Hellbender (Murder Ballads and Whiskey Book 2) (10 page)

I knotted the first end around the tree as well as a half inch cable could be knotted. I tucked the loose cable back into the loop over and over until only a few inches and the tow hook remained.

Wanting the line to give a little, I left slack in it as I crossed the road. I wrapped the other end around the poplar. A thousand reasons why this wouldn’t work materialized. All I wanted was one reason why it would.

I wrapped it around the tree and left it loose so I could drop the hook through a few times. Three times. Four times. Fives times until it pulled tight like a guitar string. I hung on it and bounced to tighten it the best I could.

Waiting around to see what happened wasn’t part of my plan, so I scurried down the last embankment. Thankfully, this one sloped gently, and soft grasses eased my plunge. Jogging through the ferns and scrubby laurel felt a little like running around my pap’s farm playing hide-and-seek with Katy and Ben and Janie. Sometimes I’d go in and get ice cream from my grandma when I was supposed to be hiding. I tried to shake off the pain in my arm as Alex skidded around the last switchback.

“Your turn to drive.” She drifted to a stop. It wasn’t an option. She applied the parking brake and climbed into the passenger seat.

The snap of a gunshot from the hill above got me moving. Best I could tell, Charlie slammed on his brakes when he saw the cable. The truck behind Charlie followed too closely, and nearly rear-ended him. Charlie’s clan made quick work of the roadblock, probably untying it as easily as I tied it. Some of the guys fired at us as I made my way to the bridge. Over my shoulder I heard truck engines revving back to life. The chase was back on.

With a little space to breathe, I drove to elude rather than to outrun. But I could still hear their pursuit when I pushed the clutch. At the Big Sandy, the road became a bridge, crudely constructed of steel trestles and wooden planks. The smell of the stream wafted up from below.

“Is it safe?” Alex said.

“Safer than the alternative?” I looked back at the gang coming down the hill. We crept forward carefully. I held my breath. Alex grabbed my knee. Then, as I hit mud again on the other side, an idea came to me.

“We’re going to Jenkinsburg,” I said. “Can we get help there?”

“No, Jenkinsburg’s abandoned. Used to be a logging town. Now it’s more a place than a town, really. Pisgah is closest. Or Masontown. But we’re still a long way from help.”

“What is so important at Jenkinsburg then?” “A chance to end this. At least for today.”

We plowed through puddles that got progressively deeper as we got closer to the Cheat River. After crossing the Big Sandy, the trail plunged at a much faster rate. At the bottom of each drop the water collected in massive, pond-like puddles. Because Alex was on the outside, she managed to stay fairly dry. But as I sped through the water it splashed off the cliff on my left. Leaning away from the splash was futile. Some of Alex’s bag got dirty, and I felt real bad about it. Her pretty little things covered in mud. It wasn’t until then I considered the toll this was taking on her. I put my hand on her knee. “We got this, okay? I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She nodded, grabbed my hand, and didn’t let go even when I had to shift.

When the road turned into gravel, I gunned it. The rafting outfitters maintained it because it led to the Cheat Canyon take-out. After a half-mile, most of this spring’s gravel got washed out, replaced again by pocked bedrock and mud.

Alex didn’t say anything until I pulled up to the old Jenkinsburg Bridge. This was much higher than the bridge over the Big Sandy. The old steel trestle spanned the V-shaped Cheat Canyon quite dramatically. Big pines buttressed each end and a rocky rapid flowed below. Occasional rock outcroppings punctuated the steep, green slopes.

“Are we crossing?”

“That was the plan,” I said. “You said you wanted a plan, right?”

“This one doesn’t look as sturdy.” She sank toward the center of the Jeep and got real low in the seat.

She was right. The planks hadn’t seen anything other than foot traffic in years.

I said, “You never heard that you shouldn’t look down if you’re afraid of heights?”

She just stared silently at the river, some eighty feet below.

“Alex,” I said. “There’s no other way.” I let the Jeep creep forward instead of waiting for her approval.

After a pause she tried to negotiate. “Just go slowly, okay?”

I pushed the clutch in and said, “I was thinking faster is better. That way our momentum is forward instead of… You know.” I pointed down to the river.

“Can I walk?” She asked.

“Alex…” I said, drifting toward the bridge. The sound of trucks coming down the take-out road made my decision for me.

“No time.” I put the Jeep in gear and let out the clutch. “When I get to the other side I want you to drive up the hill a ways. Then that’ll be it. I promise.”

Butterflies rushed into my stomach as the security of ground fell away on both sides. I’d only stood on this bridge once. And it was at night. And I was high. The rest of the time I was content to paddle beneath it.

Old wood groaned and the Jeep sank, like we were rolling over a sponge. Seeing the river so far below made me dizzy. The clank of wood against metal followed us across, plank after plank straining then releasing beneath the weight of the Jeep. “I’ve been under this bridge and there ain’t a troll beneath it, okay?”

Each clack forced my heart rate higher. Each clank made Alex’s grip on the roll bar tighten. In a moment of silent transition the squish of mud replaced the clank as we reached the safety of the other side.

“Pull up a little,” I pulled the parking brake, hopped out and grabbed the hammer and pry bar from my tool box. Would’ve been a hell of a lot easier just to split Charlie’s head open. “Drive on ahead now. I’m right here,” I said, and ran toward the bridge.

Looking for the rushing water through the slots between planks let me find one of the steel girders that spanned the river. I scurried across like a squirrel on a power line. Then, about a third of the way across I dropped to the planking and rapped the dry rotted wood a few times with the hammer. Instead of ringing with the thunk of solid wood, it made a soft crunch. I forced the pry bar between the planks and went to work on the area around the bolts which held wood to steel.

My sweat dripped onto the bridge. The sound of the trucks increased from around the bend. Splinters and chunks fell into the river below as I hacked away at the board. Some of the wood was so soft the pry bar pulled right through. When the wood was firmer I pushed onto the pry bar with both hands, like doing a push-up.

“Faster, man.”

The huff of the engines grew. I could see brake lights through the trees.

Prying felt like the first real chance I stood of being able to lose Charlie, so I focused on that and tried to ignore his proximity. I just leaned back with the full weight of my body. Within seconds the board had split down the center. I kicked it a few times, and when it came loose I let it fall into the river.

A small victory. Twelve inches worth to be exact. “You need more than a foot.” The rumble of their downshifts on the other side said pretty much the same thing, so I went to work on the next one. Prying and pulling with all my weight. Another twelve-inch plank split up the middle. I let the halves fall into the gap I created.

A flash of light caught my eye. Sunlight reflected off of the windshield of Charlie’s pickup. I got clumsy and nervous. Sweat made my grip weak and slippy. They were about to round the last bend and come into the rafting outfitters’ parking lot.

“Just two more. Two more.” They splashed through the big ruts made by the outfitters’ trailers. Springs squeaked as the trucks rocked from side-to-side. My time was up.

On the other side of the bridge Charlie Lewis lined up his truck. He backed up then straightened it out so he’d be able to cross without pinballing from rail to rail. I pulled and pulled on the plank. Even though the wood gave way easily, the gap didn’t seem nearly wide enough. I kicked the board away.

He hit the gas, a sad bluff I was too smart to fall for. The truck was too heavy. Charlie knew it. With nothing better to do, Tasso jammed the barrel of his rifle through the open passenger-side window. A woman got out of the Billy’s truck and watched. She had black hair pulled into a bun on top of her head, and wore a long denim skirt. I expected somebody old and fat, but her face was fair. It could only be Odelia Lewis, Charlie’s sister.

Falling back onto my ass as another plank split allowed me a second to strategize. A thirty-six inch gap separated me from the truck, more than enough room, but I got suddenly lightheaded thinking about it. When Charlie saw my handiwork he yelled at Tasso to start shooting. But the trestles were too close to the side of the truck. Tasso couldn’t open the door the whole way. Cursing and shouting, Charlie backed up while Eddie still had a foot on the bridge.

Billy fired a warning shot as I ran. The bullet pinged off the steel trestle with a loud whine like from an old Western. He fired again, a small puff of dirt flew up just ahead of me.

A second gun fired. Buckshot ripped through the leaves above my head. I put my head down and made for the road.

The overwhelming scent of cucumber slowed me. My dizziness grew and I scanned the ground for copperheads. For a second, I thought I might throw up. The smell came out of nowhere. Like it showed up when Charlie did. But I couldn’t see Charlie anymore, and I couldn’t see Eddie either. Only Odelia was visible, pointing at me through the trestles from the other side of the river. She picked up a handful of dirt, spit in it and rubbed it between her hands until her palms and fingers were bright red. When I saw the anger in her expression I backed away. Odelia twisted a piece of cloth with her long, reddened fingers. I could’ve sworn she was trying to strangle it.

While she hissed words I couldn’t hear, the smell grew stronger. I coughed on them. I didn’t know how else to explain it. She shouted, and something more than words came out, like feathers from an old down sleeping bag blowing at me from across the gorge. I could make out a fluttering in the distance between us and knew it was the old magic.

Alex screamed, snapping me out of the spell. I stumbled toward her. She climbed out of the Jeep and moved to the side of the road. From here I could see the problem. A dead bluebird had fallen onto the hood. From the other side of the river came a few gunshots, but they were nowhere near us.

“You okay? Alex?” I ran to her. “It’s fine. We can go now.”

She held a hand over her mouth. With the other she pointed into the Jeep. Another bluebird landed in the passenger seat. She shook her head. “No, no… Henry, no…”

She screamed again and backed all the way to the edge of the road.

“Hey,” I grabbed her wrist. But there wasn’t a thing I could say. She was shaking, and so was I.

Just then, another bluebird tumbled to the ground next to the back tire. She cried; tears fell down her cheeks.

I pulled Alex to me to shield her from the sight of another one dropping from the sky. It hit the soft mud in front of us with nary a thud.

We followed a long row of Lewis Lumber pin flags out of the canyon. “Who the fuck is Charlie Lewis to mark this as his territory? Like a dog. I spent a hundred Saturdays and Sundays down here. It’s not his canyon.”

I killed the engine.

“Are we stopping?” Alex said.

“I want to show you something.” I walked around the back of the Jeep, stopping only to pluck a pair of pin flags from the rocky soil.

“I just want to get out of here,” Alex said, her little words could barely find my ears.

“We’re good, I promise. It’d take them an hour to get here, at least. Only place to cross is down in Albright.” I put my arm around her, but my intent was more brotherly than romantic.

She rested her head on my shoulder. “Okay.”

I led her to the canyon rim through a Lewis Lumber staging area. Charlie had a pair of temporary trailers and a bunch of heavy equipment near a cliff edge that protruded into the void over the Cheat River.

I said, “So what did your mom say, exactly, about this situation?”

She put her hands into her back pockets and bit her lower lip. “My grandma said they were fit to be tied. Anybody—like you guys—who’s able to get them so riled up must have some power over them, otherwise the Lewises would just dominate them. Business rivals, property owners. How do you think they’re able to get timber rights so cheap? Grandma says you all have a history, and if the fighting’s still going on, then you all must be a pretty even match.”

The breeze carried turkey vultures and Cooper’s hawks thousands of feet over the riverbed. The view was a hundred square miles large. The river shrank beneath the canyon walls. In the background, the rest of the Appalachian Plateau waited, flattop ridges standing back-to-back like an army of box turtles. Humble mountains that hid more secrets than the Rockies’ jagged peaks and the Sierras’ thrusting heights combined. The Appalachians were, after all, the product of a hundred million years of erosion.

“Charlie Lewis is fixing to take all this.” I threw one of his pin flags into the canyon and knelt next to a trailer with a log loader in the bed.