Chapter 18

Hours later they were struggling up the side of a steep slope. It leveled off, and Clipper breathed a sigh of relief. Trees were getting thinner, the higher they climbed. Finally, a quarter of a mile further up the slope, Girl spied a tunnel entrance, and called it out to Clipper. They headed for it, curious.

When they got there, it was even more surprising. It was just a hole, literally, cut into the rock of the mountainside. There were no buildings or anything near it. Not any longer, at least. Just it. Just a hole.

Clipper stepped a few feet inside it, far enough to see that it went on into the mountain a ways. When he drew a deep breath through his nostrils, the smell was hard and sharp. And familiar.

“We gotta get the hell out of here, now!” he said loudly, and headed for the exit. It was too late, though. Two shapes blocked the cave entrance. Shit, shit. He knew that moonshiners guarded their stills pretty closely. He did not want to get caught in a mess like that ... but it looked like they had.

Dylan was to the side, and already had the AR raised. Clipper had his bow, an arrow nocked, as he’d taken to carrying it. He knew Girl had the automatic. The two men just stared at them, though, seemingly as surprised as they were. One of the men was carrying a shotgun, but he still had it pointed down at the ground. The men didn’t seem to be a threat, not yet, at least.

“Howdy,” said Clipper, trying to read the men, to read their body language. “We were just passing through, and saw the cave. Didn’t mean to disturb anything.”

One of the men, the old man, nodded. Neither of them spoke yet, though.

Clipper suddenly had an idea how to possibly befriend the two. And, he just plain wanted a taste.

“You got some hooch for sale?” he said, and both the men grinned and laughed. The old man motioned for them to follow, and the five of them took off through the trees.

Maybe five hundred yards later, they were in a small cabin, nestled back in some trees. It was small and primitive but homey. A woman was cooking something over a wood-burning stove, holding a baby on her hip. Two more kids peeked shyly out of the loft.

“I’m Clipper,” Clipper said, shaking the old man’s hand.

“Ah’m Cyrus Becker,” the old man said. “This har’s mah boy, Zeke. An’ his wife, Thelma. Them young’ns don’t need intro-doosin’”

They all laughed, and shook hands all around. While the old man talked, the younger man pulled jugs and jars and plastic bottles out of closets and off shelves, and piled them on the kitchen table.

“We don’ get many visy-tors, way up har,” the old man said. “Jes’ folk from town, every now an’ then, lookin’ tuh buy.”

Clipper picked out two one-gallon plastic jugs of moonshine, and asked the man how much. The man gave him a number than meant nothing to him, and Girl dug around in her pants for her coins.

“Yew folks shoot us a deer with that rie-full,” the old man said, “And we’ll fix you up with juice. We need a deer tuh make it through the winter. We got a rie-full, but we ain’t got no more bull-its for it. Done runned plumb out.”

“Tell you what.” said Clipper. “We’ll work on that. We can get you a deer, sooner or later.” He wasn’t really sure how well the AR would bring down a deer, but he could always nail one with the bow. He’d help these folks out, if he could. The more friends he had here in the hills, the better. And he knew this kind of people. He’d been raised by folk like this. He was mountain folk himself, though he’d left the mountains long ago. But it never really got out of you.

“Thelma. Fetch us sum glasses,” the old man said, and the woman brought some drinking glasses to him. He cracked a jug, and poured everyone a few fingers of moonshine. Clipper breathed his deeply, the smell taking him back fifty years or more. Carolina Mist. He’d grown up sipping this stuff.

Dylan knocked his back in one gulp, and then bent over double, coughing. Girl just stuck her tongue in hers, and that was enough for her. Clipper sipped, and enjoyed the taste. Smooth as silk, he thought. The folks knew how to make some good whiskey. He reached for Girl’s glass, and she handed it to him.

“Girl,” he said, raising the glass in a toast. “This is some good shit. Trust me.”

She laughed, and looked a little puzzled. He knew she couldn’t believe he liked it, she probably thought he was saying that just being polite. He wasn’t. It was good shit.

They sat around and talked for a while, getting filled in on all the local gossip around the mountain, at least what gossip made it up this far. The fall of Skipps was big news in this area, everyone had stories to tell about people passing through, both crazy folk and honest folk who needed help.

Before they left, Clipper bought another jug, for Ableard. The man gave him a short piece of rope, to loop through the handles, and carry the jugs with, over his shoulder. They departed, thanking the folks again. Clipper knew he’d be back, sooner or later.

They continued on their explorations of the mountain. Early the next day clipper shot a stag with his bow, and they built another travois to pull it on. Luckily, it was mostly downhill. Once again they approached the Becker cabin, and stood outside of dog range and shouted. Father and son came out, and inspected the deer, pleased. Clipper knew he didn’t have to show them anything about skinning the deer, or making jerky. These guys were capable.

They got a promise of all the moonshine they would ever need, and set out on their hunting trip again. Clipper felt like he’d helped somebody, and done a good deed or two. He realized how rarely he’d felt that, in his life before the fall.

They continued on around the mountain. Clipper didn’t even know the name of this mountain, the one they were on. It was one mountain to the West of Candletop, their mountain. It didn’t matter. After half a day’s walking suddenly they came out into a clearing and there was another small town. A road, crumbling and potholed, led into it, and a small sign said “West Harper”. The place looked deserted, but that’s how Devonsville usually looked, too. Any town did, when the folks were indoors. Or out in a field, being shook down by pirates.

But this town, when they got closer, really looked deserted. Almost every single pane of glass in every window was broken. Places just got to looking run-down, when people were no longer around to pick things up and care for stuff. That’s how this place looked.

They cautiously went inside a few buildings, finding nothing worth taking. Everything looked pretty well picked over. They stood out in the middle of the street, and speculated on the town’s demise. To Clipper, the death of the town looked even older than the Fall. It was obvious to him that people hadn’t been here in a long, long time.

Clipper had an idea, though. He’d had it for a while, after using the loose floorboard in his own cabin for a hiding place so successfully. He took them into a run-down old house, but a house that had probably been fairly well taken care of, back in the day.

“Okay, look in the closets, in the store-rooms, places like that. And anywhere else you see a loose floorboard, or loose sheetrock on the wall. Try to think like a person that wants to hide something.”

Well, it had been a good idea, he thought, as they walked away from the house. They’d found nothing except a old knife blade that Dylan had used to cut into the sheetrock here and there. Clipper led them to the next house. Time, at least, was on their side.

On the fourth house they hit pay dirt, kind of. Some peeling wallpaper had led them to a loose piece of sheetrock, and behind it-- pay dirt. Old, before-the-Fall pay dirt. Stacks and bundles of cash. Tens of thousands of dollars of dusty, useless cash. Clipper felt vindicated, at least. His theory was sound, people did hide stuff. There was stuff to be found, if you looked long and smart enough.

Five houses later, they found the real pay dirt. Girl had pulled a floor tile up, and Dylan had noticed a seam. They pulled a few more tiles up, and Dylan broke his knife blade, but managed to pull a large concrete block up. Darkness lay beneath. Empty space. But not totally empty. Before it was over, Dylan was deep inside a round hole in the floor, while Clipper and Girl held his legs. He began passing things up. The first few things were worthless, some jewelry, and a few thousand dollars in old-style cash and old coins. Then, the guns began coming out.

Shit. When it was all out Clipper just sat and stared, his mouth open. Girl giggled at him. Dylan was overjoyed, and was pawing through the stack of rifles. There were six guns, all in all, from a .22 target rifle to a monsterous .458 caliber elephant gun. No pistols, only rifles. And ammo, all kinds of ammo. Old looking stuff, in crumbling boxes, but ammo out the wazoo. Shit, Clipper thought. How are we gonna carry all this crap? Shit.

In the end, they put the .22, the elephant gun and one other gun back in the hole, and replaced the lid as best they could, attempting to keep it hidden. They’d come back through here and get them eventually.

Dylan had found a .300 Weatherby just like John Jerard’s, with a ten power scope, and it was love at first sight. Clipper said, sure, it’s yours. If you can stand the recoil, you can have it. He had taken another bolt action, something called a .256 Newton, also with a scope, for himself, and a 30/30 lever action with iron sights to give to the Beckers. That, and about forty boxes of ammo. He would never want for moonshine again, that was for sure.

They finally left the house, each of them carrying an extra rifle, and Dylan carrying his knotted-up shirt full of ammo. It was getting on towards mid afternoon. He turned to say something to Girl and Dylan, and behind them, for a fraction of a second, he saw a small child watching him around the corner of a building.

“Hey...” he said, pointing, and Girl and Dylan turned. The child had disappeared by then, and they saw nothing.

“Honest.” said Clipper, halfway wondering himself. “There was a kid there, just a second ago.”

The three of them went to the corner of the building, but saw nothing behind it, either. The kid was gone.

“Come on,” Clipper said. “There’s only one way he could have gone.” He set off down the alley behind the buildings facing the boardwalk. When they got to the end, they stopped. Girl suddenly pointed, and there, for a fraction of a second again, Clipper saw some movement behind an old house. They set off after it.