“Hey…I know, let’s go break into that camp on County Road Sixteen with the pool table and the stocked bar. We can drink, play pool, and see what they have new to steal,” Reese said excitedly.
“Yeah, they don’t turkey hunt, so none them dudes will be there. We ain’t broke in there in maybe two years,” Tiny added.
“That’s not a bad idea…I’ll bet they got some of that Maker’s Mark high-dollar whiskey. Let’s go, but let’s take two trucks.” Johnny Lee stood up and stretched as he spoke.
Second only to his double-wide trailer, Johnny Lee loved his Ford “Harley Davidson Edition” supercharged pickup truck. It was jet-black with tinted windows and flames painted down the sides. It would fly. Thanks to a drug buddy getting busted, Johnny Lee had gotten it cheap. But he refused to let Sweat ride in it because of his overwhelming body odor.
Tiny had a 1987 Chevrolet four-wheel-drive that he and Sweat rode in. It smelled like chicken bones and stinky socks. Tiny could never get enough money together to improve his transportation, but it was part of his “starting-over-fresh” plan that was long on wishful thinking and totally devoid of action.
Sweat and Tiny had drunk a case of Old Milwaukee beer since the middle of the afternoon. They called them Walkie-Talkies. Sweat was outside taking a leak off the deck when the plan was formulated. When everybody started sticking pistols and knives into their pockets, he joined right in without a clue of what was doing on. He never even asked.
“Let’s steal their pool table,” Reese said, excited that his idea was being taken seriously.
“If you can tote it out, I can fence it,” Johnny Lee said, pulling on his ostrich-skin boots and stuffing a Ruger Blackhawk .44 Magnum inside the right one.
“Mount up, boys…the Redneck Posse rides,” Johnny Lee Grover said with pride as he rubbed the Doritos out of his dim excuse for a mustache.
“You’re right. This is a perfect place to see the stars. I’ve never seen so many.” Elizabeth slyly grinned. This was the same view she had by her swimming pool. But she wouldn’t tell Tanner that.
They had been parked for almost forty-five minutes. If there had been windows in the Jeep, they would have been steamed up. They sat in the back seat looking at the stars. They had been doing some serious necking and a little talking. Elizabeth wanted to do more talking; Tanner wanted more kissing. He loved the way she smelled, the freckles on her nose. She had no idea how beautiful she was. Elizabeth was really enjoying being with Tanner. She loved his Jeep, the music. She loved the wind blowing through her hair. The temperature was a bit cool but perfect for her fleece pullover.
“And it’s safe. I locked the gate back, and no one would ever come out here this time of year at night. Never,” he commented, leaning back and placing his legs across the front seat. Elizabeth then crossed her legs over his and leaned against him and snuggled.
“Are you still excited about going to the University of Virginia?” he asked, smelling her hair.
“No, not really. It’s…it’s more for my mother than me. She went there and pledged a sorority, so she thinks I should. I’d really be happy to stay home and go to Alabama.” She looked up at the stars.
“Mom took me two summers ago, and we walked through The Lawn. I really got excited. Mom started signing me up for everything after that. Don’t get me wrong: it’s a beautiful campus and a great school, but I’ll miss everybody, especially you,” she said and kissed his neck.
“I think you should do what you want to do.”
“I don’t want to disappoint her. She’s so excited. I think she wants me to do all the things she did and didn’t do,” Elizabeth explained and sighed.
Well, that’s it. Tanner knew the make-out session was over, and that all they were going to do was talk. He was used to it. He just loved being with her. That was one reason he knew he was in love. It didn’t matter what they did…just as long as they were together.
“So we could run off and get married,” Tanner said with a sly smile, and he meant it.
“You think?” She grinned as she responded. “You had better get a new car first…and pass English!”
“Is that all?”
“One with a roof.”
“I have a roof. It’s called a top, and I’ll pass English.”
“It’s plastic, and you can’t conjugate a verb.”
“Well…that’s true…I can’t, and the top is actually high-grade waterproof canvas and-”
“Kiss me, Tanner. I’m tired of talkin’,” she interrupted before he could finish.
“Yes ma’am.” And he did.
When it was time to leave, he composed himself enough to start the Jeep. He paused, “I sure hope it cranks.”
“It better, it would take days to walk out of here; plus, I just noticed my cell phone isn’t working,” she replied, brushing her long black hair.
“This area’s dead; there’s no service. It’s just too remote,” he answered.
Tanner paused another few seconds and watched her brush her hair. She’s got no idea how beautiful she is. The Jeep cranked and he smiled at her. “I love being with you.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “Me too. Crank up the heater. I’m kinda cold,” she said, briskly rubbing her hands on her arms.
They started the five-mile ride down the abandoned railroad track that was used for a road. She turned and held his hand and passionately kissed his right ear. Tanner was struggling with shifting and driving one-handed. He was in heaven.
“I’ll teach you how to conjugate verbs,” she whispered, then laughed out loud.
By midnight Jake was in the middle of the recurring nightmare he’d been having since he was fifteen years old. It was so real, so vivid. It never changed-he was walking to a deer stand in the predawn darkness. For every step he took, he heard something or someone following him. He walked a bit faster and then stopped. Whatever was following him stopped and stood still, in step with him. He began walking and could hear it following him again. It sounded heavy. He shone a flashlight, expecting to see glowing eyes-he couldn’t see a thing. Then suddenly he stepped on something out of place. There was a body, someone familiar to him, lying there dead. Brutally murdered. His throat was cut. There was blood everywhere. The exact moment the flashlight turned on, there was a high-pitched cackling scream…demonic…from whatever was following him.
Jake always woke up at this point, sweating and chilled. He could never go back to sleep. For twenty-two years this nightmare had haunted him. Jake knew a psychiatrist could have a field day with this. He’d never told a soul, and to this day, he wouldn’t go into the woods, day or night, without a flashlight.
Jake was roused from the nightmare by the sounds of a vehicle on the gravel road leading into the camp. The camper was toasty from the orange glow of the electric heater. That’s gotta beTate. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Jake got out of bed, slipped on his boots, then checked on Katy. She was sound asleep, snuggling with her Beanie Babies. I’ll ask him to stay in the camp house; his snoring’s louder than a freight train.
Wearing nothing but his boxers and boots, Jake cracked open the camper door and immediately heard several male voices and Hank Jr. singing “Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound.” Jake couldn’t see who it was. The gate was about 150 yards from the camp. He strained to hear what they were saying. Multiple voices. This was odd. His heart was in his throat. He didn’t like it at all. Jake could tell that they were arguing. He heard someone with a gravelly voice say, “The gate ain’t locked.” When Jake heard someone else say, “Then we won’t be breakin’ in,” he knew he had trouble on his hands.
He quickly stepped to his truck, opened the door, and grabbed his pump shotgun. He fumbled through his turkey vest for his shells. He found the only three he carried on a hunt, fed them into the magazine, and quietly worked the action, loading one into the chamber.