Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

P oppy was still combing the knots out of Maggs' hair. There was a lot of it, and I hadn't done a good job with it on the trail, which meant I hadn't done anything, so she'd be distracted for a while. Rose was in the front of the store dealing with whomever had come in; I'd checked and the customer seemed harmless, although who knew in this town.

"I'm going out to get my ruck," I told Poppy. Just saying it made me feel tied down, as if I were answerable to somebody, who in this case was a high school senior. She nodded and kept combing, sure of my return since she had my dog. What kind of woman raised a daughter with such confidence?

I slipped out the back door to the alley behind the stores. It was narrow with dumpsters jammed in behind back doors. The old Pathfinder was there, combat parked, facing out. It had a four-inch lift and oversized tires and a roof rack with a thirty-seven-inch spare tire on it. A Hi-Lift Jack was bolted to the back bumper and a winch to the front bumper. Both looked well used. The truck was painted flat black, not the color it had come from the factory in years ago. Spray paint unevenly applied. There were various bumps and scrapes that indicated it had seen many miles on the narrow dirt roads in the mountains. It was a cool vehicle and while Rose seemed edgy enough for it, I figured it had been Ozzie's because Rose would have painted it something colorful. I could envision her in a Volkswagen Beetle with a flower in a vase on the dashboard. Then again, with that temper she might be more of a road warrior than she appeared.

There were a couple of other vehicles parked along the alley, leaving just enough room for a car to pass. I followed the alley to the cross street and paused when I saw Norman's van parked on the grass across the street. The windows were tinted, so I couldn't tell if he was inside or not. As long as he stayed away, not my problem.

I headed out to the road to the highway and walked along it until I crossed the bridge, then turned left, following the river bank. My ruck was where I'd left it. I looked across the river, catching glimpses of the lights of Rocky Start through the trees. Right in front of me, the water of the Little Melvin River was running fast, over and around its rocks.

It was a peaceful place and I needed that. A lot of spots along the Trail had been like this. Separate from the real world of humans, just the sounds, smells, and sights of nature.

But sooner or later you had to go back to the world of humans.

I sighed and stood and shrugged on my ruck. The positive was that this backpack weighed so much less than an operational one. Mainly because it didn't have ammunition, mines, demolitions, and other assorted deadly gear, although it did have a disassembled AK-47.

I walked to the bridge but turned as I heard truck wheels on the gravel road coming from the hills. I looked over my shoulder and a familiar pickup truck rumbled toward me, heading into town. I was tempted to duck back into the cover of the trees, but I'd already been seen.

Pike's head swiveled toward me as he drove up next to me. He rolled down the window.

"Going the wrong way, cowboy."

"My dog's hurt. Poppy's bandaging her. Once she can walk, I'm out of here. I don't want any trouble."

He got out and walked around to the rear of the pickup. I stood on the other side of the cargo bay, staring at him across it .

"Who are you?" Pike asked.

"Max Reddy. I'm sure the postmaster already confirmed my name."

"Yeah. And I ran it and you don't exist."

"On the internet. I don't like social media."

"I ran your prints," Pike said. "Nothing."

There were plenty of places he could have lifted them, most likely in the post office. Then I remembered Ferrell having me sign for the package on the small handheld. Not subtle and I'd done it without a moment's hesitation. And my prints didn't exist. But he'd run them, which showed way too much interest. Not something your local town cop would do.

"That's because I am an upstanding citizen of impeccable character."

"Coral didn't think so," Pike said.

"Coral?"

"Blonde. Dressed in black because she's in mourning."

"The woman with the small Fairbairn-Sykes."

"Says the man with a military-style rucksack, once rigged for combat, carrying a modified Glock in a quick-draw holster."

Pike might be old but his eyes were good.

"Your forty-five is modified," I noted.

"Should I take my dick out now?" Pike asked.

"I'd prefer you didn't."

"Who are you?"

I leaned forward, putting my hands up on the side of the cargo bed. "Who are you ?"

"This is my town, sonny. Not yours. I don't like strangers showing up at any time but especially right after Oz dies. Makes me twitchy."

"I've been walking the Appalachian Trail for months," I said. "I've got the track on an app on my cellphone if you want to check it. It would be an amazing feat if I'd planned my hike so I hit this town a couple of days after someone died unexpectedly."

Then again, that simulation programmer had a wicked sense of humor.

"All right," Pike said. "Let me see your GPS track. "

I'd meant the offer rhetorically, but I wasn't sure Pike knew what the word meant, and it was too late to point that out. I accessed the app (still stuck at mile #2,642, a glaring indictment of my current situation), brought up the map with my track along the mountains of the eastern United States, and tossed it to him.

Pike looked at the screen. "You do seem to have a hard time keeping on the trail. A lot of detours. If you'd have stayed on, you'd be done by now."

"I like the solitude."

Then he started hitting buttons.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

"I'm putting my phone number in here." He pressed a last button and his cellphone rang. "Now we're connected."

"Why?" I asked as he tossed it back to me.

"I call you, you better be far away," Pike said. "The Ferrells can tell where you are by the ping off of the closest cell tower."

"Reception sucks in the mountains." I put the phone in my pocket wondering when the postmasters had become electronic surveillance experts. Probably around the time the weed farmer became the law.

He nodded. "Right. Which means if I can't reach you, you're gone." He nodded his head toward the town ahead of us. "Why ship to Rocky Start? Through-hikers use the post office in Bearton."

A damn good question. "The person who got the boots for me picked the location."

"Who was that?"

"Listen, I don't want to be here as much as you don't want me to be here. But my dog is hurt. As soon as we can, we'll be out of here."

"What did you do with the AK? I had some memories with that gun."

So the boys had told him we'd met. He seemed more upset about the weapon than whatever I'd done to them.

I opened the ruck and took out the AK, reassembled it in a few seconds, and handed it across the bed to him. "I noted the markings on the selector switch. Not Cyrillic. It wasn't made in Russia." My best guess, which I wasn't going to share with him because it would tell him too much about me, was that it had been manufactured in the border region between Pakistan and Afghanistan. I'd run into their like before.

"Now what about Rose and Poppy?" he asked, ignoring my comment about the gun. He pulled the mag, made sure the weapon was clear, and shoved the rifle inside his truck.

"What about them?"

"What do you want with them?"

"I don't want anything. Poppy has my dog. What's with Norman Oswald? He's as unfriendly as you."

"Norman? He's here?" Pike shook his head. "Fuck. It figures." His eyes narrowed as he stared at me. "I almost believe you really are as ignorant as you're pretending to be."

I wasn't sure if that was an insult or a good thing.

"Norman said he wants what he's owed," I said.

"He isn't owed shit," Pike said.

That told me Pike would be on Rose's side, so one less thing for me to be concerned about.

"What are you running from?" Pike asked.

"I'm not running from anything," I said.

"What are you walking to?"

"The end of the A.T.," I said.

"I said what , not where." Pike said, and he seemed to sincerely want to know.

So did I. I shrugged since I had no idea. "I'll figure out what when I get there."

Pike shook his head. "Good luck with that, son. It ain't gonna be as easy as you think. Can't keep walking away forever."

He got in the truck and drove across the bridge into town without offering me a ride.