Black Stump Ridge (21 page)

Bubba’s petulant voice grated Billy’s nerves. “Why do I gotta stay up here?”

“You know why.” Billy set a white ceramic jug in the back of the Yamaha ATV. “Someone’s gotta watch the still ’til we get everything moved. I gotta get this load packed an’ ready for Pa to take to Atlanta. That leaves you.”

“Why can’t you stay? I can drive th’ four-wheeler.”

“I know you can, Bubba. That ain’t it an’ you know it.” Billy stretched. He took off his camouflage patterned ball cap and scratched his head. “It’s jus’ that with all these strangers out’n th’ woods Pa don’t wanna take no chances. B’sides, las’ time you drove y’flipped th’ trailer an’ busted three bottles o’ shine. It cost almost three hunnert dollars t’fix th’ front wheel an’ fender. I thought Pa was gonna skin you alive. He don’ wanna take no chances this time.”

“That warn’t my fault an’ you know it.” Bubba protested. “No one coulda seen that tree limb under all those leaves. It was an accident. It coulda happened to anyone, even you.”

“Pa ain’t blamin’ you. This is th’ way Pa wants us to do it, so this is the way we better do it.”

Bubba opened his mouth to argue. He hesitated. His mouth snapped shut. “All right,” he sighed. “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ t’make Pa mad.”

“That’s better. ’Sides, I won’t be gone that long.” Billy Ray pulled a tarp over the bottles in the trailer. “Soon’s I deliver these to Pa I’ll come back an’ help you move the rest o’ the still down here.”

“Okay. What if those strangers come sniffin’ aroun’?”

Billy yanked on a black rubber bungee strap and passed the hook through an eyelet in the top rail of the trailer. “Make sure they don’t see nothin’.”

“An’ if they do?”

Billy straightened and looked at his brother. “You heard what Pa said. Make sure no one takes no tales off’n the ridge. You gotta do whatever it takes, y’hear me?”

Bubba looked at his Remington twelve gauge lying across an empty crate and then back at his brother. “I reckon I do.”

•

The Yamaha was nearly silent as Billy Ray maneuvered it around the thickets and blow downs along the ridge. He drove just below the ridgeline to avoid being silhouetted and used as much of the brush for camouflage as possible. Jugs tinkled like tiny bells with each turn and twist of the trailer. Normally the sound – to him it was the sound of money – soothed him as he took his illicit cargo down from the still. Not today, though. Not with flatlanders wandering somewhere in the woods. He winced at every clink and clatter, certain that the echoes were heard throughout the holler. Despite the frigid air, his clothing was sweat-soaked under his jacket.

His head turned towards a movement in the valley below. He shifted the vehicle to neutral and eased it to a stop. Shading his eyes, he let his vision traverse the opposite slope. There. Two figures worked their way through the forest. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and trained the lenses on the figures below.

The first man – the one farther down and headed upslope – wore an Australian-style bush hat and a camouflage-patterned coat with an orange vest over it. A high-powered rifle pointed skyward from behind one shoulder. Billy Ray couldn’t be sure at this distance, but it looked like a thirty-ought-six sporting an expensive scope. The plastic cover over the deer tag flashed in the sun as the man walked slowly up the hill. The expression on his dark face was equal parts concern and disgust as he looked around at the trees and brush and then up the ridge towards his companion.

Billy Ray moved the binoculars up until the second man filled the optics. This man was white and definitely soft from city life. He leaned against a tree and waited for his partner to catch up with him. Fog plumed from his face as his chest heaved. The man was out of breath and puffing heavily. His cheeks shone red against his pale skin. No wonder the black man looked disgusted.

Moments later the two men stood together talking. Billy Ray couldn’t hear their words, but their gestures made it clear that they were deciding what to do next. The white man pointed at himself and then up at the ridgeline. He then pointed at the black man and then along the face of the slope to their left. Billy Ray pulled back from the eyepieces and looked around. If the white man planned to go that way he’d likely meet up with Granny. No problem there.

If the black man took the path his partner indicated it would take him back towards the new still and Bubba. That could prove interesting. Well, that was no concern to Billy Ray. If the black man decided to go that way Bubba knew what to do. Billy knew his brother would not hesitate. The fact that the man was black would only help to ease Bubba’s boredom and disappointment at being left behind.

Billy Ray lifted the binoculars to his eyes and studied the men as they talked amongst themselves. After a few more minutes they separated. One headed toward the top of the ridge and the other back toward the still. Billy lowered the glasses and shook his head. Why had they separated? They seemed to be looking for something, but what? Maybe they were revenue agents posing as weekend hunters. If so, it wouldn’t be the first time that had been tried. No one knew how many unmarked graves dotted these hills. One or two more would not matter.

He lowered the glasses and returned them to the side pouch. Carefully he turned the key, thankful for the nearly silent electronic ignition. All the same, he looked at both men for any sign that they might have heard the engine kick on. Neither one changed course or seemed interested in anything on this side of the valley. He eased the machine into gear and slowly worked his way over the opposite rim.

•

Ya gotta watch carefully.
Jake’s voice echoed in Bubba’s head.
The Cong are good hunters, boy, easily good as you are. Prob’ly better. Hell, I know they’re better.

“I know, Pa,” Bubba whispered. “You done tol’ me a hunnert times or more.”

Snap yore yap, boy, an’ watch what yer doin’.

Bubba paused. He slowly looked around. He felt foolish in his homemade ghillie suit, but Jake insisted that the knots and strings sticking out everywhere would help to hide him by breaking up his outline. He supposed it was true but he certainly felt uncomfortable. He could not understand how a sniper could stand to wear something like this all day. He could barely stand to wear it for half an hour.

They’s VC in the woods, boy, so suck it up.

Bubba dropped to a semi-crouch and eased one foot ahead of him just as Jake showed him – toes, ball of the foot, and then heel. Ease the weight forward until it was all on the lead leg. Gently lift the trailing foot…

Don’t drag yore foot, boy! Lift it, lessen ya want yer fool head blowed off.

“I did lift it, Pa, just like you told me to.” Bubba cringed, expecting a blow that never came. He relaxed and looked around. He was about to take another step when a movement caught his eye. He eased himself lower and froze while he focused on the trees down the slope to his left.

“Ah’m a thicket,” he breathed. “Ah’m just a pile o’ weeds an’ sticks. You cain’t see me.”

Careful, Son, might be a VC down there tryin’ t’ sneak up on ya.

“’Tain’t no VC, Pa.” Bubba whispered after watching for a few moments. “No, sir. This is somethin’ much better. More fun.”

The figure below him moved upward and away from where Bubba stood crouched and watching. After a few moments, Bubba started his stealthy pursuit, slowly closing the gap between them.

•

Looking carefully left and right, Peete followed the game path down into the base of the hollow. After fifty yards the tiny trail disappeared in a thicket. He stopped and looked back. He thought he saw a flash of orange at the top of the ridge but it could have just as easily been his imagination, too.

“Separate so we can cover more ground,” he muttered. Well, in truth he thought it sounded like a good plan at the time.

Now all he felt was alone.

It might be all right if his friends got turned around in these woods. They could wander until they found a cabin or house or whatever these cracker hillbillies lived in. They could go up to the door, knock, and explain to whoever answered that they were lost and looking for one of their friends. They’d probably get help, too. Why? Because they were white.

Never had Peete felt his blackness more than standing alone in these naked Tennessee woods. He looked for a way around the thicket. It seemed easier to the right so he started that way.

Damn it, Charlie,
he thought as he pushed aside a blackberry runner coiled across his path like a strand of razor wire.
Why’d you have to go and cause all this ruckus? What were you thinkin’, offin’ your ol’ lady like that and then getting lost in the woods an’ makin’ everyone spend their Thanksgiving weekend huntin’ for your ass? Here it is cold as hell an’ I’m out here huntin’ for you instead o’ waitin’ to get me a nice buck. At least it ain’t rainin’ or snowin’. If it was, I’d really be pissed. Could be worse, I s’pose. It could be you lookin’ for my black ass out here.

He stopped. He was near the top of the ridge. He looked back the way he’d come. None of the terrain looked familiar. He saw an especially dense thicket on one side of the trail but could not recall passing it. On the other side were a number of brambles. He shrugged and looked ahead. He saw a structure of some kind nestled beneath an overhanging rock. Peete leaned his head to the left and then to the right. It looked like a lean to with a chimney coming out of it. That made no sense. Who would go to that kind of effort with a lean to?

He moved closer. There was a clearing. On the right lay a pile of heavy-looking brown paper sacks. As he reached the edge of the clearing, he froze.

Oh, shit,
he thought as he realized what lay before him.
You done set your foot in it up to yore ass this time, Peetey-Boy.

Cha-CHUNK!

City-bred or country made no difference. Peete knew there was only one thing in the entire world that made that noise – the working of the slide on a pump shotgun as it chambered a round. Peete slowly raised his hands as he felt a cold steel circle nestle against the base of his skull.

“I don’t see nothin’.” Peete started.

“Shut up, Nigger.”

Peete felt warm wetness spreading through his crotch as his bladder let go. His only thought was,
Sure am glad I’m wearin’ dark pants.
He stifled the urge to giggle.

“I want you to let that purty rifle o’ your’n slide off’n yore shoulder an’ down t’ the ground. An’ I hope fer yore sake th’ safety’s on cuz if’n it goes off, it’ll be th’ las’ thang you ever hear.”

Peete shifted his right shoulder until he felt the rifle start to slide down his arm. A moment later it clattered on the rocks beside him. He felt a stab of anger at the sound.
You Cracker,
he thought,
that gun set me back twelve hundred bucks.

“Good boy,” the voice giggled. “Oh, tha’s right, you boys don’ like bein’ called boys no more, do ya?”

Peete pressed his lips tightly together. The urge to say something flip was almost overpowering.
This ain’t th’ time, Peetey. Don’t go all smart ass an’ get yer fool head blown off. You might have a chance if you keep your head on your shoulders and not all over the trees.

“That’s good. That’s real good,” the voice continued. “Now I want you t’ empty yore pockets down there on th’ ground right next t’ yore gun. Do it nice an’ slow, y’hear me? Everyone knows y’all carry knives an’ razors t’ cut folks with. Don’ want you takin’ yore knife an’ tryin’ t’ cut me or nothin’.”

This time Peete couldn’t restrain himself. The words were already forcing themselves past his lips as he turned to face his captor.

“Do I look like a Mexican, you ignorant Cracker?”

Peete’s last thought before the side of his head exploded in pain and darkness claimed him was,
How come a thicket’s swingin’ a shotgun?

•

The world’s largest toothache throbbed on the right side of Peete’s head. He moved his jaw. A white-hot volcano erupted inside his skull. His stomach lurched. Something splashed on the ground near his feet. His shirt felt wet, hot, and sticky. An acrid stench assailed his nostrils. His nose and throat burned. Cold clamminess quickly replaced the warm stickiness on his chest.

He struggled to open his eyes against the crust that glued them closed. Although he felt the thick matter break apart, he saw only black. Was he blind? He blinked rapidly. He finally made out some of his surroundings. What he saw was not reassuring.

He felt stone behind and beneath him. Across from him was more stone. To his left was darkness. What light there was came from his right. He slowly turned his head. A bomb detonated inside his skull. He tried to raise his hand. When it reached chest high something stopped it. Coarse fibers cut into his wrist. He lifted his other hand. It, too, was restrained.

“Looks like our guest is awake, Bubba.”

Peete tried but could not place the voice.

“Where am I?” He barely recognized the croak as his voice. Sandpaper coated his throat.

“Our visitor wants t’ know where he is, Bubba. Care t’ tell him?”