In which more details of the mysterious stranger are revealed.
The dark figure watched the two boys disappear into the forest before he risked moving. It is too soon. Too risky. Too easy to get caught.
When the boys were finally out of sight, and the birds began to sing again, he took out a notebook from his canvas satchel. With a dull pencil in heavy lines he wrote “mineral”, then replaced it back into his bag.
He let out a little grunt, then slipped off into the darkness of the forest.
For over an hour he bushwhacked his way to the nearest road. He lived in these woods for most of his life, and is familiar with every tree and rock, crevice and ridge. He slipped thru the trees with surprising grace.
When he arrived at the road, he walked up to a beat up old Ford pickup truck. The faded blue paint barely showing underneath the rust. But the engine was good. He had seen to that. His papa always said “a truck can look like the devil hisself, but if the engine runs good, she’ll always get you home.” He was very good at keeping his engines runnin’ good.
When he arrived at the road, he walked up to a beat up old Ford pickup truck. The faded blue paint barely showing underneath the rust. But the engine was good. He had seen to that. His papa always said “a truck can look like the devil hisself, but if the engine runs good, she’ll always get you home.” He was very good at keeping his engines runnin’ good.
He ran his fingers thru his thick grizzly grey beard, adjusted his worn leather hat, fished his keys out of his front pocket, and unlocked the door. He slid into the drivers seat, inserted the key into the ignition, and cranked the engine.
He paused, deep in thought. His eyes darting all around him. Checking his mirrors, and looking out of the side windows. Content he was not seen, he threw the transmission into drive, floored the gas, and raced down the dirt road.
He drove for an hour until the road became barely more than a faded memory, then he drove for another 10 minutes and stopped in front of a beat up old cabin.
He shut the engine, slammed the door shut, locked it, and entered the cabin.
He was deep in the darkest parts of one of the largest forests in the ruggedest parts of the Appalachian mountains. No one knew that cabin was there. No one knew he was there. If they did know, they didn’t care. No one ever bothered him here, and he preferred it that way.
As darkness fell the only indication that anyone lived in that cabin was the faintest puff of smoke coming from the dilapidated chimney, which quickly disappeared into the leaves high above.
Nothing stirred in those woods until morning.
At day break the door of the cabin slammed open, and the old man stepped out onto the stoop. He hiked a half mile thru the woods to the nearest stream, and bathed himself in the cool mountain water.
Returning to the cabin he dressed in his finest faded jeans and a plaid shirt, combed his hair, and looked in the mirror. Declaring himself presentable for society, he climbed into his truck and drove the two hour drive to town.
When he arrived, he parked in front of Flo’s Diner and went inside. He sat in a booth near the front window, ordered bacon & eggs and a coffee. He ate his breakfast and sipping his coffee slowly. Mostly he just sat, stared out the window, and waited.
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/. Copyright 2015 by Dave DeBaeremaeker. All Rights Reserved.
