe it throws him off just enough, and then we’ll go in the stream until we can’t see before venturing off in the woods.”

            “Okay, sounds good let’s go.”  The two walked to the edge of the creek and backed out of it.  Carefully they made their way up an embankment and then traversed a steep grade just yards from the falls.  Dead wood was strewn everywhere and made the going very slow and tedious.  Eventually they made it to the pool, backed in, and continued down stream. 

            The stream became more undulating and thus, more hazardous.  Several times both men fell in the stream, being soaked from head to toe.  In the last light of day they came to an old logging road that intersected the stream.  The road had been grown over many times over and small saplings were growing sparsely about the width of it.

            Mike took one look at the road and said, “Perfect.  Which way do we go?”

            “Are you sure about taking this road?” Craig asked in reply.

            “Yes, this is a great opportunity to travel much faster, but I don’t know which way to go.”

            “We have been following the stream for miles, so I’m a little lost on bearings.  The sun set that way.”  Craig pointed in the direction that would mark the southwest.  “This road appears to be going north and south.  Would south be back toward civilization?”

            “Yes, it would.”

            “Then that is the way to go,” Craig interjected while he bit into a power bar.  “How do we avoid looping back?”

            “That’s tough at night, and its getting cloudy, so no moon or stars.  We need to keep pushing.”  And, without another word exchanged, the two friends hustled off in the direction of the southern logging road.  The road quickly wound around a steep ridge and by the time they reached the top it was 9pm, they were cold, and nearly exhausted.  The ridge turned out to be the top of a sizable mountain, and the logging road continued down one side of a descending ridge. 

            Looking in the direction of the road, Mike asked, “Which direction is the road traveling now?”

            “I can’t tell.  The old moss trick doesn’t always work depending on where you are and I don’t see a lot of moss anyway.  I think it would be best if we went ahead and camped here and accessed things in the morning.  Otherwise, we could really screw up and be nearly back where we started.”  Craig replied, and Mike agreed. 

            Within moments the sudden stopping of movement combined with how soaked they were from the creek brought a numbing chill.  “We have no choice,” Mike said.  “We must build a fire.” 

            “I’ll find some tender.”  Craig said.

            “I’ll get the big stuff.”

            A few minutes later a nice fire warmed them both as they removed layers and hung the soaked garments about the fire on tree limbs.  The tents proved to be too big a hassle to set up at night and they were so exhausted they climbed into their sleeping bags and went sound to sleep. 

            Mike woke and checked his watch.  It was almost eight in the morning, and Craig was still sleeping soundly.  Mike’s body ached in places long underutilized.  The clouds appeared higher and the temperature was very cool.  Unzipping his sleeping bag, Mike crawled out resting on his hands and knees, shivering in the cold with only his underwear on.  The fire was out and building one that might smoke was not an option.  As Mike struggled to his feet he felt his clothing.  It was delightfully dry. 

            Craig jumped as he woke.  Seeing that he had slept late, he quickly came out of his bag and began to collect his things.  The sun was unseen behind the thick grey clouds.  “We gotta get moving.”

            Mike watched as Craig slipped on his clothing and boots.  “I still don’t know which way we’re going.  This road hasn’t been traveled in years.  Do you think this is the road on the map?”

            “No way, it couldn’t be.  We traveled several miles in the correct direction, but we must have missed it.  This one is too far if there is any scale to your map.”

            Mike thought it odd, but also surmised that they were trying to get away from someone who was shooting at them and not actively seeking to find a road. “Well, for what it’s worth, I say we stick to this road.  Bushwhacking right now makes no sense.”

            “True enough,” Craig replied.  “Eventually we should get our bearings, but moving makes more sense than staying put.”

            “Agreed.”

            The two then headed down the logging road hoping they were still miles ahead of their pursuer, if he was pursuing at all.

He waited by the Jeep for two hours then figured the adversaries had gone in the other direction.  The moment he decided he walked out of hiding without any fear of being seen.  This decision making process was how he did things – be deliberate, but once a course of action is set, be all in.  He believed the adversaries would initially travel as far and as quickly as they could.  They would tire out, he thought.  They would expend so much energy that they would get weaker and weaker.  He knew they were treating the game as a sprint, and had no idea that it was a marathon, a long and plodding marathon.  From the rock-face, he figured there was only one direction they would go and then upon reaching Big Timber Creek they would follow it to make better time.  He stopped and took out a map of the area.  Big Timber Creek went miles before another road or trail intersected it.  There was one road that kept coming back to his mind.  It was a logging road that had been cut off for ten years due to a landslide.  Most trail and road guides didn’t even include any part of the road beyond the landslide.  The adversaries had fooled him concerning going back to the vehicle, and this taught him much about them.  Yes, he thought to himself, they will take the landslide road south from the creek.  With that thought firmly decided upon, he stepped down off the low ridge and started a trek that would afford him a view of the slide and his adversaries once they arrived.  How surprised they would be.

Craig and Mike followed the road making decent times as their bodies warmed up from the activity.  They both felt the rough edge of yesterday’s exertion, but they did feel somewhat refreshed by the night’s sleep.  Both noticed that their intake of food to replace the calories burned the previous day needed to be curbed. 

            “I’m starving.” Mike said.

            “Yeah, me too – is there anything out here we can eat?” Craig inquired.

            “Man, I don’t know, but I’m sure we’d eat the wrong thing.  For every edible plant out here I bet there are four you can’t eat.”

            “It would be nice to be able to eat something that wouldn’t deplete our food stores since we have no idea how long we’re going to be out here.”

            “Well, if we were 50 miles from civilization, and we walk 10 – 15 miles a day, we’ll be back before we run out…provided we don’t attempt anymore all night walk-a-tons.”

            “Do you remember the time we tried to camp on the football field?”

            Mike thought of the moment and laughed out loud.  “Oh yeah, that was a blast.  Who all was with us?”

            “Percy Morgan, John Dean, Kevin Walker, and Todd Pelton.” Craig listed.

            “Yeah, Percy went to UT and owns a car lot in Memphis now.  John is in rehab at South Geffon Institute.  Kevin is a preacher in Valdosta.”  Mike thought for a moment, “I have no idea what happened to Todd.  He went to Georgia.  That’s all I know.  I remember Coach Bonner searching all over campus for us.  We were on top of the press box and watched him drive down to the shop areas, up on the baseball field, check the field house, and then lock the front gate.”

            Craig said, “I wonder who told him to look for us.  It was Percy’s idea to get into the track and field equipment and jump off things onto the pole vault and high jump pad.  How did we keep from getting maimed?”

            “Nothing explains it.”

            “Nope.”

            “We should’ve got caught.”

            “Yep.”

            More stories followed and late in the afternoon the clouds dissipated and the sun came out in warming everything.  Both walked relaxed thinking they were miles ahead of the rifleman.  Craig was convinced the man would not bother tracking them the distance they had traveled, but Mike was unsure. 

            “You can’t rationalize what a man who will shoot someone in the middle of nowhere would do.  He may see all this as some sick sadistic challenge.  We are nothing more than quarry.” 

            Craig stopped and stated, “You really believe that?”

            “Sure, this dude’s insane.”

            “What makes a man want to kill two total strangers in the wilderness?”

            “Because he can, I don’t know.  Like I said, it is hard to rationalize.”

            “Do you believe in evil?”

            “What do you mean, as a unified force under the command of Satan or just that whacked people can do whacked things?”

            “Both.”

            “Well, you know this question has kept smarter men than the two of us up all night writing books about it.  I don’t buy the whole Satan thing – why would God, whatever he is, create something as evil as Satan?”

            “I don’t think the original version of Satan was bad.  Something went wrong.”

            “So, why would God create something that could go that wrong?  If God can’t control his creation any better than that then how he can be all powerful or all knowing – I can’t comprehend.  I mean a smart God would not have created a thing like Satan.”

            “Then why is there evil?”

            “I think evil has always existed.  It just is.  It must be some balance thing, I’m sure the eastern religions may have that figured out – you know, light and dark, night and day, good and bad, ying and yang.  Evil is the skeleton in God’s closet.”

            Craig thought for a minute then replied, “I believe there is a force of evil in this word that works to undermine all that God plans through His people.  I think it is an unspeakable evil, and I think this evil is totally alien to God.”

            “Yeah, I’d say that is in line with most Judeo-Christian thought, but I think it is much more complex than that.” 

            The topic appeared settled for the moment and the two just walked on the old road with no idea where they were heading.  The side of the mountain had steepened dramatically and the logging road rose and fell along rocky ground.  Seed from a thousand different plants had collected in the level spot of the road and patches of briar-laden undergrowth choked their progress. 

            Mike standing on his tip-toes said, “It looks like the road ends or something just up ahead.”

            “Just stops?”

            “Yeah, but its not like ending in the woods or petering out, but like the road has fell off the mountain.”  They both emerged from the weedy patch and eased to an uncertain edge.  The road was gone.

            Mike tested the edge getting ever closer, “This looks treacherous.”

            Craig looked up the side of the mountain and down the other way toward the valley, “Landslide.”

            “Yeah,” Mike confirmed, “Looks like about 25 feet across and almost to the top of the ridge.  There is a trickle of a stream out in the middle, it would be nice to be able to get at that water.”

            “This looks too dangerous to cross.” Craig stated.

            “Agreed, this is death waiting to happen.  If we fall…I really can’t make it out but it looks like a boulder field or something about 50-100 feet down.  This was a massive slide.”

            “That explains the grown up nature of the road.”

            “No doubt.”

            When the earth gave way, there was no warning.  The edge of the road, cracked with brittle earth, simply let go.  And, down they went.  In a second there was the unmistakable sound of rifle fire as Craig and Mike fell, sprawling with legs and arms in some futile attempt to catch something.  The 5’ section of the road tumbled ahead of them and dumped into a small pool behind a large boulder wedged on the side of the mountain.  Instantaneously, Craig and Mike ploughed into the pool just after the falling dirt.  Bits and pieced of rock and soil continued to cascade down the side of the slide as Mike and Craig scrambled through the pool clouded with mud to the side of the boulder.  Both were confused and bewildered, their minds tried to catch up to reality as they stood in waist deep water. 

            “You alright?” Mike Whispered.

            “Fine, just a few scrapes and bruises.  Was that a rifle shot I heard?” Craig asked.

            “I was about to ask the same thing.”

            “So, he caught up with us?”

            “I think so.”

            Craig thought then said, “The first time we were saved by a gust of wind.  This time we are saved by the earth literally falling out from beneath us.”

            “It would appear that way.”

            “What now?”

            “Nothing,” Mike replied.  “We do nothing until dark.  We grossly underestimated our rifleman.  He is now hunting us like wild animals.  Two things are apparent.  One, he knows this area like the back of his hand.  He probably tracked us to the creek then figured out what we would do and it was a great guess.  Second, we’ve been too predictable.  That has to change.”

            “I see.  So going down is what you think he expects.”

            “Yes, I think so.  Who in there right mind would attempt to go back up to the road, and where would you go when you got there – back the way you came?  That’s not logical.  No, he thinks we’ll ease down the slide to the bottom, concealed by the boulder field and attempt to escape in the valley.  That is where he will be waiting, and since he knows the area, he’ll be two or three steps ahead.”

            “Okay, but if we go back up, by your own logic, what do we do?”

            Mike smiled a sinister smile.  “We climb on up and wait on him.  If he finds no evidence of us at the bottom I think he’ll come to the slide to check and see if we are in this spot, dead.”

            “So, we’ll be above him?  How can he not track us?”

            “At night the edge of the slide above the road is one large exposed piece of granite that is rough enough to climb.  I was thinking of taking a trek across it as the earth slipped away.”

            “But, at night, you think this wise to attempt at night?”

            “We have no choice.  We have to turn the table on this guy, or we will not get away.”

3

He had been at the vantage point where he could see the slide and the edge of the logging road for almost two hours.  It was a perfect shot, no wind to interfere this time.  He finished one stick of jerky and opened another sipping on a canteen of water.  The mountain here was a smaller version of his second mission.  He had spent a few days in Durango, CO, and then set out from highway 160 on foot into Hinsdale County.  His destination was the most roadless area of the lower 48.  He roamed the mountainous area and alpine meadows for nearly two weeks before he spotted a lone hiker at the top of an adjoining meadow.  Tired, the target sat down on the edge of the meadow and enjoyed the vista.  He watched the target in the rifle scope for nearly twenty minutes, noticing a pure expression of contentment on the target’s tanned face. He felt the same contentment as he squeezed the trigger.  The target’s torso pitched backwards violently, his legs twitching in the grass for a minute.  Then there was no moment just the lonely bark of a coyote in the distance.  He walked over to the target where he found his head laying in an enormous pool of blood.  The bullet had entered just under the target’s nose and depleted the entire back of his head, and all things in between.  He removed a cross from the target’s neck and put it around his own.  The body of Raymond Phillip Banesworth was never found.  It was a huge grizzly bear that found Raymond to be a most tasty lunch.  Afterwards the bear buried the remains, and became the second target, shot just below the left ear.  He walked back to Durango, which took eight days and seven nights. 

            The memories left him as the two adversaries came into view.  They were being careful near the edge.  Quickly the rifle was on his shoulder and one target in the crosshairs.  As he pulled the trigger he saw the ledge crumble and the bullet miss the target.  He wasn’t sure they would hear it.  From a distance the bullet arrives before the sound.  He cursed his luck.  These two adversaries were charmed.  They had been saved again by some natural intervention.  For a moment he began to consider it wasn’t dumb luck, but some sort of divine protection.  This excited him even more.

            He waited for some sign of movement, but there was nothing.  Maybe they had been killed, but he doubted it.  He figured they would traverse down the slide hidden among the many boulders of the lower part.  He would be near the bottom  waiting.

Mike and Craig waited till dark as best they could in waist deep water.  As best they could, they ascertained the side of the slide and the mountain.  They would need to climb out of the body of the slide where eight to ten feet of top soil made for a strong border.  Many roots dangled down to help them, if they would prove strong enough.  Once out of the slide the terrain looked very steep but rocky enough to provide foot and hand holds.  This, of course, was all speculation for they couldn’t see well from their low spot in the pool behind the boulder.  In the darkness they hoped for passable terrain. 

            As the sun disappeared over the mountain they waited patiently as the cold began to ravage their bodies, shivering in the fight. “It has to be pitch dark.”  Mike remarked.  Craig nodded, lips purple, teeth chattering. 

            Once dark was clearly established they began moving.  Their legs were lethargic from standing in the cold water.  Grabbing roots they felt along for the most sizable specimens and pulled with all their might.  Slowly with painstaking advancement they inched their way over the top soil border.  It took nearly two hours to get out of the slide, and once this was achieved they were both flat out on their backs heaving and sore on the side of the mountain.  After a quick blow, they began to push upward with measured steps.  With extreme care they maneuvered, several times having to back-track down for a more advantageous route.  Out of breath, with legs burning from effort, they pulled themselves back onto the old logging road only ten feet away from where they had fallen. 

            “It is nearly 4am, we can’t stop.” Mike said in breathless bursts barely audible.

            “15 minutes, please,” was all that Craig could muster in reply. 

            Mike nodded, “Okay.”

            “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

            Mike sighed.  “Me, too.”

            “I know one thing,” Craig returned.  “If I knew this terrain like this madman must, there is no way I would figure my prey to go up the way we just did.  That was insane, in every sense of the word.”

            “Yes, insane.”  Mike agreed.

            “So, we go up the rocky crag there on the slide?” Craig asked pointing toward the upper part of the slide. 

            “Yeah, it is passable, but we’ve got to walk a few paces back up the road.  We need to sell the fact that we went back the way we came.  Once he’s in all that weedy mess, he won’t be able to tell anything.”

            After indicating a trail they spun back the way they had come to the edge of the slide.  The road was only about four feet above the rock face of the slide.  They jumped down and held on fast to the craggy edges.  Then they climbed to a height of about 200 yards above the road.  The sky in the East began to lighten and they stepped off the slide which had very little top soil at this height and positioned themselves behind a ripple of stone.

            “We made it.” Craig said.

            “Yes, for now.  Let’s take nap shifts.  You go first, I’ll watch out for the rifleman.  I’ll wake you in about two hours, then we’ll go back and forth.”

            Craig settled in and even though he was in a very uncomfortable position, he went sound to sleep.  Mike kept an eye on the intersection of the slide and the road watching for any sign of the killer.  Two hours later they swapped, Craig taking watch and Mike sleeping.  Craig thought of his family and a longing for home ate away at his insides.  It was Monday almost mid-day, their third day in the wilderness.  He doubted they would get back to any part of civilization by Saturday, which was when they were supposed to get back to Powderdam.  He ate a power bar, but notices that his hunger didn’t subside in the slightest.  Water helped quench his thirst, but was running low from their creek refill.  Craig knew if they survived it would be a miracle, so he prayed for such a miracle already aware that two miracles had saved their lives from a high powered rifle.

The chosen perch was a low rise on the opposite ridge just  above where the slide ended and joined another creek.  From his observation point nothing could come down the slide and not be seen.  He waited for five hours and there was no sign of anyone.  He wondered if maybe they had not survived.  Perhaps the bullet had gotten one of them, striking just before the road let go.  His instinct told him not to do it, but he knew he had to make it to the road and see what had happened.  He circled around to the west side of the slide – he would approach from the opposite direction.  This was the quickest way, for the eastern side of the slide was steeper.  As the time neared 3pm, the slide came into sight from the western road.  He stopped and crept forward on his belly.  Inch by inch he made his way to the edge.  Carefully he peered over and saw nothing but an empty pool of water behind a boulder.  He rose to his feet and scratched his head.  Did they climb out? Unthinkable.  Impossible.  However, unthinkable or impossible, the situation indicated that they did climb out to the road.  Taking a piece of rope he encircled a stone with and knotted the rope tightly around the rock.  He then pitched the rock to the other side of the slide and coaxed it of the edge of the road down the side of the mountain till it locked in some large stones and trees.  Once he had tested how secure the road was he tied off to a tree on his side and wound up the excess rope to his side.  He would cross the slide via the rope hand over hand, and as he went the excess of the rope would be coiled on his hip, therefore once he crossed he could retrieve the rope due to the slip not being engaged from the loose end. 

When Mike first saw the figure creeping slowly toward the slide on his belly, his pulse quickened and his breathing grew shallow.  Here was the man who wanted them dead for whatever reason.  Craig was awake and Mike whispered to him, “There he is.”  The two watched as the man looked over the edge, got up, scratched his head then prepared to cross the slide with a rope.  They marveled at the ease for which he crossed the slide that had stopped them in their tracks. 

            “What now?” Craig whispered.

            “Wait.”

            “How long?”

            “Wish I knew.”

            “What if he catches on?”

            “He might figure out on the road a ways that the trail is a one-way trail, but it will not be clear what we did.”

            “Mike, what if we try to follow him?”

            Somewhat shocked, Mike asked, “What on earth do you mean?”

            “I’m not sure, but the last thing he would think we would do is some sort of double back to follow him.  What if we turn the tables and hunt him a while?”

            “Interesting, really interesting, but very risky.  Look, he knows the area better than we do.”

            “I understand that, but we’re going to run out of food.  I’d rather fight than starve to death out here.”

            “You sure about the food thing?”

            “Yes, if we don’t find an alternative food source, with all the calories we’re burning, we can’t make it till the end of the week.  We are burning way more than we can take in.  This will weaken us, and the weaker we get the more we lose it mentally.  If we make a mistake then we are dead men.  If somehow we could get his gun away from him by slipping up on him at night or something, then we live.”

            Mike nodded then replied, “You’re right.  We’ve got to stand up to this guy somehow.  The element of surprise would be ours that is for sure.”

            “Good, so why don’t we work our way to the top of this ridgeline, and track back toward the mountain top we camped night before last.”

            “Okay, let’s go.” 

And with that they started climbing again after around 8 hours of rest.  Just before dark they reached the ridgeline, scrounged together some wood, and made a small fire down in a crevice between two large rocks.  They kept the fire small but hot to dry their clothes out for the second time.  Battered, bruised, and sore they feel asleep hoping for dry clothes in the morning. 

He tugged the rope with enough force to disengage the slip knot and recoiled his rope.  Looking around he could tell where the two men and climbed up the mountain back to the logging road out of the slide.  “Why would they go back the way they came?” He thought to himself.  What is back that way?  Could they not figure out how to cross the slide?  Did they figure he would be waiting at the bottom?  He followed a vague trail, and by dark he arrived at a campsite his rivals had used previously.  They had traveled back this way, but somewhere he had lost their trail.  At some point they had departed the logging road, and it was too dark to backtrack.  Being on top of the mountain he made a small campsite in a nearby ivy thicket where he could not be seen.  As the fire burned he tried to crawl into the craniums of his adversaries he now viewed as rivals, but he could not attain a perspective.  They had given him the slip.  Before bed he decided to relieve himself and crawled out of the ivy thicket.  As he did his business, he thought he smelled the faintest hint of smoke.  Could it be the fire of his rivals?  Quietly, he moved down one side of the mountain on the main ridge that led away.  The ridge was pitted with rocks and steep sides cascading off into the darkness.  The smoke was waffling up the ridge, so somewhere below, probably on the ridge, was a campfire.  He almost laughed out loud.  They didn’t stop climbing at the logging road, no they continued to the top of the ridge.  They should have traveled a great distance ahead given the time he allowed them, but they didn’t.  What were they doing?  Coming after him?  He smiled, too good to be true he thought.  In his mind, he figured they would be very near the top of the ridge not far from the slide origin.  If they had been smart and moved away on the top of the ridge toward the west, they could have easily been more than a day ahead of him – probably not even worth his time to track.  They would die anyway, for unbeknownst to the green horn hikers, they were heading deeper into the wilderness, not closer to civilization by going west.  He walked back to his camp in the ivy thinking of his next move the thwart his rivals once and for all.

Tuesday morning greeted Mike and Craig with a stiff wind and rain trying to fall.  The sky was a tumult of dark clouds.  Not wanting their clothes to get wet again, Craig bolted from his sleeping back and put on what he could to search for possible shelter in the rocky crags of the ridge.  Several yards off the ridgeline on the north face of the ridge he saw where a tree had fallen almost upside down into a large hole created by an oversized large boulder.  Bounding down the side of the mountain he sought the other side of the boulder.  There Craig found a shelter under the large boulder.  Quickly he returned to Mike and convinced him to go to the shelter. 

            “This is great.” Mike said as they entered the shelter of the rock as it began to rain harder.  They searched out the confines of their new home and discovered a huge cache of late summer acorns that had funneled down into the crevice from the backside where the fallen tree had tumbled into the rear of the boulder lodged in a hole.

            Mike pointed toward the top of the tree now without leaves.  “All the wood from that tree is dead and dry.  We can build a fire.  I doubt anyone could see the smoke with the rain like it is.” 

            Craig agreed then said, “Let’s gather these acorns, if we peel them and smash them we can let the rain leach the bitterness from them and this would be a huge calorie pick-up.”  In short order, the two had a massive number of acorns processed and massed up into a coarse meal.  They took the rain fly from one of the tents and tied it up in the rain where the water soaked the acorns.  Each time the fly would fill, they would dump the water out.  “When the rainwater no longer turns dark, then the bitterness in the oil is gone and we can eat.”

            “Where did you learn this?” Mike asked.

            “Sarah and I have camped extensively in Virginia and West Virginia.  She is not only a painter of landscapes, but quite a naturalist, too.  Anyway, she had read up on some ways to prepare acorns and we tried it.  It worked great and like any nut, there was great nutritional value.  This will help ease the pressure on our food stores.”

            “That’s great.  We have another rain fly, why don’t we make another run?” Mike asked, and the two busied themselves with the task.  Where the rainwater ran off the boulder they also replenished their canteens.  When the water in the first run of the acorns was clear they dumped it out and then let the water soak them again.  After that they drained the acorn meal and cooked it in their tin coffee cups over the fire.  When the acorns browned, they each took their cup and ate. 

            “Wow!” Craig exclaimed.  “Just how good is it to have hot food go into your body, even if the taste is a little bland.”

            “Very bland, but I swear this is the best thing I have ever eaten.”  Mike replied and tipped his head to Craig, “My respects to the chef.”

            They both laughed and for the moment the reality of their situation seemed to ebb away to some unknown place far out of mind.  They were just camping for awhile and not being tracked by some nutcase with a high powered rifle.  Thunder clapped and the rain picked up even harder dropping out of the sky as though being poured from buckets. 

            “What should be our next move?” Craig asked bringing both back to reality.

            “Well, this rain pretty much destroys a lot of tracks.  Also, our inability to move could create more distance between us and the rifleman, or not, but either way – we don’t have a good estimation of where he is anymore.”

            “I’d say we lost the element of surprise.  By now he must know we didn’t go far to the east. He’s probably not moving much in this kind of weather.”  Craig replied.

            “I’m not so sure.  Going up and down the mountainsides would be very difficult in the rain, heck it is hard enough on a sunny day.  I do agree that attempting to find him is not in our best interests now.”

            “What if we rested up for now and tried a night trek?  Is it too dangerous where we are?”  Craig asked looking off the side of the mountain from the mouth of the cave.

            Mike thought about it then answered, “Maybe not, but if we go down the top of the ridge, we’d be safe.”

            After they each had four tin cups of acorns, Mike and Craig settled in for a nap as the rain began to relent.

The camouflaged parka would keep the morning rain at bay.  The rivals would not venture out in this today and he knew this would afford the opportunity he needed to finally take them out once and for all.  From the top of the mountain down to the slide area the ridge was rugged with stone boulders.  He would have to be extraordinarily careful and have a keen eye for where the rivals are camping.

 The morning was very much like mission kill number three near the Roan Mountain on the Tennessee and North Carolina border.  He had surveyed a lonely stretch of the Appalachian Trail on the Tennessee side of the Mountain.  The rain saturated him, but he didn’t even feel it.  The target first came into view and he knew it was a long distance hiker, or through hiker as they’re called.  The grey beard dripped with rain but the face of the target was difficult to see in the hooded bright orange parka.  At precisely the right moment he pulled the trigger striking the hiker in the chest.  The torso appeared to fold backwards as the bullet ripped through the chest and severed the backbone.  The target was eliminated.  He smoked a cigar, then walked down to the trail, took the parka off and kicked the body over the edge of the trail watching it twist and fall down a massive ravine.  Calvin Paul Bossier was never found, and last reported seen by a fellow hiker just south of Damacus, Virginia. 

As he neared the area where he figured the rivals might be, he slowed and surveyed the distance.  The smell of the smoke had returned, but was not as distinct in the hard rain.  Using his hands he narrowed his focus to that a small hole and looked for any signs of smoke.  Painstakingly, he looked at every small detail he could.  An hour later he saw what looked like a faint trail of smoke from a huge distant stone that protruded upward on the other side of a tree that had fallen upside down in behind the stone.  This was as logical a spot as any for the rivals to camp.  He positioned himself with a clear shot if they appeared back on the ridge and waited in the rain.

At 3pm in the afternoon Craig roused from his slumber and put more wood on the fire that had died down to coals.  He walked out from under the stone and noticed that only a light sprinkle remained from the rain.  Watching his step on the slippery slope and rocks Craig made his way to the far upper side of the boulder where he saw a nice stream of water coming off the rock – perfect for canteen filling.  The water splattered on the smaller rocks masking the sound as he slipped and fell to one knee.  From one knee he saw around the boulder and saw something unusual leaning against a tree up the ridge.  It was a man in a camouflaged parka and leather hat.  His head was down as though asleep and laying across his lap was what appeared to be a rifle case.  Fear gripped him in a tangible way restricting his breathing, his hands shook, and his legs felt paralyzed.  Slowly, Craig crawled away, sure not to be seen.  He was never more thankful for the splattering water.  As he got close to the cave his pace quickened. 

            Craig gently shook his friend and whispered, “Mike.  Mike.”

            Waking, Mike could see Craig’s face and knew something was wrong, “What is it?”

            “He’s right above us.”

            “How?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “What can he see?  What can’t he see?”

            “He can’t see the cave; he is right on the ridge backed up against a tree.”

            “If we were to go straight down from here on this side, how far could we get before he gets a good shot at us?”

            “From where he is if we kept the boulder in between, I’d say we could get maybe 50-75 yards away before he would have a decent shot. But we don’t know anything about this side of the mountain, what if it is worse than the other side where the slide is?”

            Mike shook his head and replied, “Let’s have a look.”  With that the two men walked to the entrance of their boulder cave and surveyed the land that lay below.

            “Not as many trees.”  Craig noticed.

            “That makes it easier to hit us.”  Mike replied.

            “But, there aren’t as many rocks and boulders either.  What if we made a break for it down this side?”

            “Well, we can’t go around and back up to the ridge – that’d be like shooting ducks in a barrel.  This is our only hope.  Is he sleeping right now?”

            “I think so.”  Craig replied then continued, “What if we wait till dark and sneak down?”

            “That sounds logical, but something tells me he would be more surprised now if we bolted.  He wasn’t prepared for the possibility that we would see him before he saw us.”

            “What if we attempted to apprehend him now?  The gun is inside a sleeve.”

            “Way too risky, he has the high ground and footing is terrible.  We have to go and go now.  You okay with that.”

            “Yeah, I’m with you.”

            Quickly they gathered their thinks and left the fire.  They didn’t attempt to put anymore water in their canteens for fear of being noticed.

            As they stood poised to descend, Mike gave the final orders.  “Okay, here’s the deal.  Once you get started don’t stop until you get to the bottom.  I will stay to the left you stay to the right, and when you get down move toward me and I’ll do the same moving toward you.  Don’t look over or back, but only focus on what is in front of you.  If you hear a rifle shot keep going.  As you descend hop and bounce taking large descents.  Hit and roll every now then.  Make yourself an impossible target to hit.  It looks like it gets bushier toward the bottom, just keep going until you reach level ground.  Be careful of ledges – remember keep your eyes straight ahead…  Ready?”

            “As I’ll ever be.”

            “On the count of three then, 1…2…3.”

As three was sounded they both took off in a flash.  Mike veered left and jumped landing ten feet down and then rolling another ten.  Craig bolted right and jumped twice, rolled five times, and then somersaulted more.  Both men were amazed at the amount of speed they built up and after the initial movements they began to bounce, bound, roll, and fall completely out of control down the mountain.  Mike saw a tree rush by dangerously close.  Craig felt a stinging bruise from his knee nailing a rock in the ground.  They both felt as though they fell for an hour, but in reality it was only a few minutes until both reached thickets of laurel, mountain ivy, saw briars, moosewood, and wild blueberry.  In the thicket the fall became more violent as Mike and Craig discovered what it must be like to be a pinball.  Mike hit a saturated old stump that exploded with rotted wood.  He stopped in one more roll the wind knocked completely out of him.  Struggling to catch his breath he looked to his right hoping to see Craig, but saw nothing.  Craig had caught a maple tree just above his hairline and was knocked out cold, still falling through the woods.  He finally came to rest under a laurel bush pinned to the ground by a low limb that caught him.  He didn’t wake. 

            Mike eventually caught his breath and hobbled in the direction he would find his friend.  The path of Craig’s fall was easily discernible; a Mack truck would have left less of a trail.  Hurrying downward, Mike finally found Craig and didn’t even bother waking him.  Straining with all his might, Mike gathered up his friend and continued the descent.  Ten minutes later they happened upon the same creek they had once walked days before.  Mike guessed they weren’t far at all from where they got out of the creek to follow the grown-up logging road.  Fishing through his pack, Mike found some ammonia in his first aide kit and soon enough Craig was awake.

            “Are you alright?” Mike asked.

            “No, my head is killing me and I feel as though I’ve been beaten with a baseball bat.  Where are we?”

            “I believe this is the same creek we trudged a few days ago.  I think we are downstream from where we got out, but I’m unsure how far.  I know your whipped right now, so am I, but we can’t stay here.”  Mike’s voice was stern and serious.             

            Craig attempted to get to his feet and for a moment stood swaying slightly.  The woods had turned cold with no wind.  The slow gurgle of the creek was the only sound that could be heard.  “Okay,” Craig said, “Let’s get started.  Where do we go now?”

            Mike looked at his friend, barely able to stand, and remarked, “I think the logical direction is down the creek.  That is probably what he is thinking.  Somehow we’ve got to go up the creek to that same road and this time we’ll head in the opposite direction.  The weather is turning way too cold to walk the creek, besides I don’t know if we could.”

            “But, we can bushwhack through the mess on either side?”

            “We have to buddy, or else.”

            “Or else, huh, I can’t believe what’s happening.  And, now he has us virtually maimed.  I bet he laughed as we tumbled all the way down.”

            “Probably.”

            “Have you ever thought about death?  You know, how you’d go?”

            “No.”

            “Never?”

            “Nope, not once, and this will not be our end.  I don’t know how, but we’ll survive.  Now, let’s get as far as we can go before dark.  We have bought some time because I don’t think he would come all the way down here then go down the creek.  Instead, he will get out ahead of us then work his way back up the creek if we don’t show.”

            With that said, Mike and Craig began to go back up the creek.  The going was slow - dodging debris, stone outcroppings, undergrowth, and steep embankments. 

4

The commotion startled him.  He looked up from his slumber to see his rivals running down the mountainside.  He almost laughed out loud as their sprint turned into a freefall malaise of chaotic tumbling.  He didn’t even remove his rifle from the sleeve in his lap.  Soon they were out of sight although he could still hear their descent.  Briefly he considered how they knew he was there, for it was obvious they did – why else would two men risk life and limb crashing down the side of a mountain.  Regardless, the brief moment of doubt passed by and he looked up at the sky.  The edge of the cold front that had brought all the rain had pretty much pushed through and cold weather would be behind it.  If the rivals survived their tumble they would go down Timber Creek.  In short order he could get to where Baker Creek dumps into Timber Creek and eliminate them there.  He eased from his spot around to the mouth of the boulder cave and revived the fire to dry out.  He planned to spend the night in the cave then get up early.  He could walk the ridgeline out passed the slide and then walk down a pass that had a trail to Baker and Timber Creek.  If he moved quickly he would be there by noon.  If the rivals walked all night they might make it to the spot before him.  They wouldn’t walk all night.  If they didn’t get to the spot by tomorrow night he would walk back up the creek toward them, where most likely he would find them dead from the tumble or so injured they couldn’t move.  He started to have emotions that beckoned him to have the rivals suffer severely.  He wanted to push them to exhaustion.  He wanted them to practically beg him to take their life, put them out of their misery.  It would be his greatest moment.

Mike and Craig reached the logging road abandoned due to the slide at about dark.  They wadded through a shallow section of the creek and trekked a short distance in the opposite direction of the slide heading north as best they could tell from the old hand-drawn map. 

            “We need to stop and camp,” Mike said.

            “Let’s get off this road a ways.  It looks thick over there, should be good cover.” Craig said pointing in a direction off the road to the left.  Mike agreed.

            The area was slightly swampy and tufts of swamp grass dotted the sparse woods that led to a thick grove of spruce surrounded by saw briars.  Deep inside the thicket they hacked out a spot with sticks and collected wood.  The fire was more difficult to start from all the rain, but soon it was roaring as they found a plentiful supply of dead wood. 

            “Grab your rain fly. I’ve got an idea,” Craig remarked.  Mike didn’t question his friend at all, he just located the rain fly and flowed his friend back to the creek.  “Want to go fishing?”

            “Sure,” Mike responded.  “With these things, won’t that be a shot in the dark?”

            “You could say that, but I noticed the little pool above the road had fish the last time we trudged through.  A shallow rapid feeds the pool and it is shallow leaving.  I think we have them trapped.” Craig then explained they would get on either side of the pool holding each end of the same rain fly.  They would let it fold a bit in the middle then move quickly through the pool, hopefully capturing some of the fish as they did. 

            “Ready?” Craig asked.

            “Yeah.”

            “Go.”

            They drug the pool with one swoop and the rain fly jerked with activity.  They gathered the ends making a net of sorts and tied off the top.  Quickly, they grabbed the other fly and did the same. 

            “Okay, we’ve got some fish,” Craig proclaimed.  “Let’s get back to the camp clean them and eat.”

            “Awesome,” Mike replied.

            When they got back to the fire they opened up the make-shift rain fly nets and discover six trout in the first one and two in the second.  After cleaning the fish and disposing of the guts back at the creek, they cooked all eight trout over the fire and a homemade rotisserie.

            As the meal cooked, Mike said, “Craig that was the best idea you have ever had, bar none.”  Craig didn’t say anything; he just stared at the fire and the fish.  “Looks like you’re thinking hard.”

            “Yeah,” Craig said.  “I’m thinking about the family. Tomorrow is Wednesday. I wasn’t supposed to get back till late Sunday night, so they won’t miss me till Monday morning.  I doubt if the guy in the general store back in Powderdam gives a rip if we’re back or not on Saturday like we said.”

            “So…we won’t be searched for until Tuesday or Wednesday next week, maybe longer.”

            “Exactly, the acorns and this fish will need to go as far as we can make them.  If you’re right about Mr. Crazy then we have a pretty decent head start again.  We need to be more deliberate and not make any more mistakes.”

            Mike nodded, “That’s for sure, and we need to think two steps ahead not one.  We are thinking backwards right now on what we will do, eventually he will do the same. Mr. Crazy maybe insane, but he is no stooge.  As far as being deliberate, the way my body feels, I’m not sure we have a choice.”  Both laughed for the first time in a long time.

            Craig checked his watch, “Fish should be ready.”  He took down the skewer and pulled off four then handed it over to Mike.  Taking their knives they pulled the tender white flesh from the bone and felt the warmth of a high protein meal.  The flavors of the fish exploded in their mouths.

            “Oh my, that is incredible Craig.”

            “I’ve eaten at the most expensive places in Washington, DC, but I don’t think I’ve ever had anything to match this.”  Soon, the eight fish were down to nothing but bones.  Both got comfortable wrapped in their sleeping bags and tents as the rain fly attachments hung drying.  The fire burned down and the quietness of the woods was interrupted by the ticking sounds of something falling from the sky, too loud for rain. 

            “Is that snow?” Craig asked.

            “No it is sleet or freezing rain.  The temp must be in the mid to low 30’s.”

            “Wow, and it is August.”

            “Yeah, it is August at least for a few more days anyway.”

            “So, when we get out of this, why don’t you go back and apply for coach Bonner’s job as football coach since he is hanging it up?”

            “Are you nuts?”

            “No, you were always brilliant with football.”

            “Football is simple.  Most teams can only do a couple things and have maybe one or two players that can do anything.  I don’t think I’d enjoy the whole political parent power play element.  I’d just end up telling someone off.”

            “That is exactly why you need to apply.  No one else will do that and 80% of our end of the county is ready for something other than Bonehead Bonner.”

            “I guess.” Mike replied.

            “We would have lost that first round playoff against Symthville, if you hadn’t come in for Jody Balluchie at free safety.  You virtually called every play they were going to run then made that interception on third and six.  Ballgame.”

            “I remember that.  Bonner, God bless him, would never let a quarterback play defense.  But, when Jody got hurt his only option was some sophomore who was scared to death.”

            “Pat Keller.”

            “Yeah, that was him. I told Bonner that I knew all the defensive calls and responsibilities.  He had no choice, if he did, he sure as heck wouldn’t have put me in.

            “But, he did and you sniffed out about everything they did.”

            “Well, it wasn’t anything really.  I always watched you guys on defense very close.  Smyhville had a tailback who ran well around the outside but terrible up the middle, and they had abandoned the fullback.  Their quarterback only threw to the tight end and that Bailey kid that was a great wide out.  However, he only threw to Bailey when he lined up wide left.  I noticed that in film the week before and during the game, the same.” 

            “How could you remember all that?”

            “I don’t know, it was simple to me.  Anyway, I remember on first down Bonner called a two deep zone with a line slant toward the short side of the field.  That was the stupidest defense we could be in.  They came out in a formation that they ran sweeps out of to the wide side of the field.  So, I reverted us to cover 3, and flipped the slant.  You were the strong safety and that put you right in the mix – great tackle by the way.”

            “I just remember thinking that Bonner was going to mess his pants when you changed the defensive scheme.  As I hustled up to the strong side from my deep position, I saw the quarterback watch me all the way.  He had that look like, ‘oh no.’”

            “But, he didn’t audible.”

            “No, he ran the play like a good soldier.  That kid at tailback was so fast – even though we’d shifted into the right defense I barely held on to him.  When he got the pitch he sprinted for the corner, so I moved up the field.  He checked and looked like he was ready to cut back, so I closed.  He skipped out of the cutback and juked his way to my outside. I still don’t know what happened to Leon at corner, so I dove for a leg and held on for all I was worth.  I think he gained a yard.”

            “It was a big play.  Leon took the cutback fake and got totally sucked in.”

            “Where were you?”

            “Watching.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah, you had him.”

            “Well, next we came out in a blitz and Bonner sent in word to not revert out of it.”

            “That’s right; he was such a pompous jerk. I guess it mattered little that we just held them on first down to a yard on the best play they could run.  Do you recall what I said in the huddle?”

            “Yes, you said to watch for the draw or a screen pass.”

            “Good memory. They never liked to throw in second and long, so nine times out of ten they’d just run it again, run a draw, or throw a short screen pass.  I didn’t think they’d run again, and I figured they would be ready for some sort of blitz.  They were.”

            “But, you bolted from your safety position and tackled the runner after only about three yards setting up the famous third and six finale.”

            “On third down, I knew it was going to be a tight end dump and Bonner actually put us in the right coverage – cover three.  That put me over the tight end with deep middle responsibility.  They weren’t going to throw deep, so instead of being eight yards off the line, I closed to about six.  At the snap I just bolted and intercepted the ball.”

            “You could have scored.”

            “Maybe, but all I cared about was securing the ball and not fumbling, so I went down.  We then ran out the clock – ball game.” 

            “Do you think you can read Mr. Crazy like you did Spivey or Smythville?”

            “I think so.  He only operates from a position where he has the advantage.  I think we stunned him somewhat with what happened at the slide and in the cave.  This hasn’t scared him at all, it has actually excited him.  He sees us as some worthy adversary now.  I’d bet he has killed many people, like a serial killer.”

            “You think this is some sort of sick game to him?”

            “Yes, I do.  We can’t allow him to learn anything about us and we have to keep learning about him.”

            Craig adjusted his seat then said, “You say he only operates out of a desire to always be in an advantageous position.  What if we gained high ground and made him come to us?”

            “He’d just wait us out; this guy will never get in a hurry.  On high ground we’d have no access to water, eventually run out of food and wood, basically we’d be trapped.  If we can keep him guessing and keep distance between us, who knows?”

            “How close are we to the Jeep?”

            “A pretty good ways and he may have disabled it.  If he didn’t then he may be on his way back to that spot.  We need to almost disappear out here, and getting out is no longer the priority.  Not getting shot is the priority.”

            As sleep overcame them, Mike and Craig each were buried under their tents choosing not to set them up as though the tents were blankets.  The sleet and freezing rain pelted them most of the night and by dawn a trace of ice could be seen on everything.

            When Mike woke he could not believe how sore he was.  Everything hurt.  Breathing caused pain in the ribs and chest.  Moving his legs triggered cramps in his legs and sharp pains through his back.  Slowly he pulled the tent from over him and took in his surroundings.  Craig was still sleeping and the fire had gone out.  The thick undergrowth of the briars mixed with weeds concealed anything beyond only ten feet or so.  With swollen fingers that were tender in the knuckles, Mike unzipped his sleeping bag.  He stuck his feet in his boots, and didn’t even try tying the laces.  Anything below the knees was unreachable.  Mike rolled over to a position of supporting his weight on his hands and knees.  He held the position fighting the urge to kick his boots back off and wrap back up until the pain went away, but he knew he had to get moving.  Mike knew he wasn’t injured, he was just.  There was only one fix – get up and get moving. 

            At about this time Craig groaned and started the initial stages of his morning after the fall.  Soon he saw Mike on all fours.

            “You okay?”

            “No, this is death, but we’ve got to get up and get the kinks out or Mr. Crazy will catch up.  How do you feel?”

            Craig sighed, “Like I’ve been run over by a herd of Buffalo.  Twice, maybe, three times, no four.”

            Finally, Mike got one leg up under his body and a foot firmly on the ground.  He rose and shifted all his weight to that leg and grunting he rose to his feet.  His unsteady stance was evident as he wavered on rubbery legs.  “We still have plenty of coffee.  I’ll go get some water, if you’ll get the fire going again.”  Mike then bent to pick up a small pot and walked gingerly out of the camp.

            Craig struggled to his feet and found some hot coals under grey ash of what had been the fire.  He found some wood that was relatively dry and huffed and puffed until he finally got a flame.  He then built a bit of a temple of wood and a fire was soon the result.

            Mike walked back in and began boiling the water.  “It’s freezing,” Mike said.

            “What is the plan today?” Craig asked.

            “I think we walk the old logging road as far as we can or as long as we can stand it.  He thinks we’ll go down the creek since everyone is taught that going down stream eventually leads to civilization.  If we do this right we could score a big advantage, maybe even put enough distance between us that he can’t find us or catch us.”

            “Do you think he knows where this logging road ends up?”

            “Probably, he might even attempt to get ahead of us.  So, as we get to feeling better we should veer off the road and bushwhack a while.”

            “That doesn’t sound appealing.”

            “No, but getting shot sounds worse.”

            “True enough.”

            Hot coffee lifted their spirits, but did little to stave off the fatigue and soreness of their previous day’s tumble.  Somehow both men tied their boots and soon were trekking on the overgrown road.  The terrain mellowed somewhat from the steepness they had been used to and in only an hour the road ended on the edge of rather large glacier lake almost perfectly circular in shape. 

            “Cattails,” Mike said pointing to the north side of the lake.  “I think we can eat those.”  Both made their way to a small spot where the plant was growing in great numbers.  They attempted to eat several parts, but found nothing appetizing until the lateral underground stems were discovered.  They were quite starchy, and had a decent flavor although the fibrous texture made chewing impossible.  Instead, they would bite and suck at the stems.  Both decided the amount of nourishment received for the work it took to get the food was probably counterproductive.

            Craig asked, “Which way do we need to go from here?’ 

            “I think our current heading is almost due north.  Going west at this point seems logical, but takes us back toward Mr. Crazy if he attempts to travel from down the creek to this lake.  If we go east then we put more distance between us and Mr. Crazy.  He thinks we’ll go that way.  Continuing north makes little sense, so that’s the way we’ll go.”

            “How far do we have to go until we see the signs for welcome to Canada?”

            “That’s just it, we’re probably heading away from civilization, but that saves us from Mr. Crazy.”

The journey down to the fork of Timber and Baker Creek and been arduous.  High on the ridgeline the sleet and freezing rain on rocks and steep terrain made the going slow.  When he finally reached his destination it was already dark.  Immediately he sensed they were not going this way.  He had no basis for the idea, just what he had learned about his rivals.  They had stopped doing what he expected them to do.  They went back up the creek, but to where.  Would they go back to the Jeep?  That would be fruitless because he had broken into the vehicle, popped the hood, removed the battery and tossed it off a short cliff where it broke apart on a rocky ledge.  He saw the rental contract, and the rival named Craig had waived insurance.  That had turned out to be a poor decision.  North of the two creeks was topography that made for easier passage.  He thought if he could get back to the slide logging road, then he could reassess the rivals.  Most folks loathed traveling in the woods at night, but he loved it.  Darkness was his friend.  By morning he reached a small knoll just west of the slide road and decided to rest there.  It was only five minutes until he heard voices on the road.  The rivals walked by going north on the road.  They were moving slow.  They looked stiff.  He went to sleep smiling, knowing where the rivals were headed.  He believed once they reached the small glacier lake they would push on north because that is the way they believed he would not think they’d go.  He would sleep for now and rest, he could easily catch them later.  Soon his mind circled and went back in time to mission number four.  A prominent national magazine had proclaimed that United States highway 50 in Nevada was the loneliest road in America.  State tourism officials jumped at the name like lions over a kill.  Soon signs went up along the road, brochures were fabricated, and footage was added to the latest commercial to entice folks to come to Nevada.  He read the magazine, received a brochure and saw the advertisement.  He hiked into the Great Basin National park, which is notorious for night skies with no light pollution.  Pure darkness pricked by billions of small lights on a veil over the heavens.  No place had ever moved him more.  He continued on in Eastern Nevada and saw a drifter walking the most desolate stretch of the highway between Eureka and Ely.  The land there looked more like a planet in outer space than earth – a total of 73 miles of nothing but shrub bush.  He camped on a rise above the drifter and watched him through his scope for most of the night.  The man never smiled.  All through the night he watched the man as he slept.  In the wee hours of the morning the drifter woke to a chill in the air and banked his fire.  He was going through a pack when the bullet struck the right side of his head.  His head exploded like a pumpkin being dropped from a tall building.  He fell backwards onto the fire and burned until well done.  He put away the rifle and continued to walk near the highway and two weeks later turned up in Carson City where he cleaned up and caught a plane back home.  Timothy Wayne Ryawls was found months later, but there was no name what was left of who they found.  Authorities believed he was a drifter who accidentally fell into his fire, probably drunk.  There was a bottle of whiskey with only a few sips left still sitting up right beside a pack.  They figured a wild animal had removed the head which had not landed in the fire.  In truth, there was not enough to go on with only bones remaining.  They never found the skull fragments embedded in the soil just west of the camp where most of his head had landed, but they didn’t look too hard.  He was a drifter and his passing brought tears to no eyes.  He drifted to sleep thinking of this kill and the demise of his two rivals to come.

They replenished their water supply at the lake and after their meal of cattails began moving north.  Soon they happened upon tall standing timber, which appeared to be virgin timber.  The trees shaded all surrounding areas and undergrowth was greatly diminished.  Craig and Mike made better time being careful to conceal their trail.  Late in the afternoon, exhausted from their pace, they decided to make camp behind the uprooted stump of a fallen tree.  The temperature had descended and as the last light of day waned, large snowflakes began falling from the sky.  The ground was still too warm and most flakes melted almost immediately.  The wind picked up and the snowfall intensified. 

Craig and Mike used the stump of the fallen tree to break the wind and they fashioned their tents into one shelter open to the fire, which filled the space with warmth. 

“Tell me about Virginia and making the team as a walk-on.”  Mike said.

“I’m not sure why, but I couldn’t get trying out for the team out of my head.  I had contacted the athletic department that summer and a workout was scheduled.  I worked out hard for about two weeks before and did well enough during the workout to earn a red shirt as a non-scholarship walk-on.  I took it.  That first fall was brutal.  I wasn’t fast enough, smart enough or strong enough.  When I tell you that I took a beating Mike, you can’t possibly understand how incredibly brutal it was.  But, I couldn’t quit, I wouldn’t quit.  There were times I questioned if it would be worth it, you know, would I ever get any chance to see the field?  Maybe, a special teams spot?  There were never any promises.  I just kept working at it not really worrying about what the ultimate results would be.  The next fall I didn’t make the travel team, but the home games were inspiring.  We lost only three games and went to a bowl game.  I did get to experience the bowl game, and it was a highlight.  The sophomore year of my eligibility started off well with a spot on the travel team, but ended with a badly sprained shoulder.  We lost seven games.  I earned a spot on the kickoff team my junior year.  Our coach always deferred, so most of the games began with us kicking off.  I loved that.  The atmosphere.  The expectation.  The rising anticipation.  I would run down the field as though prancing on clouds as fast as I could.  The collisions were violent and quick.  Sometimes I would get through and sometimes not, but I led the kickoff team in tackles.”

“That must have been some experience.  You guys played in the Peach Bowl that year and I remember you made a fantastic tackle on Ty Clavor, the best return man in the SEC.  He started up the middle and the hole was to the right.  He veered that way and began to accelerate when all of a sudden out of the nowhere you flew in and upending him.  The ball shot straight up into the air and led to the winning score.”

“Yes.  I recall that.  Auburn was much more talented than we were, but five turnovers did them in.”

“I always wondered why they didn’t give you more action on defense.  You could obviously tackle with the best of them.”

“Well, I was too slow to be a strong safety and too little to be a linebacker.  To be honest, I was fine with my role.  Then my senior year our All-ACC sophomore strong safety, Manual Strickland went down with a torn ACL.  I got the spot and had the time of my life.  We didn’t get to a bowl game that year due to our inconsistency on offense, but we beat our biggest rival Virginia Tech and put them out of the conference championship game.  I tipped away a pass in the end zone to seal the victory.  When take game was over, I was astonished at the suddenness of it all ending.  One moment I was playing football as I had been all my life and the next moment it was all over and done.  Men cry over such times, but I didn’t.  There was a level of acceptance, and even though the moment came quickly, I could only feel appreciation for the great teammates I had played with, the coaches who gave me opportunities, and in some sadistic way, I was actually thankful for all the tough knocks, hard practices, and aching injuries.  The price paid paled in comparison to the experiences.  Those memories still shower my days with fond memories.”

“Hearing you makes me wish I had played.”

“You said you never regretted helping your Dad?”

“I didn’t, but hearing you describe your story sort of strikes a nerve.  You know like an itch I never scratched and never really thought much about till hearing your experiences.  Sports are an incredible thing.  The competition and teamwork that accompany the enterprise of the effort is hard to match in other endeavors.

“Yes, it is.  Sometimes business comes close, but not all the way.”

After a pause Mike asked, “Have you thought that maybe this is it?  That Mr. Crazy is somehow better than us, and we’ve seen our loved one for the last time?”

The question hung in the air for some time, then finally Craig replied, “Yes, I have to be honest, I have thought that.  He seems to be a step ahead and know our every move.  Even when we trick him, he figures it out, like he did with the cave on the ridge. However, when these negative thoughts plague me, I think of my family and gain resolve.  I look at you and know that together we can survive.  He can’t beat us.”

“I wish I were so confident.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he was once again on our tail.”

The trail had been hard to follow in the dark of night but he guessed the way based on what he knew of the rivals and the land.  He had walked by them and never knew it.  Now he leaned back on a tree about 200 yards away up a gradual slope, and knew he was drawing to a close this contest with his rivals.  They were camped behind the stump of a fallen tree.  He never saw the glow of the fire until he looked back.  The night had been especially cold and they had banked the fire throughout the night.  It had been the sound of a piece of wood being tossed on the fire that had caused him to look back.  Now, he was in perfect position for two clean shots.  He struggled to determine if he should kill them cleanly or have them suffer for what they had put him through.  A part of him would miss the engagement.  If it ended, what would he do?  How would he ever find adversaries who were this formidable?  The game couldn’t end here.