Beneath the Hill (part 1)

Somewhere in Appalachia, Year 24 (A.D. 2078 Gregorian O.S.)

Shadows crept over the valley, darkening the motley canvas of deep greens and flaming reds that forested the area around the little town. It was getting late in the day and Abishai Godfrey was glad to see the smattering of buildings when he had crested the hill.

There were few reliable maps to be had in those days, so he had been forced to go by memory and the scant details and landmarks in the hand-drawn sketch he had scribbled two towns back. If his recollection and navigation had been good then he was looking eastward into the hamlet of Jackson Hollow—at least, that was what it had been called when the map was made.

The trail he had been following had not been kept up, but with a little effort he was able to make his way along the gently-sloping switchbacks downward toward the stream that twisted its way out of the hills and into town. His water bottle was nearly empty, but he resisted the temptation to top off his supply; there was no telling when or where he might be able to get more purification tablets and he was sure to find some source of potable water in town. Nevertheless, he adjusted the sling on his rifle and squatted down, letting the cool water ripple over his hands, before splashing a little on his face, washing away the grimy buildup of several days’ hiking.

“Heavenly Father,” Abishai began to pray aloud, recalling the words from the well-worn pages of the book that had been torn from his hands all those years ago. “If I should suffer need, and go unclothed, and be in poverty, make my heart prize thy love, know it, be constrained by it, though—”

He cut himself off abruptly at the sound of something hurtling through the underbrush on the other side of the stream. It was getting closer, he thought, and craned his neck in that direction, trying to determine whether he was in danger. The soft crunch of leaves was punctuated by the sharp crack of small branches as the sound moved upstream and ever closer. Abishai unslung his rifle, verified that there was a round in the chamber, and moved behind a fallen tree.

Less than a moment later he saw, running parallel to him and upstream, a girl. She could have been no older than ten or eleven and she wore a look of abject terror on her face. It was then that Abishai realized that she was not the only source of noise.

Turning his attention back downstream, louder rushing and crashing sounds moved in the same direction as the girl. Then came the shouting.

“Get back here, girl! You only gonna make things worse.”

“When we get ahold of you, so help me!”

It was two male voices—one deep, the other high-pitched and raspy—both with the distinct hill-folk accent to which Abishai had still not totally adjusted his ears since his journeys had brought him to coal country some months past. He sat motionless as the men passed him by. It seemed that they paused briefly to look toward him, but then a few moments later headed off in the direction the girl had gone. Realizing that he was undetected, he flicked his rifle’s safety off, sprang to his feet, and headed after them, hardly stopping to think about what he would do if and when he overtook the chase. He only knew that he must follow and do anything he could.

Image by David Mark from Pixabay

Abishai considered himself no expert woodsman, but he had learned how to move quietly when need be. Fortunately, the two men he pursued were making such a racket that he could follow them almost at a full run without worrying about being heard. He kept to his side of the stream, but still within earshot.

The hill grew steeper and the two men stopped once or twice to catch their breath, allowing Abishai to pass them and close the distance between himself and the girl. He caught a glimpse of the girl’s bright orange shirt just before she ducked into a thick patch of underbrush. Carefully, he picked his way across the stream, eyeing the moss-covered stones carefully. He circled around to the other side of the underbrush, easily spotting the place where the girl had scrambled through by the broken branches and a patch of her shirt that had caught on a thorn. The men who were chasing her were still a little ways off, but the girl was nowhere to be seen.

Abishai surveyed the area quickly and spotted a small, rock outcropping that barely deserved the name of “cave.” He approached it quietly, keeping out of view to one side of the opening, and could hear the girl panting from the shadows.

Just then the patch of underbrush shook violently and a string of profanity tumbled forward as if it had been shaken from the bushy branches. The two men lurched forward immediately after their curses.

At first, they seemed not to notice Abishai at all and busied themselves with brushing leaves and dirt from their hair. Though it was cool outside, both wore short-sleeved t-shirts. Abishai noted how the forearms of both men were covered in tattoos and scabby scars and then silently positioned himself in between them and the mouth of the cave. After a moment, the larger of the two men looked up, finally noticing Abishai.

“Who the blazes are you?” the deep voice boomed. His lips curled back in an angry snarl, exposing gums devoid of more than one or two teeth. He stepped closer, but Abishai remained silent and motionless.

“She’s in there, ain’t she?” the other, smaller man asked. “This don’t concern you, stranger. Just let us get the girl and you can be on your way and we’ll be on ours.”

The man scratched the side of his neck conspicuously. The motion triggered a foggy memory from somewhere in Abishai’s past, but he could not fix his mind on it. If there had been any question that the men were up to no good, their body language from the moment they stepped into the tiny clearing around the cave removed any doubt.

“Who’s the girl to you … gentlemen?” Abishai asked.

“She’s our little cousin,” the larger of the men said, almost as if it had been the most ignorant question he’d ever heard.

“What’s her name?”

“Now that ain’t none of your—” the larger man began before his companion cut him off.

“Shut up, Jay,” he spat. “Her name’s Mabel, mister.”

The smaller man had a pinched face that reminded Abishai of nothing more than a possum, with a nose that jutted out too far and jagged, yellow teeth. He could never have bested “Jay,” but it was clear that he was, nevertheless, the big man’s superior.

“This ain’t the first time she’s run off and I don’t expect it’ll be the last. But seein’ as you ain’t from around these parts, maybe you don’t know that us folks mind our own business and let family matters stay in the family.”

The men inched closer. They managed to keep their hands in non-threatening positions, but the nervous twitches in their necks and shoulders and legs were unmistakable.

“How old is she?” Abishai asked, freezing the men in place.

A look of worry mixed with confusion flashed across the big man’s face; the other narrowed his eyes and scowled. A faint whimpering sound escaped from the back of the cave.

“We done told ya once, mister. This ain’t none of your concern. I suggest you move along and be about your own business.”

“You made it my business, friend. I’m going to take the girl into town and you’re going to move along.”

“The hard way then? Fine. Mess ‘im up, Jay.”

The big man unsheathed a long, slender knife from one of his work boots. He brandished it and began to close the distance between himself and the mouth of the cave where Abishai waited.

Before the brute’s second step came to the ground, however, Abishai went into action. He slung his rifle around from his back and fired a single shot from the hip, striking the smaller man just below his left eye. The sneer that had been etched on his face disappeared and he dropped to the ground in a heap.

Jay’s mouth gaped in astonishment as he looked back at his partner. The big man dropped his hand to his side, but kept hold of the knife. Abishai raised his rifle, keeping it trained on the remaining thug. They locked eyes for no more than a heartbeat before Jay dropped the knife and ran back the way he had come, crashing through the underbrush without even bothering to slow down.

Abishai waited until the sound of the fleeing man faded away. Then he crouched, turning back toward the cave.

“You can come out now. I won’t hurt you.”

The child inched forward; her bare feet, caked in mud, came into the light first. She was wearing an old, orange hunting shirt that engulfed her slight shoulders and hung down well past her waist. Abishai thought it looked more like a dress than a shirt. Shreds of denim that must have once been jeans were held together in some places by no more than a few threads.

“Mabel?”

The girl looked up for only an instant before casting her gaze back to the ground.

“I’m going to take you somewhere safe. Will you come with me?”

He extended his hand and she stepped forward to take it. Abishai made his way back to the trail. At first the girl looked around, flinching at seemingly every snapping twig or crunching leaf. After a few minutes, however, he could feel her grip relax and saw her shoulders ease downward. They emerged from the trees just as the sun disappeared beyond the line of hills to their backs and then followed the abandoned road the rest of the way into town.

Continue reading “Beneath the Hill” here.