Devil's Race Page 2

  “Martin,” said Nora, “this is Cousin David. And this is another of your cousins, John.”

  Though it was clear he had something important to tell his mother, the kid was well trained. He came right over and held out a hand to Uncle Dave. “Pleased to see you,” he said. Then he turned and gave me a careful looking over.

  He was, I figured, twelve, something on the short side, with bright, smooth cheeks, a downy look. Not busted out of being a kid yet.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he held out a hand to me. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

  “Want some milk and cake?” asked Nora.

  “Sure,” he said, and slid around the table.

  “John’s from the Philadelphia area,” Nora explained. “Part of my side of the family, the Prouds.”

  “Hello!”

  I swung around and there was Ann, Nora’s daughter. She might have passed for one of those billboard ads for the drink-milk campaigns—she was that kind of pretty. Shorter than me, she was bright-eyed, looking good in a plum-colored running suit. Her shoulder-length hair, lighter than her mother’s, was pulled into a ponytail. She took me by surprise.

  After the introductions the talk went on from this to that, between Uncle Dave and Nora. Then Nora noticed the clock and announced she’d better get dinner going, and would Martin or Ann take me for a look around town? Martin said, “Mom, I have to tell you what happened on our hike.”

  “Ann?” her mother said, head cocked to say more than she spoke.

  “Want to look around?” Ann asked me.

  “Sure,” I said, trying to sound very casual.

  “Probably not much that would interest you around here,” she said as we stood outside, both feeling awkward. “Where do you live?”

  “Not far from Philly.”

  “Get there a lot?”

  “Not much. Too big and dirty.”

  “Is it wild the way some people say?”

  “Wouldn’t know,” I said with a smile.

  She took a half turn and waved her arm to include the whole of Lickdale. “Not Sin City,” she said, “but I like it. Come on. I’ll give you the slow five-minute tour.”

  As we walked we talked, or rather asked each other questions: schools, plans for college, family, a general inventory. She had an easy, direct, relaxed way. I liked her.

  Only as we started back did she ask, “How come you came? Not to see us, was it?”

  I wasn’t sure what to tell her.

  “Well, see, my name is John . . . and John Proud . . . was the oldest family member, and . . .”

  She came to a halt. “You’re named after him?” She looked at me curiously. “Is that why you came?”

  “Well, I’m not named after him, but Uncle Dave wanted to show me where he’s buried.”

  “In the Wilderness,” she said. Even as she spoke there was some of that distant, thumping racket as military guns went off. “I’ve been there,” she said. “I go backpacking and hiking in that area a lot. The Appalachian Trail is close by. The cemetery, the one you want, is near Rausch Gap, where the old town is.”

  “Didn’t know there was a town.”

  “Nothing but ruins.”

  “A ghost town?”

  “Hardly. My father going to take you?”

  “I think Uncle Dave knows the way.”

  “It’s a hike. Is he up to it?”

  I shrugged, asking, “What’s the grave like?”

  She turned away. “I only saw it once, and not for long.”

  “How come?”

  “I promised myself I’d never go back,” she said. “And I haven’t.” She turned to look at me. “And I won’t.”

  6

  It wasn’t until we sat down for dinner, about seven o’clock, that I got to meet Tom, Ann’s father. He was a huge guy, maybe six two, with great wide shoulders and big hands. He had a shock of blond hair, blue eyes, and a broad smile that chopped white through a bushy beard. The guy was marked “woodsy,” from his boots up.

  “Oh, Lord,” he said, as he sat down after hugging his wife. “This isn’t what weekends are for.”

  “Big mess?” asked Nora, handing him a can of cold beer.

  He popped the can. “I don’t know. First a car ran down a pole south of Lebanon. The guy claimed the car just took off on its own. Lucky he wasn’t killed. Then there were some weird cable problems up north.” He rubbed his knees. “Been up on poles all day. Too much of this stuff lately. Someone’s making bad equipment, or something . . .”

  That something held him a moment. “Anyway, it’s nice seeing you guys.”

  “David and John mean to go up to Rausch Gap to look at the old cemetery in the morning,” Nora told him.

  “It’s not my family tree,” said Tom with a wink. Then, more seriously, he considered Uncle Dave. “It’s a hike,” he warned. “Ann, what do you figure it?”

  “Four miles in. Four out,” she said.

  “Well,” said Tom, “it’s perfectly level.”

  Nora looked at her husband across the table. “Maybe you should take them. . . .”

  Tom gazed back. There was some silent communication. “Well, sure, I’d like that,” he said. “Unless I get called out again.”

  “I don’t want to take your time,” said Uncle Dave.

  Tom held up a big hand. “Nothing to worry about. I’d really enjoy the hike. Haven’t been up there for too long. Ann knows those trails better than I do. You coming?” he asked her.

  “I’ve got a lot of homework to do,” she answered quickly.

  “Well, get it done. Martin?” Tom asked.

  “Little League practice,” the kid returned.

  Tom let out a little sigh. “Nora?”

  She shook her head. “Can’t” was all she said.

  After dinner Ann washed dishes. I dried. Martin put away.

  “Boy,” said Martin after a while, “I wouldn’t go up there.”

  “Scaredy-cat?” his sister teased.

  “Our Scout leader, Mr. Moot, took us up around there today to see some bird nesting grounds. Everywhere we went they were busted up.”

  “Raccoons,” said Ann.

  Martin shook his head. “That’s what Mr. Moot said at first. But after the third time, he said it must be vandals, and that it had just been done. He didn’t want us to mess with any delinquent teenagers. So we came back and just played ball.”

  “You just chickened out,” said Ann.

  “Look who’s talking,” Martin shot back. “She went camping with her friend Sue. They were going on the Appalachian Trail for six days. They came back in three.”

  “Sue got sick.”

  “Oh, sure, sure.”

  She flicked some soap bubbles at him. “I’ve been out four days, alone. How many nights have you?”

  “Mom says I’m too young.”

  The argument ended.

  After dishes Ann and I went out front and sat on the steps. In her hand she held a tin tube with a bunch of holes in it.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Penny whistle,” she said, putting it to her mouth and trying a few notes. “Perfect when you’re out in the woods.” She gave some more toots. Then we started talking again, agreeing about most things too. Finally, as if there was no need to say more, we lapsed into silence. The night seemed to be full of squeaks, grunts, and general racket.

  “What’s all the noise?” I asked.

  “Night sounds,” she said. “Frogs, insects, owls.” One by one she told me which was which.

  “You know your stuff, don’t you?” I said, impressed.

  “The Wilderness being so close, we sort of live with it.”

  “But you don’t want to visit the cemetery. How come?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Out toward the west there were flashes, like heat lightning. Then a series of booming noises.

  “What’s that?”

  “Night gunnery practice,” she said, as if it was the most natural thing in
the world.

  After a moment I said, “You going to get your homework done?”

  “No offense,” she said. “I just don’t want to go there. Once was enough.” She put the penny whistle to her mouth and began to play.

  It was a soft, floating melody, making me think of a bird gliding in and out of moonlight and shadow.

  It held me, that music. Her eyes found mine on her, and by the yellow house light I saw that she liked me, really liked me. Well, I liked her too.

  7

  By eight o’clock the next morning we were sitting around the breakfast table. It was bright, clear, already warm. Nora was there. So was Tom, ready to go. Ann, sleepy and in a white bathrobe to make clear her intention of not going, joined us. Martin was watching a TV show in the living room.

  There wasn’t much talk. Then the phone rang.

  Nora answered. “Just a minute,” she said, then held the phone out to Tom. “It’s your supervisor.”

  “Oh, Lord,” said Tom. He heaved himself up and took the phone.

  We all watched.

  “Problems,” he announced when he hung up. “A big line came down on the other side of Indian Gap. I have to go.”

  “You went yesterday,” protested Nora.

  “And I have to go today.”

  “I can’t go with you,” Nora said to us quickly. “I promised to help Martin’s Little League.”

  “We can find it ourselves,” said Uncle Dave.

  “Ann . . . ?” began Nora.

  Ann guessed what was coming. Right off she said, “Ma, I’ve got tons of homework . . .” But the way she said it I knew it wasn’t going to stick.

  “Come on, sport,” her father said. “It’d be better.” He nodded toward Uncle Dave.

  Ann gave me a look as if it was something I’d done. She said, “I’ll get ready,” and went to her room.

  Three quarters of an hour later the three of us—with Ann behind the wheel—were in the Fentons’ van. The lunch Nora had packed was stuffed into a lightweight day pack. I was given a two-quart canteen to sling over my neck.

  I found myself excited to be finally getting to the place. But Uncle Dave, I noticed, was quieter than usual. As for Ann, she was there, but she wasn’t looking happy about it.

  “Have a good time,” said Nora. “Ann, hon, drive carefully.”

  “Ma, we’ll get there!”

  She backed the van out neatly, swung around, and pulled out into the road.

  Two miles after leaving Lickdale we were into the hills, the road getting steeper the farther we went. On all sides, millions of trees crowded in like an advancing army.

  No one talked. I kept stealing glances at Ann, hoping she would loosen up. When she didn’t, I began to think that look she had given me the night before was only something imagined.

  “What’s that Appalachian Trail you talked about?” I asked, talking to fill the silence.

  “It’s a wilderness hiking trail about two thousand miles long. Goes from Georgia to Maine.”

  “And people walk it?”

  “Not mobs. And mostly not the whole length. But more than you might think. I’ve met them. Over by Yellow Spring station—”

  “What’s that?”

  “Another of the Wilderness’s abandoned towns. Old one. There’s a mailbox there. People hiking the Trail leave messages for each other. Not far from Devil’s Race.”

  I looked at her. “Devil’s Race?”

  “That’s what it’s called. It’s a creek.”

  “Near where we’re going?”

  She shook her head. “About five miles farther on.”

  “What’s the most you’ve ever hiked?”

  “In a day?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Seventeen miles,” she said.

  In all that talk she kept her eyes dead front. I decided I was pushing too much, so I just watched what we passed. Houses had disappeared. The hills were higher, the forest thicker. It wasn’t long before we passed a big wooden sign with incised letters reading:

  PENNSYLVANIA GAME LANDS

  ST. ANTHONY’S WILDERNESS

  “Who’s St. Anthony?” I asked.

  “Supposed to be a finder of lost things and a helper against diabolic possession,” Ann said.

  “What’s he got to do with this place?”

  She shrugged. “No one knows for sure. It’s just what it’s called.”

  I glanced back at Uncle Dave. He was staring out the window. I wasn’t even sure he had heard.

  Ann took the van up a long, extra-steep hill where the drop off the roadside was sheer. Beyond, the foliage was bright green, new stuff, with darker patches of pine. We were the only ones going in.

  The van made it to the top of the hill, then swung off the road. We were no longer on the regular road, but on a long, wide stretch that was mostly gravel.

  Close to a low, swinging gate, Ann brought us to a stop. “Trail head,” she announced, setting the parking brake. The air felt fresh, sharper than in Lickdale. Ours was the only car there.

  We got out, stretched, locked the van doors.

  “Thieves?” I asked.

  “You never know.”

  The gate was a big counterbalanced affair, thirty feet long, not locked, just closed. Off to one side was a bunch of signs, listing rules for the area, like “No unauthorized motor vehicles. No gathering wood for fires.” I didn’t bother to read all of them.

  Ann and I climbed the low gate. Uncle Dave went around. On the other side the road ran straight and level as a yardstick. You could almost see the railroad that used to be there, slicing through the woods.

  “John Proud, here we come!” called Uncle Dave suddenly. It was as if he were giving a challenge, or a warning. Without waiting, he set off at a smart pace.

  I looked at Ann, wishing she would ease up. But all she said was “We better go,” and we followed Uncle Dave. From somewhere, those military cannons beat upon the air.

  8

  I had a nagging feeling that we were going into something, something hard. I tried to push it away. It kept coming back.

  At one point, when Uncle Dave was still ahead and Ann and I were walking at our own pace, Ann asked, “How you doing?”

  “Okay,” I said, glad that she had decided to notice me again.

  “You look nervous.”

  “I do?”

  She nodded yes.

  Suddenly I said, “What’s this all about?”

  “When you take this trail,” she said, “it’s like marching back into history.”

  “A time machine?”

  “Sort of. Everything seems simpler, basic.”

  I said nothing.

  “Want to go back?” she asked.

  “No,” I answered, surprised she had even asked.

  “Okay,” she said with a sudden smile that made me feel close to her again, “I might as well enjoy it.”

  “Think I need to stop a bit,” announced Uncle Dave. He was sitting down on a roadside log. We stopped too.

  Soon as we did, Ann swung off her pack. “How about some water?” she said to me.

  I took off the canteen, unscrewed the top, and handed it to Uncle Dave. He took a swig, then passed it on to Ann. Then me. Meanwhile, from her pack, Ann pulled out a bag of what looked like a mix of candies, nuts, and raisins.

  “GORP,” she announced.

  “What?”

  “Good Old Raisins and Peanuts. Quick-energy food.”

  I took a handful and popped bits into my mouth. Uncle Dave did the same, but slower.

  “How you doing?” I asked Uncle Dave.

  “Don’t worry,” he said irritably. “I’m still here.”

  Ann was watching Uncle Dave carefully. The next moment, without saying a word, she jumped into the woods. Uncle Dave and I just waited. In moments she returned with a big stick in her hand. “Walking stick,” she said, offering it to Uncle Dave.

  “Fancy name for a cane,” he said, but he took it anyway.

&n
bsp; In a few moments we started off again, Uncle Dave using the stick. I kept my distance.

  We hit the first of the ruins a mile down the road. I wouldn’t have noticed if Ann hadn’t pointed it out. It was a clearing with a hole, a big rectangular one, with trees right in its middle. The hole was lined with stones.

  “House foundation,” said Ann. “The chimney is over there.”

  “Doesn’t look like much,” I said.

  “But it does make you wonder about them, doesn’t it?” she said. “Who they were. What they did . . . what happened to them.”

  “When you’re dead, you’re dead,” said Uncle Dave.

  9

  “How much farther?” I asked.

  “Maybe two miles.”

  We continued at a steady pace. Every now and again the army guns sounded in the distance like a reminder. I was edgy again. I felt that I was being watched. Uncle Dave, I noticed, kept stealing looks at me as if to catch me at something. I began wishing he hadn’t come at all.

  We went on. As we did, Uncle Dave’s face became red, bright with sweat. “Didn’t think it’d be so warm,” he said, and took another rest.

  That time we waited fifteen minutes before starting again.

  Twice we passed foundations of old homes, the brown stone heavy and broken. In one of the places a tree had split a piece of stone, like a hand reaching out of time.

  We plodded on.

  Then Ann announced, “We’re almost there.”

  Uncle Dave stopped, ran a handkerchief around his face and neck, and looked at me as if asking for something. His face, which had been red, was now a chalky white.

  “Water?” I offered.

  “Take all you want,” said Ann.

  Uncle Dave took a swallow of water, coughed, then gave the canteen back.

  Wanting to get there faster, I decided to take the lead. Ann, however, kept trying to slow me down—or so it seemed—by pointing out sights.

  “Ruins of five houses in there. And see that?” she said. “It’s an old turntable, where they turned the steam engines around. And right down there,” she said, pointing, “is where we want to go.”

  “Where?”

  “See the bridge? The Appalachian Trail passes next to it. We’re only a quarter mile away from the cemetery.”