The Mountain

Chapter One-2

He packed a small rucksack with essentials for the trip, loaded his shotgun and ensured the safety was on. He would take enough water to last the short trip, as he didn’t want to waste time boiling the water he would find en route. He tried the shortwave radio several times during the course of the afternoon but with no success.

No helicopters or passenger planes disturbed the quiet tranquility of the wilderness. Around three in the afternoon he heard the distant report of a shotgun, Mishka responded with a cacophony of barking. It was hard to tell how far away the shot came from and it never reoccurred. Peter worried. Only rarely over the years had anyone ventured close to his sanctuary, and no one had found him yet.

The afternoon passed slowly for Peter. He toured the traps close to his cabin and came across a rabbit trapped in one. He spent the hours until darkness making a stew and went to bed at dusk with a full stomach.

* * * *

Peter fought the heaviness in his tired legs. He’d spent the previous afternoon descending steep terrain. He was on the lower slopes now and had heard an unusual amount of human activity. Many people had ventured into the foothills of the mountainous forest, and he had skirted a couple of camps. He didn’t want any contact with people just yet. Why were they here? Most of them had little or no experience of the wild, and he had smelt cooking and seen the discarded garbage they created. If he could smell it, so could the bears. One bear every square mile in the area made contact with humans inevitable and potentially deadly.

He heard sporadic gunfire, mostly shotguns and hunting rifles. He had never seen so many humans in the woods. He diverted around another group and broke free onto a tarmac road. He was two miles from town. For some reason Peter took the shotgun from over his shoulder, released the safety and carried it military style, pointing at the ground with one finger on the trigger. There were many gun-happy people around, and he needed to be alert. He glanced from side to side as he went and frequently scanned the horizon. He patrolled as if he were in enemy territory. He never questioned his actions, just followed his instincts. The hairs on his neck bristled; he wished Mishka accompanied him but the route he had taken was too difficult for his four-legged companion to follow.

He relaxed a little as he approached the Ranger Station just outside of town. No vehicles cluttered the small car park. Peter climbed the steps and turned the door handle – he found it locked. He peered in through the window and saw the office in disarray. The desk drawers gaped open, papers covered the floor and spilt coffee stained the desk. He rapped on the door.

‘Hey, is anybody here?’ His words echoed eerily in the silence. Once again, the hairs on his neck bristled and his grip tightened on the gun. Where is everybody? There’s always somebody manning the station. What the hell is going on?

He scanned the area and found himself alone. He left the station and continued towards town. His pace quickened, but he remained alert. His next destination was the supply store. He passed the Ranger’s SUV a few minutes later. It straddled two lanes with the door open and the seat-belt signal beeping away as if abandoned in a rush. Peter looked into the open cabin and saw the fuel gauge read ‘empty’. He turned off the ignition and gently closed the door. He needed to come across someone soon and find out what was going on. The morning’s events left him confused and scared. Hold it together, Peter, he told himself and pushed on.

He jumped at the sound of gunfire. The sound reverberated off the mountains. It proved impossible to identify where it came from. Main Street stretched out before him without a soul in sight. He passed three tricked-out Harley Lowriders parked neatly next to the curb with swastikas decorating their tanks. He made it to the supply store with no further incident and found it locked. He banged on the door, more in frustration than hope. He slumped to the ground and sat with his back against the door with his shotgun across his knees. He recoiled as he heard the door unlock behind him. He scrambled to his feet and brought the gun up level with the door.

‘Whoa, Peter. Put the gun down it’s me.’ The closed door muffled the man’s voice. The door swung open and Peter recognized a friendly face at last.

‘God, John. It’s good to see you,’ Peter said.

Before he could say anymore, the storekeeper grabbed him roughly, pulled him into the shop, slammed the door shut and locked it.

‘What’s going on, man? Where is everybody? Why are all the doors locked?’ Peter looked around the store. ‘John, your shelves are empty; where are your supplies?’

‘They took it all.’

‘Who did?’

‘They had guns...One of those biker gangs...They cleaned me out.’ His voice cracked and he trembled. ‘They killed the missus.’

Peter’s jaw dropped. He stared long and hard at John. The poor man stumbled to a chair and sat down.

‘Someone killed your wife?’

John nodded and said nothing. He just stared at the floor. Peter looked around, found another chair, pulled it next to his friend and sat down.

‘Did you call the State Troopers? What did they do? Did they catch them?’

John stared at Peter as if he didn’t know him. His eyes slowly came into focus and a spark came into his eyes. He grabbed Peter’s arm and held it tight.

‘Man, you gotta take my boy. Yes, it’s the only way. Peter, you gotta take my boy back up the mountain!’

‘You’re making no sense, man. Calm down and tell me what’s going on.’

‘Promise me you’ll take my boy!’ He squeezed Peter’s arm until the mountain man could take it no longer. He yanked his arm from the storekeeper’s grasp and stood back.

‘Calm down and tell me what’s going on? Did the police catch your wife’s killer? What about the Ranger?’

‘Ha, f**k the Ranger. The whole world’s gone to s**t. It’s the law of the gun, man. The strongest survive. My boy’s got no chance.’

‘How did all this happen, John?’

‘It was the oil. The damned oil. The oil ran out. Can you believe that s**t? All the time I thought those doomsayers were talking bullcrap. All those tree-huggers and their green energy, and all along they were right!’

‘Good God!’

‘First the gas stations ran out, and food prices shot up. Then the power went off. The stores ran out of food ’cos deliveries stopped. Then we ran out of drinking water. People will shoot you for that water you’re carrying man. The whole world’s f****d. You had it right all along, my friend. You turned your back on the whole sorry mess years ago. I thought you were nuts, but you were smarter than all of us.’

Peter walked to the front of the store and looked out the window, but the street was still deserted. Another shot rang out, this time it seemed closer. Peter’s stomach churned and he shuddered - he hadn’t had this scared feeling since Afghanistan. John grabbed his arm from behind and Peter jumped like a startled rabbit; instinct and training kicked in, he turned and in the same motion hit John with the shotgun. He was unnerved and reacted as if attacked.

‘God, I’m sorry man. It was automatic. I didn’t mean it.’ Peter rested his gun on the floor and bent to the stricken man. Blood trickled from John’s scalp. John looked at him beseechingly. He grabbed both of Peter’s outstretched arms with a firm but trembling grip.

‘Take my boy, man. Take him up the mountain. He’ll die if he stays here. There’s no food and I can’t protect him. His mother’s dead and I don’t know what to do.’

‘I’m sorry, John. I can’t. I barely survive myself, and I wouldn’t know what to do with a boy. It’s impossible.’

‘Please, man. I’m begging you!’

‘Look, John. People go hide up the mountains ’cos there’s something wrong with them or they’re running from something. We aren’t the most sociable people. I’m sorry, John. I can’t take him.’

‘Man, he’s only ten, and he won’t see eleven unless you take him. You’re sentencing him to death if you leave him here.’

‘Don’t lay that guilt trip on me.’ Peter extricated himself from John’s grasp, picked up his gun, unlocked the door and looked up and down the street. He turned back to the kneeling man.

‘Good luck with your boy. He’s your responsibility so man up and take care of him.’ He closed the door and strode briskly up the street in the direction of the mountain. The door opened behind him and he turned at the sound.

‘What you running from, man?’ John shouted at him. Peter opened his mouth to respond but no words came.

‘f**k you, you crazy mountain motherfucker.’ The door slammed and silence descended on Main Street. That’s it, man. Stay angry. Your son might have a chance if you stay angry. The thought swirled in Peter’s head.

Peter now understood why people filled the forest. The stores were out of food and everyone wanted to live off the land. Trigger-happy greenhorns had invaded his sanctuary. Bears would eat them all if they didn’t shoot each other first. He imagined Ben Atwood laying in wait for the invaders with his trusty bow and arrow. Peter almost chuckled at the thought, but he had a problem. He needed salt and he had to avoid the crazies on his way home.

Peter retraced his steps back to the forest. On impulse, he stopped at the Ranger’s SUV, removed the emergency medical kit and stuffed it in his backpack. There were no weapons or ammunition left in the vehicle. That was the least of his problems as his cabin was a veritable munitions store.

His mind raced as he walked. It all made sense to him now. The Air Force hadn’t mounted a rescue because of the fuel shortage. They wouldn’t waste precious reserves on a wrecked plane and a dead pilot. He hadn’t seen any passenger aircraft for the same reason. No jet fuel would be available outside the military, as they would commandeer all reserves. He knew how they worked. He realized that most shortwave radios within range were down because of the lack of electricity. It was ironic that his was the only one working in the vicinity and he never had power to begin with.

Boy, you people really messed up big time! Playing your damned politics and screwing over the people. What on earth did you do?

Peter weighed up his options. He craved the safety of his cabin but it would be foolish to rush. The short, steep route would leave him vulnerable to attack every time he climbed a rock face. Anyone with a steady aim could pick him off as he hung exposed against the rock. He’d heard many shots fired in the last few hours. In the hands of the inexperienced and scared, guns became extremely hazardous to anyone in the vicinity. Whether by accident or design he could easily fall prey to a bullet. He decided to take the circuitous route. It would take twice as long but would afford him plenty of cover and would be safer.

He took a deep breath, adjusted his backpack, left the road and struck off into the forest. His peaceful life was shattered. What should have been a pleasant hike, with just a hint of danger from errant bears, was now a patrol in enemy territory. He was familiar with the threat from the bears. He’d learnt to read their tracks and smell their scent. He’d learnt to move unobtrusively through their territory. He was never complacent about how dangerous they were, but it was a danger he’d lived with for many years. It was familiar to him. This new scenario was altogether more frightening. It was unpredictable and scary. His military background and training took over. He was back on patrol in enemy territory where every tree could shelter a sniper or conceal an ambush. He walked carefully with his senses attuned to every sight and sound. He was so in harmony with the forest that anything out of the ordinary would easily alert him to hidden dangers.

The light faded as evening struck. The temperature dropped a few degrees but Peter perspired more than usual because of the tense situation. Boy, this is gonna be a long hike home, he thought. I wonder what I’m gonna run into on the way?... He would soon find out.