Black Stump Ridge (10 page)

“I’ll bet.” Dave sipped his coffee. His lips smacked and a contented sigh escaped. “I don’t know how he does it. This coffee is excellent.”

“I think it’s one of those secret recipes that involves the proper ritual performed during the correct lunar cycle.”

“There’s probably a sacrifice involved.”

“And, if he told us, he’d have to kill us afterwards.”

“That reminds me. Last night while everyone was putting away their gear I came out here to look at the stars.”

“And grab a smoke, too, I’ll bet. Not that I blame you. It was pretty clear last night. I’ll bet they filled the sky.”

“Oh, they did. I always love to look at the night sky away from the city.” Dave set his mug on the wide wooden rail and slipped a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “Anyway, I saw something strange.”

“Strange? Like what?”

He finished lighting his cigarette before speaking. “Do you know about that covered well out there in the yard?”

“Well? Oh, you mean the cistern.”

“Well. Cistern. Whatever it is, it was glowing.”

“Glowing?”

“Yeah. Well, not the cistern, actually. It was more like something on the rocks. It was really faint, at first, but then it got brighter.”

“That is strange.”

“I went closer to check it out. There were these strange markings all around the top of it. It looked like they were, I don’t know, maybe painted on the rock. Anyway, that’s what was glowing. The paint. I tried to scrape one of the marks with my knife – you know, to see what it was made of. But, when I did, all of the marks stopped glowing.”

“Hmmm.” Fred sipped at his coffee as he looked toward the cistern. The low mists obscured it.

“Hmmm is right. It was weird. Do you have any idea what it’s all about?”

“Not a clue. Wait a minute. Last summer when I came out here with my mom I saw some silver marks. I meant to ask her about them but I forgot about it when she started showing me the inside of the house. They weren’t glowing, though.”

“You think it was because it was daylight? Last night it was dark and the glow still wasn’t all that bright.”

“It’s possible.”

“What do you think they are?”

“I don’t know. In Western Pennsylvania, in the old Pennsylvania Dutch country, the farmers put symbols on their barns. Hex marks I think they call them. They’re supposed to bring good luck or keep evil spirits away. I don’t remember which it is. Maybe these are something like that.”

The door opened and Peete’s face appeared. “Johnny says y’all better get your asses inside before your breakfast gets cold.” He looked around. “I thought Charlie was out here with you.”

Dave shook his head as he walked past Peete and into the house. “I haven’t seen him.”

“I think he went up the mountain a little earlier.” Fred followed Dave. “I’ll go up on the back deck and holler for him.”

 CHAPTER TEN

Charlie walked down the stairs and into the large central living room. The rich aroma of fresh coffee that filled the whole house was especially strong downstairs. Johnny was busy in the kitchen arranging food and ingredients on the marble-topped island as he prepared to make breakfast. There was no sign of the others, yet, for which Charlie was grateful. He needed some time to himself to sort his thoughts and to decide – mostly to decide.

“Something smells good.” Charlie started opening cabinet doors.

“The mugs are above the sink.” Johnny pointed with a spatula. “As for the smell, I found a dark-roast Nigerian blend when we stopped for coffee back in Chattanooga yesterday. It should make a fine eye opener.”

“It certainly smells potent.” Charlie found a heavy ceramic mug, rinsed it out, and filled it from the carafe.

“Breakfast will be ready in about an hour.”

“That’s fine. I want to take a walk outside and look around some.”

“Better grab your coat. It’s colder’n a witch’s tit out there.”

“Good idea. Thanks.”

Moments later Charlie was outside, walking through the front yard. A dense white fog enveloped everything and reduced visibility to mere feet. Sounds were muffled and eerie, although some – water dripping from the tree limbs and house eaves, for example – seemed magnified.

He walked toward a distant shadow he assumed was the barn. A wide stone circle emerged from the misty ground before him. The top edge was knee high to his stocky legs. A circular sheet of steel plate, its surface smooth except for a hinged square hatch in the center, covered all but a four-inch wide stony strip. The hatch measured about two feet square. A heavy-duty padlock held the hatch in place. He flipped the padlock. It rattled against the metal cover and produced a dull rumble like a kettledrum.
Must have been worried about kids messing with it or falling in. If there are kids around, we’ll have to be really careful where we’re shooting.

He straightened up, his knees cracking like gunshots in the eerie silence. A large satellite dish rose from the mists on its tripod mount like an H.G. Wells Martian with its weapon pointed skyward. Charlie skirted it and continued toward the barn. The barn door, too, bore a padlock but the hasp lay over the lock rather than under it.

Charlie opened the door and looked inside. The darkness was impenetrable. He felt along the wall for a light switch. His groping hand encountered a metal box. He felt some more until his fingers located and then flipped a plastic switch. Fluorescent lights blinked and stuttered and then lit with an insectile buzz.

Although the exterior looked like any barn where a farmer might keep cattle or horses, the interior was anything but. Charlie saw no signs that it had ever held stalls of any kind.

A long table with a line of hooded fluorescent lights hanging above it ran along the back wall. Several opaque plastic boxes lined the back of the table. An ammunition-reloading machine rested near the table’s left side. An oven for melting metal and three graphite crucibles rested on ceramic bricks near the center. Several molds hung from a Masonite pegboard on the back wall.

Six fifty-five gallon drums, their lids tightly sealed, lined the left wall. Along the wall close to him lay three pallets covered with fifty-pound bags full of ammonium nitrate fertilizer. Intrigued, he crossed the room and examined the drums. As he suspected, they were full of diesel fuel.

Looks like Fred’s uncle had quite a little bomb factory here,
he thought. Of course, many people who farmed these hills probably used explosives to remove stumps and large boulders. Charlie was sure he’d find plenty of both materials in almost every barn in the area. Still, there was enough
ANFO
in there to make a pretty good hole in pretty much anything.

Charlie re-crossed the room, turned off the lights, and closed the door behind him. He looked back at the house. It was nearly invisible in the morning fog. His breath plumed in the cold air and disappeared as it blended with the mist. He looked at the mountain and forest rising behind the house. He took a deep breath and started walking.

I wonder what else Fred’s uncle was into?
He chuckled as the irony struck him. Here he was fantasizing that Fred’s uncle had been some kind of mad bomber while he, good ol’ Charlie Dobbs, had a dead wife just waiting to be discovered back in his own house. For all he knew Janine’s lover had already found her and called the cops. Fortunately, there were no immediate clues to his whereabouts. That wouldn’t last long. He’d watched enough crime shows on TV to know that. The cops would first figure out who his friends were. A few visits, a few questions; it was only a matter of time before a Tennessee State Trooper would pull into the driveway to bring an end to Charlie’s idyllic getaway weekend.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. There was no way the cops were going to take him back to stand trial. He was only forty-three years old. He had no intention of spending the next twenty-five years or so as some convict’s butt buddy. When the cops finally came to capture Charlie Dobbs they’d discover – along with everyone else – that he’d already prosecuted himself, passed judgment, and executed the proper sentence.

He reached inside his coat and felt the leather holster riding high inside beneath his shoulder. The heavy weight of the Colt .357 Magnum nestled within reassured him. When the time came he’d find a spot high up on the mountain and take care of business. Not today, though. Not on Thanksgiving. He wouldn’t ruin his friends’ holiday.

The irony eluded him.

He wondered what it would be like. Would he have the nerve to actually do it? Could he really put that cold steel barrel inside his mouth and pull the trigger? What about afterwards? He doubted he’d see a robed Old Testament figure standing with a book in one hand and a tall shepherd’s crook in the other waiting to pass judgment on him. But, what
would
be waiting? Would there be fire and brimstone? A Dantean scenario like the inside of a volcano? Or would he just cease to be? No scenes, no voices, and no people. Just nothingness. His mind shied away from that picture. He suspected it was merely his ego refusing to accept an end to its existence.

He paused. Below him and to his left he could just make out the roof of the house through the morning mist and the dew dampened tree limbs. Farther out, the fog filled the valley wrapping all but the tallest trees in a white blanket. The ethereal beauty of the scene made his breath catch in his throat. Maybe he should do it first thing tomorrow morning. He would awaken before dawn, slip outside, and walk up the mountain. Let this be the last the last thing he saw. Not today, though. He could wait for tomorrow. That would be time enough to die.

“Charlie!” He looked down. Fred stood on the back deck. His hands were curled in front of his face. “Hey, Charlie! Come and get it!”

He looked around one last time. Yes, tomorrow would be soon enough. Decision made, he started back down the mountain to the house and the breakfast waiting inside.

 CHAPTER ELEVEN

“That was one fine breakfast, Johnny.” Dave rubbed his stomach, belched loudly, and slid his chair back from the table. “You’ve provided us with another of your fine culinary productions.”

“I thank you kindly for the compliment, but flowery praises will not exempt you from scullery duties, my friend. I provided the repast with the able assistance of my sous chef, Peete. You and the rest are relegated to the kitchen sinks. Get thee hence! Clear the rubble, rabble!”

“Amen to that.” Fred looked at the littered table. “And, there’s a lot of rubble to be cleared. What a mess!”

“There’s still some food in that mess.” Johnny pushed his chair back from the table. “Someone’s gotta finish it. Starvin’ kids in Ethiopia and all that.”

“Let’em come over and get it for themselves,” Charlie quipped. “Me, I couldn’t put away another bite. All I wanna do now is take a nap ‘til game time.”

“It’s still pretty early. The game doesn’t come on for at least four hours. Why don’t we go out and look at the blinds?” Fred stood and stretched.

“Good idea.” Dave spied a small piece of crisp bacon fat. He popped it into his mouth with a smile. “It’ll do us good to walk off some of this breakfast. The dishes can wait ‘til we get back.”

“You keep eating like that and you’ll have to have someone roll you to the blinds. You’ll be too fat to walk.” Charlie took two steps. The air filled with a sound like ripping linen.

“I’ll drink to that!” Peete tilted his cup, swallowed, and slammed it on the table like an empty shot glass. He stood up. “Let me go upstairs and drain the ol’ lizard.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dave rose and followed Peete up the stairs.

“Thank God there’s a bathroom on each floor.” Fred walked down a short hall just beyond the kitchen. Charlie headed for the stairs leading down to the garage and basement floor.

Johnny watched as everyone scattered.
Good thing there’s an extra half-bath on this floor,
he thought as he headed in the opposite direction from Fred.

Thirty minutes later they all stood around Fred as he tested keys in the lock in the ground floor door. As each key opened the lock, he removed it and passed it to one of the others. Once all were tested and distributed, he locked the door and turned to the others. All were dressed in down-filled jackets and bright, Day-Glo orange vests.

Dave wore an old, battered, neon green ball cap. Illegible words were embroidered in yellow on the bent and stained brim. Peete wore a floppy bush hat. The left side was pinned to the crown by a blue and silver badge. He’d found it in the same Army surplus store where he’d found the hat. Fred and Johnny both wore bright orange ball caps. Charlie preferred a fur-lined hat with earflaps that hung down on either side of his head. The ends curled up. They made him look like his ears had wings.

“One of the things that makes our trips so special is the freedom. We come and go as we please with no one deciding when we hunt and when we come in.” Fred looked at each one. “You each have a key to the house, now. If you decide to head out on your own, please let one of us know. That way someone will have an idea of how long you’re out there and will know to come looking for you if you’re gone too long.”