Ever Onward (16 page)

“No!”, Josh said. “Just stay ready.
They might come this way.”

But Snake wasn’t that drunk. He and
the other two emerged a hundred yards up the street. Flame’s red
hair could be seen as her streaked across the road, apparently on
her way to get Rings and Bull. From behind the cover of parked
cars, Snake and Blade laid down a continuous fire. Eddy and Bobby
shot back, but neither side did any real damage. Then Flame was
back. Bull had Rings behind him on his own bike. Snake appeared
astride his Harley, fired a few parting shots, then roared off. The
rest followed.

Moments later Kenneth, Tina and a
sheepish looking Bert came over to join the newcomers.
Introductions were made and the cousins, both young and old, were
soon eagerly swapping adventures. Tina, however, kept watching for
Snake’s return, Earl’s deer rifle at the ready.

A little later they buried Earl and
Wilma in the garden out behind the inn and began making plans for
the future.

Chapter 14
: ‘TROUBLE AT THE
TRAILHEAD’

Franconia Notch

New Hampshire

June
29
^th

They left North Conway that afternoon.
Josh took Brad and Tina in his Westfalia; Jessie, Kenneth and the
dogs climbed in Eddy’s van and Bert went with Bobby in the
tow-truck. All were glad to leave, especially since Snake and his
group might return at any moment.

The violent deaths of Wilma and Earl
had shaken them all. Brad’s son, Kenneth, seemed the most upset.
Young as he was, Jesse saw this and looked for a way to get his
cousin’s mind off the killings. On the way back over the Kank he
asked his father to stop for a swim in the rapids. Though all were
anxious to put as much distance between Snake and his bikers as
they could, the swim had relieved the tension and the rushing water
had renewed more than their bodies. While Jessie and Kenneth
splashed about with the dogs, Bobby had hovered around Tina,
playing his guitar and trying to make her smile. Eddy had done his
best to draw Bert into a conversation, but the fastidious little
barber had seemed sullen and withdrawn. Josh and Brad, sitting on
the bank, had quietly shared a beer along with their sorrows, hopes
and fears. After a while they shared the silence, which, when done
between old friends, can be the best sharing of all.

Suddenly Josh reached for the
Winchester. The rifle had become his constant companion for what
seemed strangely like forever.

“What’s the matter?”, Brad
demanded.

“I thought I saw something over in
those trees.”

Brad picked up Earl’s 12 gage and
began scanning the woods along the side of the road. Josh worked
the lever on his 30.30 and moved behind a large boulder.

“It’s probably nothing, Brad, but
let’s get everyone back to the vans.”

Within minutes the three vehicles were
again winding their way westward over the Kank. They passed several
campsites on the way; The Covered Bridge, Jigger Johnsons, Five
Rocks, finally stopping by late afternoon at the one they’d stayed
in the night before.

Hancock’s Campground was just three
miles east of Lincoln. The long entrance led them down to another
rushing river far from the road. While supper simmered on the
campstove, Josh proposed a hike for the next day up 5,000 foot plus
Mount Lafayette. He realized they all needed something to take
their minds of the horror and death all around them. Pushing their
bodies to the limit, Josh knew from experience, could do that far
better than silent brooding on the long drive back to Hawthorn. All
but Bert were enthusiastic. What with the excited talk, the
distance from the road and the fast flowing river, none of them
heard sound of the motorcycles racing by.

The next morning they stopped at
Lincoln, stocked up on supplies and hiking gear and headed north up
I-93 to Franconia Notch State Park. The ‘Notch’, famous for its
profile of ‘The Old Man’, a strange natural rock formation that had
collapsed just after the turn of the century, though still
immortalized on the state’s license plates, was a four mile long
winding gash in the White Mountains. Steep, 4,000 foot plus cliffs
dropped down to the tree-covered, narrow valley. Now, a day after
leaving North Conway, they were settled in at the large Ranger
Station at the entrance to Lafayette Campground, anxiously planning
the next day’s adventure.

Not that it needed much planning, for
Josh, Brad and the two boys had been up it close to a dozen times.
It was a long loop, going up one trail, along the narrow, windswept
Franconia Ridge for two miles, then down another trail to the place
they started. Nearly ten miles altogether. Doable in eight hours if
they pushed it and days if they took their time. No one seemed in a
rush. Tina and the boys said they were ready to stay out a
week.

Josh, Brad and Eddy now sat in front
of the large stone fireplace pouring over trail maps. The four
younger members of the group were outside with the dogs. Bert sat
off by himself, chain-smoking and nursing a beer.

Eddy seemed fascinated by the White
Mountain’s Hut System. “You mean that they’ve got cabins all along
these ridges?”

Josh and Brad smiled at each other,
recognizing ‘Ridgewalker Mania’ when they saw it. Once up above the
treeline, the ridges all connected. Huts, or cabins, equipped with
propane kitchens, solar heaters and row upon row of bunkbeds,
linked the ridges every eight to ten miles. A person could walk for
weeks on end and never drop below 4000 feet. Or, if they wanted,
they could take a side trail down to a three-sided lean-to nestled
in the pines beside a clear tarn or a tumbling
waterfall.

“Christ!”, Eddy said, pointing at a
notation on the back of a map. “There’s a trail that goes from
Canada to damn near Florida!”

Josh nudged Brad and lit his pipe.
“That’s the Long Trail. It goes from Georgia to Vermont, branching
off a hundred miles south of here to the even higher Appalachian
Trail, which goes north-east up into Main. We’ll be walking part of
that tomorrow. One of the highest parts.”

Eddy grinned like a kid. Bert, sitting
off by himself, grunted. Brad turned to face the sour little man.
“I’ve told you, Bert, you don’t have to come. You can stay right
here. We’ll be back in two or three days.”

“And what if you aren’t?”, Bert
replied, his voice high and petulant. “What if you decide to stay
up in these bloody mountains for a week? Maybe two. What about me?!
Sitting down here all alone! What if those bikers come
back?!”

“Come with us then,” Eddy joined in.
Bert was proving to be a real pain in the ass, but Eddy had decided
to give the guy one more chance. He walked over and placed a hand
on Bert’s skinny shoulder. “It’ll be great, Bert. All that fresh
air. Dipping in the streams, fishing for trout. ‘Living off the
land’ and all that shit! Come on; what do you say?”

Bert shrugged Eddy’s hand away. “I say
it’s stupid. Brad’s cousin says there’s a whole lot of people back
where he came from. I say we head there and stop screwing around in
these bloody mountains. I never did like them, anyway!”

Eddy smiled. “Why the hell were you
living in a place like North Conway then? Jesus, man, there’s not
much there BUT mountains!”

Bert looked surly. “It was my wife’s
idea. She grew up there. Liked the ‘simple life’. Me, I think it
sucks!”

Josh put down his pipe. When he spoke
Eddy noticed Josh was using what Doc had called his ‘teacher’s
voice’. “You have three choices, Bert. Come with us; wait for us
here; or go on ahead to Hawthorn on your own.”

Bert looked shocked. “Me? Go off
alone? But what about the wrecks in the road and those men who
stopped you?”

Josh shrugged. “I’m just making your
options clear. The five of us are looking forward to this little
adventure. Obviously you aren’t. Fine. The people of Hawthorn will
be glad to see you.”

Now Bert looked hurt. “Are you trying
get rid of me?”

Josh slowly stood up. He made no move
toward Bert, but still the man stepped back. “Because you’re Brad’s
friend you’re welcome to stay with us.”

A sly expression suddenly came over
Bert. “And if I wasn’t ‘Brad’s friend’?”

Josh smiled. “Then I’d kick
your wining ass out the door.”

“Hey, Snake,” Flame said. “What the
fuck they doing now?”

Snake ignored her and continued to
watch the cabin through his powerful binoculars. He had plans for
each and every one of them. Big plans. Especially for the blonde
haired bitch with the nice jugs.

Yesterday he’d watched from afar as
they headed south out of North Conway. Following at a safe
distance, he’d caught sight of the tow-truck turning east on the
Kank. Again he and his group had followed. They’d nearly road right
past them when the smart-assed pricks had stopped for a swim! Snake
and the other three had quietly moved up on foot. The sight of two
men sitting on the bank with rifles however, had changed his mind.
Cursing, he’d backed off, planning to catch them later that night
when they were sleeping.

But the crafty buggers had slipped
away a second time. Again Snake had followed, but by the time they
reached the town of Lincoln they had lost them.

“Shit, Snake!”, Bull had exclaimed.
“They got three ways to go! North or south on 93 or east on the
116! We aint never gunna catch ‘em now!”

Snake had shoved his long barreled Red
Hawk in Bull’s face. “Shut the fuck up! I’ll find those goddamned
cock-suckers if I have to drive all over these fucking mountains to
do it! No one --- NO ONE makes a fool out of me!”

“Ya,” Flame had whispered to Blade.
“He does just fine all by himself.”

They’d then broken into a fancy hotel
that catered to skiers. Snake had ordered the two women to find
something to eat while Bull played bartender. The food had been
cold, but the whiskey had gone down like fire. Soon all were more
than half in the bag. Snake, aided by his secret stash of pills
graciously supplied by the late but far from great, Runt, was not
only ‘in the bag’, but well on his way to blowing the end out of
it, not to mention a few more quad-zillion brain cells. Blade had
fired up the bar’s sound system and Rings and Flame started a
strip-tease. Snake sat back and observed through a growing
chemically induced haze. “No fucking contest!”, he muttered.
“Rings’ titless!”

“Ya!”, Bull had grinned from behind
the bar. “But Flame’s got ‘nough for ‘em both!”

Flame had bumped and ground her way
over to Blade. Her green eyes flashing, her long hair a fiery halo,
she leaned forward. The tall biker had buried his face in her
boobs. Thinking of Tina, Snake had yelled at Rings to follow him
into the back room.

Late next morning, his head pounding
along with the powerful 650 engine, Snake sat astride his Harley at
the edge of Lincoln. Which fucking way, he asked himself? East to
Vermont? South to the Lakes District? North to the
mountains?

Decisions, decisions. Snake had never
been very good at making decisions. Always before he just sort of
let things happen --- and beat the shit out of anyone that got in
his way. Now, since his bike was already facing north, he mouthed
the ever-popular witticism for which his brethren were so famous.
‘Fuck it!’ This done, Snake gleefully kicked his Harley into gear
and tore off up I-93. Blade, Flame and Bull had followed, with
Rings holding on to Bull like a skinny primate clinging to mama’s
broad, hairy back.

Now, an hour after casting his fate to
the wind, Snake lay on a hill watching the shit-for-brains
hillbillies. He was feeling quite proud of himself. The stupid
hayseeds were playing house right below him! Their two vans and
tow-truck were parked on the far side of a large log cabin. Smoke
was coming from the chimney. Off to the side two kids were farting
around with bows and arrows. Pair of dogs were with them. Up on the
front porch some guy with long hair was playing a guitar. The chick
with the big tits was sitting close beside him.

‘Too fucking close!’, Snake cursed to
himself. ‘Sitting there singing goddamned love songs to my woman!’
A cold smile crossed his greasy features. ‘He’ll be singing a
different fucking tune when I’m finished with him! I’ll shove that
guitar so far up the little shit’s ass he’ll have to open his mouth
for the sound to come out!’ Pleased with his great wit, Snake
settled in to watch his prey. He didn’t want the fuckers slipping
away a third time!

He’d already sent Bull and Rings back
to the little peckerwood town for food, beer and camping shit. He’d
also told Bull to boost some wheels so Rings could follow him back
with the gear. Rings couldn’t handle a hog, but she could manage a
car or truck as long as it wasn’t a standard.

‘Stupid bitch can’t blow that!’, Snake
reasoned. Then doubt began to creep in. Rings had been fucking up a
lot lately. ‘Come to think of it, blowing things was the only thing
she WAS good at!’ Snake was chuckling away at his little joke when
Flame flopped down beside him. Wearing skin-tight jeans and an open
leather vest, the sexy bitch was enough to break any man’s
concentration! Reaching for the glasses, a large swell of a bare
breast pressed against his shoulder. Growling, he pulled the
glasses away.