Fear on The Mountain

By Ron Howson

Sheriff Ungher stood in the cold and snow behind his patrol car, loading his weapon, and wondering how he would stop the slaughter he knew was about to come.
Patrol cars were already there and more were arriving from the next county over, and he knew he had lost control. To add to it all, down the road, another vehicle was approaching, one that he did not expect. It was the remainder of the Brewer family.

A call had come into the Sheriff’s office earlier that morning; a frantic one. It was a call from Old Jake, and it’s not like Jake to get frantic over much of anything. There was a patrol car not too far away. They were out checking the roads; clearing the evening’s accidents and rescuing stranded motorists from the freeze when a deputy was sent to check it out.

It was when the Deputy called back in and reported what he saw that sent Sheriff Ungher flying out the door with a call for everyone to pull back. But for miles around and even over into the next county they came. All were expecting the worst; expecting more of the same.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ron Howson
• Release date: Sep 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781310488757

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sheriff Ungher stood in the cold and snow behind his patrol car, loading his weapon, and wondering how he would stop the slaughter he knew was about to come.

Patrol cars were already there and more were arriving from the next county over, and he knew he had lost control. To add to it all, down the road, another vehicle was approaching, one that he did not expect. It was the remainder of the Brewer family.

You still wonder what happened? Why there was no beacon? Clare Brewer asked, sitting shotgun in the four-wheel drive as they climbed higher and higher, heading deeper into the snowstorm. She had her foot up on the dash and held a cup of hot coffee, looking at the driver with her bright-blue eyes and strands of strawberry blond hair spilling out from under the knit cap.

Of course they still wondered. The whole family wondered, what was left of it. But that wasn’t really the question. In fact, there wasn’t really a question at all. Not really, and Don knew that. She knew they still wondered. How could they not? But she needed to talk about it, or at least wanted to.

There are rules on the mountain. They ain’t dead 'till you see ‘em dead, is one of them.

Don was driving. Allen was in the back seat, barely awake. Bob went ahead to the cottage two days before to get it stocked and cleaned up. He drew the short straw to pull that detail, and made it up just before the storm blew in.

That covered the A, B, C, and D of the family. It was Allen, Bob, Clare, and Don.

There would be no E showing up. No, the E had been deleted. Edwin had been killed years before up near this cottage. From all accounts, it was a terrifying and violent death, and he put up a hell of a fight for a kid. But that wasn’t what she was asking about either.

It didn’t take long after the father had found out Edwin in the woods that their mother took ill. The stress of the missing pre-teen, the long search, the sleepless nights, and finally the realization of loss and the finality of it all combined to put her in the grave. It was all just too much for her.

This, what was left of it, was a family bonded by tragedy. Those tragedies didn’t stop there either. They just kept on coming, it seemed.

As tragic and heartbreaking as these things were, that still wasn’t what she was asking about. Those things could mostly be explained. Mostly.

It dumped a foot and a half of snow two days earlier, but they were determined to finally get up on that mountain and keep their promise when they were sent away. It was a promise to get there each year and spend at least a little time together, what was left of this family.

But priorities change and the years went by. They hadn’t begun creeping apart; they just found themselves too busy. There were reasons not to commit to the trip up that hill. They were all good ones, too. But deep down, each of them knew they were only reasons, and although the reasons seemed to justify, there were even more reasons to go.

Now, it had been five years since they had made the trek up the mountain. It may have been the pain, Don thought. It could have been that the painful emotional association was just too much. But more correctly, he knew, the lesser pain of doing something else was just easier.

During the last two days, the snow piled up on the road. The cars and trucks that passed left a trench for each wheel on either side of the winding two-lane stretch. The snow in the trenches turned to slush with traffic the day before, and overnight, the slush froze to rock-hard ice.

As they went up one rise on the road and down the other side, all the while getting higher and higher in elevation, Don watched through the haze of falling snow in the rear-view mirror as a set of lights gradually got closer, lights flashing blue and white.

They’d passed four cars that went into the ditch that morning. He imagined that the cruiser behind him was responding to yet another accident. They passed the telltale signs of others that hit the weeds that evening as well and were pulled out. Each time, the snow spread over the road, freezing solid overnight, and causing Don’s vehicle to lose its grip and go into a slight slide.

Yep. I still wonder. Why no beacon? How about you? Don finally answered.

He thought he caught the wail of a siren as he rounded a corner and let off the accelerator a bit, causing the wheels to slide slightly. There was a car in the ditch, and he slowed down even more, ready for the inevitable. He hit the tracks left by the car, jarring his wheels to the side, and catching on the snow.

I guess it’s about time to chain up, he said.

He went into a sharper slide, being pulled in toward the ditch on the right, steering into the spin. Clare dropped her foot down from the dash, tensed up, and held her cup of coffee higher. Don could feel traction from the front wheels begin to catch, pushed on the gas pedal, and allowed them to pull him out of the slide and back onto somewhat more firm road.

The cruiser behind him was getting close now, and he could hear the siren clearly as they rounded the bend by Old Jake’s spread. He slowed again when he saw a cruiser pulled off to the side and another in the driveway. Another was headed toward them from the other direction, lights flashing and siren blaring.

What the hell? Allen sat up and muttered.

Don slowed down to a crawl as they passed Jake’s, giving them all plenty of time to look. Two men, Deputies, were barely visible through the falling snow up at Jake’s house, crouched down at the side, with rifles high and ready.

Isn’t that Sheriff Ungher? Clare asked as they passed the first vehicle. Thought he’d be retired by now.

They all watched as the Sheriff loaded rounds into a shotgun, only hesitating to look at them with a grim expression, watching them slowly drive by with that piercing look he was known for.

What the hell is going on? Don asked. Jake in trouble?

Don slowed down more, ready to ease off to the side and pull over. Allen looked back, saw Sheriff Ungher angrily wave them on, and said, No Don’t stop. He’s telling us to get out of here.

Don struggled to see what he could in the mirror and grudgingly pushed slightly down on the accelerator, moving back into the ruts on the road and gradually gaining speed again. Another vehicle was heading toward them, an SUV this time, and again, with lights flashing and siren blaring.

Whaaaat the…. Clare said. Did you see the way Ungher looked at us?

Chapter 2

A call had come into the Sheriff’s office earlier that morning; a frantic one. It was a call from Old Jake, and it’s not like Jake to get frantic over much of anything. There was a patrol car not too far away. They were out checking the roads; clearing the evening’s accidents and rescuing stranded motorists from the freeze when a deputy was sent to check it out.

It was when the Deputy called back in and reported what he saw that sent Sheriff Ungher flying out the door with a call for everyone to pull back. But for miles around and even over into the next county they came. All were expecting the worst; expecting more of the same.

The radio crackled on that first report, and the deputy gave a description. Sheriff. I don’t know what to tell you. Jake said he was going outside. He said he’d wait for us on the front porch, the man said.

I went up, and he was there, well part of him was there. His arm was there, still holding onto a rifle. He had a cup of coffee sitting at the table, Sheriff. It's still steaming, so he can’t be too far away. I’m gonna take a look, he told him.

Ungher was going to tell him to get out of there, and get out of there now, but the signal was lost, and that was the last they heard from that deputy. The radio carried the signal over to the next county, and they all sped toward Old Jake’s.

Ungher looked around at the new arrivals, ready to move forward. It was bitter cold, and under normal circumstances, he would have felt it, but he was far too focused on what they were about to encounter.

He would have felt the cold jabbing at his bad back from years of sitting slouched in the patrol car. He would have felt the bite of his knee from a gunshot he’d taken years before and the injuries from a bear attack. He would have felt the stabbing pain in his shoulder from another old bullet wound.

But he felt nothing now as he forced it all out of his mind, nothing that is but determination, numbness, and fear as he began approaching Old Jake’s house and started positioning the men who had arrived minutes before him.

You two, he pointed, You get at the back corner. You two cover this corner here. You and you, on me.

He began to creep up the steps of the porch, slowly and cautiously, each rung creaking from the cold as he went, the snow and ice crunching under his boot. As he got to the third step, his head was level with the porch, and he looked it over.

There was the chair and table that Old Jake used to sit at, watching the sunsets, and gazing up into the mountain. There was his cup sitting there, no longer steaming hot. And there was Jake’s arm, lying on the deck, and the rifle with his hand still around it.

He took another step up and crouched slightly, then took another and then another. He paused there, leaning right up against the house fully up on the porch, and fully exposed. The two others crept to the top step and crouched with rifles against their cheeks, ready, watching for the slightest movement before exploding into gunfire.

Similar incidents had been reported over two counties. Each was checked into, the reports filed, and the paperwork completed. Someone was even assigned to look into them more closely, when there was time, but with budget cuts, there never seemed to be any of that.

Finally, one of theirs had recently had a similar run-in, and had made a similar frantic call to the station. There was no way Ungher could have stopped these men from coming. That Deputy had vanished, similar to Jake, except that Jake had left them something to remember him by: his arm, still clutching a weapon he obviously felt a need to be holding, and that feeling was proven to be right.

Ungher checked on the men with him, then looked behind him through the haze of falling snow, checking to be sure the two left at the corner were still in place. He wondered how he was going to keep himself alive with all those people in the way, and he wondered how and if he could keep them alive as well.

The only hope he had for them is if they had already left.

He motioned to start moving forward toward the door. He crouched slightly more as he passed Jake’s front window, and poked his head up to look inside.

Soon, they were on either side of the door, ready to breach. Ungher left them there briefly and went quickly and quietly to the edge of the porch, looking over the side to see what tracks might be there in the snow, confirming his fears. He came back and was ready to enter when he heard a call from the back.

Right there! Someone called.

Without another word, they started firing. Ungher moved back off the porch and ran toward the sound of gunshots. The two at the corner were already sprinting to the back of the house to join in.

He heard a scream. Then another. Somethings...it took him! Up there! On the roof! Someone yelled out.

Chapter 3

The three travelers were forced to take a motel. The snow dumped in mounds, drifted, and blew across the road until they could no longer see. Feeling there had been enough tragedies in the family, Don suggested they pull into a motel and let the storm pass and chain up before moving forward. There was no opposition from the others to dodge this fearsome storm.

The next morning, the Brewers were on the road again, bright and early, chains rumbling along on the frozen road.

Bobby! Clare called into her cell, surprised to finally get a signal. Last chance for supplies. Need anything?

Don pulled into the parking lot for Hedley’s store and sat with the engine running while Clare talked to Bob. This store was the last hint of civilization they would encounter on their trip, and when they were growing up, was one of the greatest thrills for them to come to visit with their father.

It was more than a store; it was a meeting place for the locals, a place to remind them that they were still part of something; part of mankind. It was a symbol that tethered them all to humanity.

Don would come with his father and listen to the locals talk about those boring and important grown-up things; the weather, the hunting, the weather, who died, the weather, the economy, and of course, the weather some more.

Mr. Hedley would look down at Don with a grim and weathered face as he walked by the counter holding his father’s hand. He’d stand silent as his father spoke to him and listened to his raspy high-pitched voice.

He never seemed happy to Don, and with a voice that always seemed like a rusty nail screaming out in pain, and with the look like he’d just walked the face of Mars, Don was terrified of him as a young lad.

The weather; it always seemed to be the most important thing to Mr. Hedley. A chart of the mountain hung on the wall with temperatures marked at different heights. One day while his father was in the back, Don worked up the nerve to stay at the counter and asked him about it.

The weather is right fairly important out here, son. This weather up on dat hill can catch you wrong and kills you hard. So you pays attention to dem signs. You don’t wanna be caught out, he scolded, shaking his finger. You’ll end up food for dem pestilent savages. Hell, you’d only be maybe a snack for dems anyhows.

Toilet paper! Don heard Bob yell to Clare over the phone. Dang! Nearly forgot.

Okay. Anything else? You got my wine? she asked.

Yah, yah. Got your wine. Four bottles. Just in case, he answered.

They’d all packed enough booze for two weeks of heavy drinking. You never know, they all agreed, after five years, a little sedation could be needed just to get through this. Clare already had a good supply of bottles in the back of the truck.

Don and Allen sat and listened to Clare end the conversation, gave a daunted looked out toward the front of Hedley’s, and Allen said, Well. Time to go see the grumpy old man.

They walked into the front, expecting to see that the store had been modernized or had been given a facelift, but the old place was still the same. The worn spot on the floor in front of the register was even more worn from the sand and grit under the heavy boots of customers. The lights were still every bit as dim.

The line of booze behind the counter was almost the same as Don remembered. To the side were buckets of nails, screws, and a few hand tools. Closer to the register were the guns and ammo. Over in the corner was a table and chairs for the locals to sit and have a visit over a cup of tea.

An old dog slowly approached with his tail wagging ever so slightly. Hello Rusty. Remember us? Don said, bending over to give her a pat.

Rusty licked his hand and went to Allen, gave him a sniff and went over to Clare, shoving his nose into her crotch.

Dammit, Dog! What’s with you? she scolded him.

Don and Allen gave a chuckle and Allen said, Yup. I guess he remembers us.

Remembers you, anyways, Don added, causing Clare to give him a solid pound on the shoulder.

It was as it had always been; same worn out store, same old-looking shelving and dusty equipment, and same old Rusty shoving his nose into Clare’s crotch.

They strolled down the back, grabbing four of the biggest packs of toilet paper they could find, and continued strolling, taking a bag of chips and snacks for the rest of the trip, looking over items, and fondling various things of interest.

It was never coming here to get what you wanted that was the important part of the routine. It was looking over everything else for things you might need.

Up on that mountain they were headed, when you need something, you need it, and it was a hell of a long way down to get it. That’s what their father taught them, and that is what they were doing now; looking for some things they might need.

Don recalled how his father would light up when he stumbled on something in these aisles, and say, You know, this might come in handy, or some such comment. More often than not, sooner or later, it did.

It reminded him of the conversation that almost got started the day before. The one Clare felt the urge to begin with asking if they still wondered what happened.

Some people just move on from tragedies, but this one was one too many. It was when their father vanished without a trace from up at the cottage they were headed to.

Grab a couple of cans of kerosene there, would you? Allen called from the back corner.

Don picked up two cans and walked over to Allen who was studying a space heater. He’d already picked out a new lantern and had a couple of packs of batteries in one hand. He held up the gas heater and said, For the outhouse. In case the plumbing froze.

They continued through the aisles, completing their journey and ending at the register counter, each with arms full of gear and supplies. They stood, waiting.

It struck Don as odd that Mr. Hedley wasn’t standing there waiting as well. There was never a time in the past he could recall that this had happened.

He stood another minute before bending over the counter for a better view. There was Mr. Hedley, motionless, wedged in the dark recess of a corner. Don stared for a moment, looked down at the dog, then back to Mr. Hedley.

He elbowed Allen and nodded. Both Clare and Allen bent over the counter and stared. He looked the same as always, except older, his face nearly petrified, covered with wrinkles and age spots.

Don looked at the ground below him for blood. Then he looked around for any signs of violence. Then he looked back at Mr. Hedley and stood there, all three of them staring and still.

Is he alive? Clare asked in a whisper.

I don’t know. Why don’t you go check? Don whispered back.

Me? Why me? You go do it, she said, giving him a slight nudge with her elbow.

No, no. You do it. You’re the girl, he said.

What? What does that mean? You’re the guy, you go do it, she retorted, still in a whisper.

Well, he won’t get as mad at you, Don told her.

No way. You do it, she said and gave him a little shove.

Don braced against her push and playfully tried to drag her around him and guide her behind the counter.

Allen told them to stop and began to move carefully around the register to go behind the counter and check on him when Clare’s phone rang, startling the dog and everyone else, and sending Rusty barking at the sound.

Mr. Hedley began to stir and looked at them without the slightest change of expression.

He got up off his seat and slowly shuffled his feet toward them, paused half way, and looked both Don and Allen over. He turned and picked up some things and came forward, slapping them onto the counter and sliding the boxes toward them.

Don couldn’t recall the last time he’d bought ammo from Mr. Hedley, but apparently Hedley did, and he also recalled what ammo they used. He slid two boxes of 30.06 to Don and two boxes of .308 toward Allen.

Been a damnedly lot of ammo goin out the door t’of late. Best to be stockin’ yersef up, by way of other’s figurin’, he said.

Clare was on her phone with Bob, being told to pick up a couple of lighters and some Presto logs. Mr. Hedley heard the conversation and reached behind him, bringing some lighters forward.

He looked Clare over briefly, turned his leathery face to Allen and said, Boxa city-folk logs in the corner. Might be wantin’ you a couple boxes o‘dems.

Don was about to contest the ammo sale, but decided against it when Mr. Hedley turned and looked him square in the eye, Lessin you wants more, he said, tapping on the box of 30.06. And I darn’t blame yuz ifern you do, well, I’ll just rang it all.

He couldn’t remember how much ammo he had left at the cottage, but Don knew that in his years of owning the rifle, he’d probably never emptied four boxes of 30.06 in these hills once he got his