I must have been exhausted. I didn’t open my eyes until I heard a light switch come on and a sharp voice cursed as they stumbled over something and hit the floor.
“What the hell?” a voice shouted. “How the hell did a bike get in here?”
Other voices joined his and I leaped off the couch, rubbing at my eyes and wondering which way to run as the Ranger was helped to his feet.
“Loren, your office---.”
I looked around for an escape route but there weren’t any---no windows so I did the only thing I could think of. I hid under the desk forgetting my coat, bag of franks and my garbage.
From my hidden bolt hole, I could see a shorter man in Park Ranger green uniform with a heavy winter jacket and those Smokey the Bear hats. He scanned the room with his pistol held firmly out in front of him. His hands were large, capable and heavily calloused.
“Come out, we know you’re in here,” he ordered and I remained under the desk. “There’s no way out. Come on out, I won’t hurt you. I can see all you wanted was a warm place to sleep, not to steal anything. Come on. Let me help you.”
The kindness in his voice made me choke back a sob but my mind said don’t trust anyone. Still, I really had no choice so I slowly pushed the desk back and poked my head above the desktop.
I saw an older man with blue eyes and steel gray hair cut short, in a Ranger’s uniform. He saw me and lowered his gun, replacing it in his holster. Behind him were two other Park police, one a young woman. She looked Indian. Dark haired, eyes and red skin tone.
“Oma key you!” I said to her, holding my hands up.
“Well, son. Is that your bike I tripped over?” he asked me. His patch spelled out J.R. Krumm.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I was just looking for a warm place to crash. I’ll just get my bike and be on my way.” I stood up and attempted to head for the door but all three of them barricaded it.
“You can stay for breakfast, surely. Can we call your parents for you?”
“Don’t have any. I’m meeting someone later today,” I offered.
“What’s your name?”
“Andrew. Peebles.” I stepped back before any of them could touch me, trying to spot a hole I could wedge myself through and escape. All three of them blocked the doorway and someone else pushed my bike out of sight.
“Please, just let me go,” I begged to stare at the clock. Behind them, I heard someone call out.
“Hello? Anybody here? I need some information.” I recognized the voice and yelled back.
“Leon!”
“Lacey?”
Ranger JR raised an eyebrow. “Lacey? Thought your name was Andrew?”
Leon pushed his way past the three of them, grabbed me by the shoulders and hugged me. “Lacey! I thought I’d lost you!” He turned to the startled Rangers. “He ran away a year ago---just called me yesterday saying that he wanted to come home. Did he do some damage here? I’ll pay for it.”
“He broke in but there’s no damage to the locks or the doors and he didn’t steal anything, Mister---?” Krumm stated.
“Leon DeCarlos. I’m Lacey’s uncle, his mother’s brother. I promised to take care of him when she passed,” Leon said. He spoke to me in Siouan asking me what they knew and I replied nothing but I wasn’t sure if the woman spoke it or Abenaki.
“She’s Mohican, not Cherokee,” he returned. “So you’re safe. We need to get out of here, the Federal agencies have roadblocks going up for a hundred miles north of here.”
“Pine Valley?”
“Yes.”
“They found Albans, then.” I turned to the Rangers and pushed them mentally. Not something I liked to do and not that it always worked but my suggestions were enough to relinquish control of me over to an obvious authority figure of a relative. Leon paid him a hundred bucks for any damage I might have done, picked up my bike, personal belongings and marched me over to a fairly new SUV. He threw my stuff in the back and told me to lie down on the middle seat as he sat on the driver’s side.
Before they had time to protest, he had stomped the gas and headed down the main road through the Park. He didn’t stop until we had exited the Parks’ boundaries and were on a state highway that went up a saddleback into the Appalachians. The road hummed under his tires until we changed from paved roads to gravel, gravel to dirt and roads to jeep trails. Only then, did he allow me to sit up where I could watch the scenery.
Trees. More trees and then for a change, more trees after that. Old trees that must have been second growth and uncut. Some of them were as big around as the car. It smelled wonderful, pine and cedar, the scent of old rocks, pine needles and moss, the living breathing odors of the forest. It was the scent of the mountain’s wild places and almost home.
“Where are we going, Leon?” I asked noting for the first time that the cargo bed of his SUV was piled with camping and hunting gear.
“My friend’s hunting cabin,” he answered briefly, switching on his headlights. It felt like dusk in this forest even though my stomach said it was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch.
“Blue cooler has sandwiches. Not allergic to anything, right?”
“Nope.” I dug through the aforementioned cooler, pulled out PBJ and ham and cheese, eating one of each. I handed him a pair and he told me he was still full from breakfast. I shrugged and ate them myself.
“So, tell me what happened?” he prompted. So, I did. When I was finished, he didn’t know what to say and the rest of the trip we spent in silence until I told him I needed to go to the bathroom. He stopped in the middle of the trail and opened his door, preparing to get out. I told him to wait.
“Why?”
“Because there is a black bear standing not ten feet away and she looks pissed.”
He looked but couldn’t see anything until he slammed the door shut. That’s when she charged, hitting the SUV hard enough to make the vehicle rock and nearly tip over. He hit the gas but let off when I said he couldn’t outrun her on this trail, not without tearing off the oil pan.
“She probably has some cubs nearby,” I said. We watched as she slapped at the driver’s side door, leaving gouges from her claws and dents from blows powerful enough to knock off a man’s head. “Go home, mamma bear and play with your babies,” I said. She reared up on her hind legs showing me the white spot on her chest. Glared at me to make sure I was respectfully in awe and lumbered off, disappearing into the trees without a whisper of trembling leaves. My breath puffed out and brought a sigh of relief from Leon.
“What did you say to it?” he asked shakily.
“She. I said to go home with her babies. You don’t speak Siouan?”
“Abenaki. French, Spanish, and English. You still getting out to piss?”
“Sure. It’s safe. She wouldn’t have hurt me, anyway,” I shrugged as I hopped out. Shadows of the lowering afternoon sun barely made it through the dense foliage but you could tell it was getting darker as the sun went down. I wouldn’t have wanted to drive here in the dark, not with a newer vehicle even if it were the 4-wheel drive.
I stood at the edge of the road and whizzed for what seemed like a long time. The relief was enormous and the sound of my zipper the loudest noise in the forest. I looked up but the canopy was too thick to catch a glimpse of the stars or the sky.
He had shut the SUV off while I’d peed and gotten out to inspect the damage with a flashlight. “Holy cow,” he said softly. “I’d hate to see what she could do if she was pissed.”
“She was pissed.” I got back into the front and leaned over the dashboard noticing the On-Star buttons. My heart sank. “Leon, do you use this?” I pointed to it.
“Nope. Never signed up for the service. Why?” His eyes widened. “I ditched the cell phone, picked up a burner. You think they can track me by the car?”
“Got Lo-jack?” I asked grimly. He nodded. I went to the hood, opened it and with my bare hands pulled the wires out that fueled any tracking electronics of his car. If the NSA had found Albans, they would find Leon. If they hadn’t already. “Is Leon DeCarlos your real name?” I asked working on the ignition sequence. Without the On-star and Lo-jack working, the computer wouldn’t turn the engine over. I tweaked the carburetor too so it would get 60 mpg. Had quite a loss of power, though. Not that SUVs were known for their speed.
“Start it up,” I said and he did. The engine sounded rough so I fiddled some more, raising the rpm's until it smoothed out.
“Where did you learn auto mechanics?” he asked.
“I didn’t.” I sat in the front seat as he shifted into granny gear. He drove about 5miles an hour for the next 45 minutes.
We reached the cabin at one in the morning. He woke me by pushing my head off his shoulder and opening his door. Cold air rushed in and I shivered as I got out. Looking around, I saw that we were on a small hilly outcrop. Tucked at the bottom of a hollow lay a small cabin built of native stone with a rusted tin roof. There were bars on the windows and doors with tin sheets nailed at the bottom of the cabin walls. An outhouse stood some twenty feet away. Hemlock and pines provided shade and a backdrop. I imagined the view in the daytime must have been very pretty, especially in the winter with snow coating everything. There was a faint shimmer below us, the barest hint of moonlight on a small body of water. A lake.
“There’s a spring behind the cabin. We pipe it in for running water,” he said. “Help me bring in the supplies.”
I opened the back of the car and grabbed an armful carrying it behind him as he opened the solid oak door behind steel bars built like a prison gate. I knew it was to keep bears out, not burglars.
It was dark inside but I could see. I placed the gear on a surprisingly soft leather couch and while he started gas lamps, went back for more stuff. By the time he had the cabin lit, a fire made in the stone fireplace, the car was empty. I saw the interior and was impressed. The walls were honey pine tongue and groove, the floor wide planks polished to a soft shine and made from old growth trees. Some of them were over 14in. wide with no knots, a quality not seen in the marketplace for a hundred years.
There was a window on each wall with bright cheerful curtains of green gingham, throw rugs of braided fabric and handmade pine furniture. The fireplace was native rock with a wide slab of cedar for a mantelpiece. The mellow light came from kerosene lamps hanging on wrought iron swinging arms.
The sink was a dry well with a working spigot. When I pumped the lever, pure crystal spring water gushed forth. I cupped my hand into it and drank from my palm. Pure ambrosia.
His stove was an old fashioned wood run model with an oven and provided both heat and cooking.
Two bedrooms came off the back end of the cabin and looked odd. Until I realized that they were built into the outcrop and part of the rock itself. They each had two twin beds, a dresser, and clothes closet. The floor was a floating platform of oak planks covered with plaited oval rugs made from material scraps.
“Let me guess, there are tunnels through the closets?” I asked grinning.
He nodded. “It was an old moonshiners and smugglers’ hole. Runs down to the flats and comes out on the river. You can take a canoe down to town in a pinch. Fastest way back to civilization. You hungry?”
I shook my head. “Tired.” I eyed the twin bed and he waved his hand. Without any fanfare, I dove and landed belly first on the soft fuzzy wolf designed blanket. I think he pulled off my shoes and covered me with the other comforter but that was the last thing I remembered until I heard the birds next morning.