Kurt felt rested. He turned on his flashlight that lit a narrow path on the trail. In a few minutes he was in stride.
The walkway was in very good shape with little debris other than branches and leaves. His first goal this morning was Indian Creek and then Ohiopyle at Mile Post 70. Kurt picked up his pace as his refreshed mind began to think of the miles ahead. He realized he had to contact Dr. Alexander when he got close to
Fallingwater. From previous visits he knew Route 381 climbed out of Ohiopyle and reached Fallingwater. Kurt was hoping he could find a way over the river before Ohiopyle to save time and to avoid probable Security at the small river town.
To Kurt, Fallingwater was the most fascinating architecture he had ever experienced and in a setting that was dreamlike. That he was going near it on his way out was ironic. From those earlier times he’d fallen in love with Fallingwater. Its beauty and peace had overwhelmed him. The memory of the outreaching decks and layered stone in the dense woods of the mountains, with water running constantly underneath it, was remarkable. The memories began with a freezing day in the middle of winter when he was probably ten. It had been closed, but his father had received a special entrance card to visit. He would remember that day as if it was yesterday. It had been incredibly beautiful. Snow hung on the maples, oaks, pines and drooped down the huge, black-green laurel. He remembered hearing the stream roaring underneath as they stood inside the stone floor living area in front of the massive fireplace. He had never seen such a place in his young life. Over the ensuring years, he’d been back at different times of year. Whether in spring, mid-summer, fall, or the dead of winter, Fallingwater always affected him in such a gentle and calm way. As he walked in the darkness on his way there, he thought how the whole concept of Fallingwater represented the genius of the American experiment. Kurt studied the building of Fallingwater for a thesis in his graduate studies. This architectural accomplishment represented the greatness of America when a second generation Welshman, Frank Lloyd Wright from the mid-west teamed with a Pittsburgh Jewish storeowner, to create what was considered one of the great architectural masterpieces in world history. The fact, that Dr. Alexander chose Fallingwater as the contact point for Kurt to leave was almost too ironic for him to contemplate.
Kurt had been walking at a good pace when light began to appear in the sky ahead. Across the river he could make out what he thought would be Chestnut Ridge and knew the trail would soon be turning south when he got to Indian Creek. There was no activity either in or along the river. He was beginning to feel weak from his light food intake. It had been three days since he’d eaten a normal meal. His quick pace was burning his energy. He realized that at some point he would have to take a chance and see if he could locate some basic staples. If he came across a village he thought maybe he might find a farmer’s market or co-op, but for now his cravings would have to wait.
Kurt returned to his task at hand and picked up his pace as the narrow trail opened up a bit. He was lost in thought when suddenly he was jostled back into the reality of his surroundings. Laughter came ricocheting from the trail ahead, lots of it and from many voices. He dropped down beside a retaining wall that came out of the hill side and listened.
There were several men and they didn’t seem to be moving. He tried to pick out what was being said. The loud laughter stopped. They sounded like they were around the next bend on the trail. Kurt looked up the
embankment. In this part of the walkway, trees were hanging out across the top of the wall. There were no landmarks. He looked beyond the trees and could see the high ridges of the mountains. Kurt raised his watch directly at the sun and entered the directional guide. In the GPS window, his longitude and latitude showed, followed by the names Indian Creek N and Morgan Run S, apparently the closest north-south points of
reference.
He tapped into the data again. Instantly it located him and the coordinates flashed. There was nothing around here. Just ahead, on the other side of the river, Indian Creek entered as it flowed south from Mill Run Reservoir.
He crouched and listened. He could still hear the voices.
“What the hell were these people doing here?” he said, as he began to climb up the embankment. He noticed that one of the trees was large and thick, that it drooped over the top of the wall. He climbed the tree and hid among the twisted branches. Kurt parted them and looked down onto the trail. It was his worst nightmare and it was early in the morning. They were Security. District Security, based on their pale green uniforms. They were dressed to the hilt in their crisp uniforms. Two were sitting in a dark green jetcraft, as it bobbed on the rippling water, while three more were sitting against the embankment. ‘Why there?’ Looking up as far as he could along the trail, he spotted where Indian Creek entered the river. He sat scrunched in the branches as the group of Security men talked quietly now. He knew that creek well. Just three years ago he had run its rapids. It was a beautiful, tight run, with great falls and dangerous rock formations that challenged anyone especially after days of spring rain in the Laurel Mountains.
The village of Indian Creek was located across the confluence of Indian Creek and the Youghigheny. Kurt could see from his location that there were a few buildings and people on the street. Apparently, Security was patrolling the Yough and spotted an open entrance. Unfortunately for Kurt they decided to take a break. Three of them on the embankment were eating and it looked like they were drinking something, ‘probably beer,’ he thought, as they passed around a metal container. Their laughter started up again. ‘I guess working for the Administration was not to bad a deal for them,’ Kurt thought. He could tell from his vantage that they were a mixed unit of Latinos and Africanos. Jovially taking a break they looked content in their roles. ‘Well at least they’re happy with the new country,’ Kurt thought.
He sat back against the trunk, wedged between two forked limbs. His mind was working overtime as he tried to figure out what he should do. Wait them out? Go up to them and try to pass? Maybe he should just go over the top from here and get back on the trail. He remembered a small creek that fed into the Yough called Morgan’s Run that was right past where these guys were parked. It wasn’t on most maps, but it could be a secondary course for him to take. No matter how he got around the Security group, he had to cross over Morgan’s Run.
It’s depth at this point worried him. ‘I just don’t know if there is any kind of walkway over it,’ he wondered.
Kurt didn’t take long to think about it. Slowly he climbed onto the main trunk then slid his way down. The trunk came down inside a walled cemetery with probably twenty tombstones and a large marble obelisk in the middle.
He stood and looked around, hidden from the Security group by the faded, white washed wall of brick. It was for the Morgan family of that area. MORGAN was emblazoned on the gray base of the centerpiece. Kurt,
always the historian, took mental note of the dates going back into the early 1800’s. Morgan was a Welsh name, and there were a lot of Welsh in the area because of the abundant coal. The small gate door at the rear of the cemetery was locked, but the fence was not too high. He hoisted himself over the fence and dropped to the ground.
As soon as he hit the ground, he realized that one of the Security people had climbed the embankment along the trail and had a direct line to where he had landed. The uproar that followed was incredible. He heard shouting and could see the Security man on top waving his arms and scrambling down the side of the embankment. He could hear the voices of the others as they responded.
“Goddamn it, that was stupid,” he said as he ran as fast as he could away from the cemetery and the Security men.
Kurt took off through a field of old apple trees behind the cemetery and headed towards Morgan’s Run. He could see a small winding stream through the bared trees. He raced up to the fast moving water and spotted a wooden walking bridge that looked like it was made a couple of hundred years ago. Kurt ran for the bridge.
As he reached it, he noticed that it was a suspension bridge, only about thirty feet long. He grabbed the thin pipe that acted as a hand rail for anyone who would use the bridge. Walking carefully he was quickly over as the narrow bridge swung and creaked. As he jumped onto the other side the hand rail broke away. Kurt turned and saw the bridge creak loudly and collapse partially into the water. He stood there holding part of the hand rail as he saw three Security men, one behind the other, running towards the dangling bridge.
At the same time, he saw the same jetcraft making passes over the river across the mouth of Morgan’s Run, as if the skipper were trying to decide if he could skim in the low, narrow, and turbulent stream. He kept spinning around in circles at the entrance.
“Who are you”, came a shout from a tall Africano security man as he reached the bridge across the creek.
“What are you doing here? We need to talk to you. See if you got a pass to be out here,” he shouted. The other two were right behind and Kurt noticed one trying to put a scope of some sort onto what looked like a laser gun.
“Just a citizen of the world, taking a walk,” he bravely shouted, as he swung the piece of hand rail against the remaining wooden bridge support that angled into the water. He gave the support another whack and the bridge broke away from its base and crumbled into the water.
“That won’t help you, goddamnit. We’ll get your ass,” the security man shouted.
Kurt wasn’t waiting for any more dialogue. He took off as fast as he could, running away from the walkway and through a deep wooded area. In a few minutes he was on top of a ridge, which looked down onto the confluence of the river and the creek he had just left. He could see the three Security men back at the river climbing onto the jetcraft. He watched as they took off towards Ohiopyle, the direction that he had to go if he couldn’t find another way to get across the river. He knew there were shortcuts over the ridges, but he had no idea where they were. This wasn’t what he wanted. The adrenalin was turned on and he knew with this episode, he had become a hunted man. “I hope Dr. Alexander worked something out, because I have to get out of here. If they catch me on the trail to Columbia with this chip, I’ll never leave this country. Never,” he said to himself.
He adjusted his backpack, and scrambled down the high ridge. Through the trees he could see the river. He had to stay away from the trail for a while and according to his map, he could save some time by using the back fields ahead. From his vantage point, there weren’t any signs of population, except a few empty barns near a two-track roadway that led into a deeply wooded area. That would be his route.
Within a few minutes he was on a farm trail, heading into the lower reaches of the mountains. Soon Kurt had regained a good pace as he distanced himself from the river. He was off the trail, but he should be able to find his way to Bruner Run which met the river above Ohiopyle. He had to find a way to cross the river upstream without drawing attention. Kurt had always been a good athlete and was in reasonably good shape from
working out in the mornings before work. It was paying off as he began to pick up his pace on the up sloping roadway. A half hour later, he came to another hilltop. He couldn’t hear the river at all, but could see it off in the distance. He looked around, there were no signs of anyone, so he sat down against a tree to catch his breath.
From his vantage point, he could see through the next batch of trees into what looked like an old orchard.
Apples, he guessed. From the distance, it looked like the trees were still carrying much of the summer fruit.
This year’s crop hadn’t been picked at this farm. Kurt figured that the farmer had probably left the area and there wasn’t anyone around who was hungry enough to harvest the apples. He felt isolated which was exactly what he needed. The chase by the Security patrol had jolted him, making him realize that he was now a fugitive or would be as soon as they reported their sighting and chase of him. He would need to be extremely alert the rest of the way.
Kurt looked back toward the river which was off to his left and the furthest he’d been from it. It was hard to tell anything from this distance, but he could see no activity on the water. He then began to wind his way down the hill, through the thickening foliage and emerged at the edge of the orchard. The ground was covered with the mushy debris of rotten apples. At some time, this had been a productive apple orchard of some commercial venture. It was too large and well laid out to be just a corner orchard of a crop farmer. It stretched from the river all the way to a rise which must then dip and come back again up against the base of a hill. He could see a farmhouse sitting off to the right of the rise about the length of a couple of football fields. There was smoke coming from the chimney. “Now who the hell could be out here in this desolation?” he muttered out loud to himself as he crouched beside a tree trunk. The sun had finally broken free of the dogged clouds and filtered down through the trees above him. He decided to take a chance and check out the house.
As Kurt walked amongst the trees, he reached up and grabbed several remaining apples hanging like left over Christmas ornaments. He hungrily bit into the sweet fruit. Their taste made him shiver, but their bulk made his stomach feel a bit satisfied. The juice felt gratifying to his taste buds like nothing else in the past few days. He hungrily ate the first apple, threw it aside and bit into the second one. He walked in the high grasses between the trees that were awaiting the first snows. Several pieces of farm equipment were strewn about as if abandoned in place. Through the trees up ahead the farm house was in sight. There was still no sign of life except for the smoke coming from the chimney. He stopped walking and looked back to the woods. No one was following.
Then he looked down the field that sloped gently to the river. There was nothing in sight and he felt relief that he wasn’t being pursued, at least for the moment.
He turned his attention back to the farmhouse. “Maybe an old farmer who just couldn’t leave, or is it a new immigrant who took over this place?” he said. The house looked empty, but it was not derelict. The yard around the fieldstone farmhouse was not filled with debris or junk. It was orderly. Kurt was cautious as he walked around to the front that faced the river. There was a wooden porch that fronted the house. He stood for a few seconds looking at the farmhouse then said, “What the hell!” and he headed for the porch. As he reached the first step, he was jolted by a tall figure in a baseball cap who came from around the side of the house pointing the twin barrels of a shotgun at his gut. He jumped back in surprise and fear.