Mountain of Hope

By Michael O’Connor

Bill Dooley left a lucrative career as a music talent scout to pursue his dream of being a mountain lodge owner. Sadly, his big plans soon turn to nightmares. With extensive repairs required to bring the property back to its original state, Bill hires several townsfolk to help, including Ed the carpenter, Little Bit the housekeeper, and Lauri the bartender.

On New Years Eve, high above the Fork River, chaos ensues. Partygoers are attacked. The enemy is just a single cell in hundreds that have invaded America to find hidden nuclear weapon plans. Some of the employees are forced to do as their captors saylike Lauri, who must serve the enemy food, drinks, and anything else they may desire.

Bill devises a plan to take back the mountain, even if they have to go underground to survive. Other townsfolk get creative, devising weapons out of crude farming equipment while staying alert at all times. As the leader, Bill must stay strong to keep things in some kind of order, find a way to rescue Lauri, and stop the infiltrators.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532033834

Michael O’Connor

Michael O’Connor is a Navy veteran who worked in constuction sales. Now retired, he spends his time writing and relaxing. He has two children and four grandchildren and lives in Melbourne, Florida. He is also the author of The Last Hoorah.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

D ust kicked up from the dirt road, ruining the shine Bill Dooley always kept on his boots. Soon there was no shine left, and he didn’t like that—not one bit. The day was unseasonably hot, and sweat drenched his shirt, causing it to stick to his skin. He had removed his jacket some time ago and would have just left it lying on the road, but it was one of his favorites. He’d had it tailor-made in Nashville last year. So he carried it and didn’t think again about leaving it behind.

Up ahead he could just about make out a sign advertising something, but the dust filled his eyes, and all he saw was a blur of dirt. Upon getting closer, he saw that the sign was for a diner one mile up the road. He could make that—no problem—so he quickened his pace in anticipation of a cold drink and a place to wash away a few layers of country dust.

The name of the diner was the Outpost. Fitting, he thought. Probably some out-of-the-way place that probably sees one customer a day. It wasn’t likely that many people came through here on purpose. Bill’s car had broken down about ten miles back as he was trying to make his way to a place called Fork River, where he was answering an ad for a business for sale, a mountaintop bar and restaurant with a view like no other he had ever seen. The current owner had gotten some bad health news and wanted to spend the rest of his days with his family, who lived back east.

The price was right, and Bill was ready for a change—a big change. Now, as he walked inside the Outpost, a bell rang, and a woman appeared from a back room. She looked as if she had been sleeping.

I’m sorry, Bill said. Did I wake you?

She smiled and pulled a cigarette from behind her ear and lit it. Big city laws don’t mean squat out here, she said. If you got ’em, smoke ’em. What’ll it be, mister?

Anything cold with a head on it, he answered and had a seat in the booth by the window. Always this dusty?

Mostly, but not always. She handed him a tall cold beer, which he downed in seconds, asking for another before the last swallow. Slow down there, cowboy. There’s plenty where that came from.

He took a moment and looked around the place. He guessed it looked as it had fifty years ago—a few animal heads on the walls, a map of the surrounding areas, a cigarette machine that asked for only twenty-five cents (it was, however, empty). A jukebox was lit up, but no music played today.

You the owner? he asked as she set down another beer.

Well, I ain’t the maid, now am I? Wait a minute … yes, I am! She let out a cackle-like laugh that certainly fit her appearance. Who wants to know?

My name is Bill. Bill Dooley. He stuck out his hand, and she shook it like a man.

Good to meet ya, Bill Dooley. Folks just call me Miss Nell. Now I got a question for you. Where the hell is your car?

Sad to say, about ten miles back. Is there a towing service anywhere around here?

Oh yeah, we got a service. That would be my son Darrick. He has a shop of sorts and does a little tinkering on cars when he’s not passed out drunk. You want me to holler at him?

I guess so. Thanks, I think.

Oh, don’t worry yourself, Bill Dooley. He ain’t so bad. Fact is—he can fix about anything, and his price is always the best around. Guess that’s ’cause he’s the only one around. She cackled again as she reached for the wall phone and dialed Darrick.

Bill went to the restroom and splashed water on his face. He wished this was a nice motel with a good shower, but it looked like that would have to wait. Nell had informed him the nearest motel was about eight miles up the road and that Darrick would be happy to give him a lift there—for a price, of course. Of course.

It wasn’t long before Darrick, in a cloud of dust, drove up to the diner in what Bill could only imagine was some sort of homemade contraption. It resembled a tow truck but other things as well. It had a winch on the back and a pulley arm of sorts. The cab was old—from the late forties or early fifties—and the back was old wooden planks covered in oil stains and God knew what else. The door flew open, and Darrick stepped out.

He walked in the Outpost, asking, Somebody need a tow?

No, moron, I called you to take me to Paris. Nell laughed at her own words as Darrick stretched out his hand, which looked like five sausages that hated soap.

Reluctantly, Bill shook Darrick’s hand and introduced himself. Bill, he said, quickly pulling his hand away from the obvious germs.

What’s wrong with the car? Darrick asked as he took the glass of beer Nell handed to him.

Don’t know, Darrick. It just stopped running and wouldn’t start again. I’m afraid I wore down the battery trying to get it going.

And how far down the road you say?

About ten miles.

Well, let’s do some calculating. Darrick took out the nub of a pencil and grabbed a napkin from the counter. He got lost in his figuring for a while and then spoke up. Well, Bill, I figure about $150 for the tow, and $150 for a battery, and $150 to take you to the motel. Then I’ll have to look at the car for anything else. Another $150 for that, so let’s see … He put pencil to paper again and said, Looks like $600 should about get things started. Oh, and I don’t take that plastic money. Just the green stuff. You got that kind of money, Bill?

Bill did have that amount and more, as he’d emptied his bank account before leaving. It was safely tucked away in a money belt, along with several thousand dollars in American Express traveler’s checks. I don’t think money will be an issue, Darrick. When can we get going?

Darrick guzzled down another beer and then said, Let’s get it.

Bill paid Nell and thanked her for whatever it was she’d done. He followed Darrick to his truck, which was leaking oil all over the dusty parking lot of the world-famous Outpost.

CHAPTER 2

I t felt good being back on