Chapter 5A Footpath in the Wilderness - Friday, June 8th
Clayton accepted that he was alone now. His team was gone. Either scattered or dead. He had been walking all night. First, bushwhacking at a furious pace as the woods darkened, then following another forest road that he came upon during his trek. He had pointed his nose north for a couple of Klicks, then started in a northeasterly course once again as the night wore on and the waning Gibbous moon had risen sometime after midnight and helped guide him with its thin light. He didn’t dare use his head lamp at first and after a while he didn’t need it. Now he was walking down an old forest road that was traveling in a generally north, northeast direction. The forest to his right had been getting brighter as the dawn harkened. The wood thrush started his morning routine. His “ee –o- lay” echoing through the foggy forest. Greeting the morning with cheer, which made Clayton’s situation seem all the more hopeless.
The road came to a junction. The way crossing this old road was a trail. There were some skillfully laid stone steps coming down into the road from Clayton’s right and continuing on the other side of the road, moving back into the forest. There was a sign on the left side of the road and on a tree behind the sign; there glowed a white strip of paint. Two inches wide and six long. The blaze of the Appalachian Trail.
Memories of twenty-four years ago came flooding back into Clayton’s mind. The AT. My trail. I found it, Clayton thought to himself. Clayton sat on the bottom stone step and reached into his shirt again to pull out the pouch he wore there. He opened the pouch and emptied its contents. He caressed the braided locks of hair, smelling the scents of his wife and children. He took the twenty-sided die and rolled it onto the road. When it came to a stop, he picked it up and saw the number 17. “Not a bad roll,” Clayton said to the forest. “A good omen if there ever was one.”
This trail is the way home. I’m going to follow this trail home, Clayton thought once again to himself. Placing the special contents back into the pouch, and placing it back inside his shirt, he took the trail to the left. The one that headed north. The one that headed home to his wife and children.
Clayton had been following the trial for several miles now. As he moved along, memories of long ago, when he last hiked this part of the trail, came flooding back. It was as if he had been here only a week or two ago, the visions in his mind were so clear. In front of him, he saw a sign that told him he was entering the Blood Mountain Wilderness. Thinking back to his hike, he remembered how that mountain had seriously kicked his ass as he made his way over it, but he had been determined then and was just as determined now, to get over it. The reason was on the other side of that mountain, was Neels Gap. The first resupply stop of his hike long ago. He knew now that wearing his camo uniform had made him a target for others who were just as confused as he was as to what was happening. He hoped that maybe he would be able to change out his gear to help him blend in a little better which was ironic when you think about exchanging your camouflaged clothes and gear for something that looked more common and regular.
This time he powered over the mountain, stopping at the stone shelter at the top for a short rest and a look around before heading down the other side where the outfitter and hostel stood right in the middle of the trail along a mountain road. From his vantage point atop the rock formation next to the shelter, Clayton could see for miles. All he could see was mountains moving off into the purple distance. Everything seems so majestic and calm. There was no way to tell that all hell had broken loose down in those valleys far off into the distance. Everything seemed so peaceful up here, which just confused Clayton more. He needed to figure out what was going on. He needed to get back home to make sure everything was all right. Never in his thirty-nine years had he felt so helpless with the situation that was in front of him. He didn’t like the feeling.
The trail slowly made its way down the mountain to the road. As he made his way down, Clayton could catch glimpses of the road and the stone building that was across the asphalt. All looked quiet here. He didn’t see anyone moving about, but he could see that the door to the Mountain Crossings Outfitter was ripped off its hinges and sitting askew against the wall. He did not have a good feeling about this and went into super cautions mode. Slowly, he descended the last 100 yards of trail to the road. Sitting in the bushes and surveilling the area for several minutes. He heard and saw nothing from that vantage, so he carefully crossed the road and moved towards the building.
Once again, he listened and watched for movement and sound. Once again, he was greeted with silence and stillness. He peeked inside and saw that something bad had happened inside. The place looked like a bomb had gone off inside. There was ruined gear everywhere, scattered amongst the aisles of the store. There had been a major conflict here.
Entering the building, Clayton made a quick transit of the store. He could see clothes and gear strung about and thought that he could piece together a kit that wouldn’t make him stand out, but it would take some searching. There didn’t seem to be any backpacks in the mess though.
Clayton looked up and saw a line of packs hanging along the wall about nine feet up. There were all kinds and styles. Mostly old external frames that had clearly seen many miles on somebody’s back, each had a small sign under it. Off to the right, there was one, a little more modern. It was a Kelty, internal frame, about 60 liters or so.
There was a sign below this one as well. Clayton went over and peered into the darkness of the disheveled store. Cleveland Charlie – Thru Hiker – 9 time repeat offender. The pack didn’t look too badly worn and seemed to still be serviceable. “Well, if it was good enough for Cleveland Charlie, it should be good enough for Clayton Fictilibus Collier. He stacked up a few wooden boxes he found and removed the pack from the wall. He opened it to see what was inside. It was mostly paper stuffed inside, to make it look full, but within the stuffing, he found an old cook kit, that included a homemade alcohol stove made from an old cat food can and a nice pot that would work well. Clayton removed the paper and started looking around for more gear that he would need as he journeyed home to his family.
Clayton’s next priority was to find clothes that were not camo. He found a pair of brown convertible pants stuffed into the corner of the room and after some more searching, he found a black shirt that would do well. A dark gray ball cap with an Under Armor insignia topped off his look. He was on his way to not looking like the uniformed enemy that had killed some of his squad. He quickly changed out of his uniform, into the found clothes and immediately started feeling better. The clothes were comfortable, and he could tell they were good quality. Having all the properties of good sports gear. He also moved his meager gear from his standard issue survival pack to the old Kelty that Cleveland Charlie had used a long time ago. Clayton started to look around some more. His foot kicked a small plastic package. Looking down, he could see it was a Sawyer water filter. This will last longer than the few iodine pills I have left, he thought. It went into the pack, along with a lighter he saw sitting on the counter and a decent rain jacket that was crumpled up in the corner of the room. It’s going to be wet along the way. This will help augment the poncho and keep me warm when I’m wet or it gets windy, his thought continued. Under the counter, he found a full container of rubbing alcohol and after scrounging in the recycle can, he found a used coke bottle. He filled the bottle, and placed in one of the side pockets of the pack. He now had fuel for the old stove he had found. His mood was starting to improve.
Thud! A noise came from the back room that sounded like a shoe dropping. He made his way down the hallway to the doorway and crouched low. He heard the noise again and knew it was coming from his right just past the doorway. Clayton entered the room, holding the one trekking pole he had picked up in the destroyed gear area in one hand and his other hand was on the handle of his still sheathed knife.
As he turned to his right, he saw what to him looked like a young man, with short brown hair, poised over a pile of gear and food. The boy’s back was facing Clayton, so he said calmly, “Hey, how are you doing?” The boy stood quickly and spun around, hand going to a small knife on his belt. “It’s ok. I’m friendly.” Clayton stated, holding his hands out in front, with the pole’s end pointing at the ground. Clayton, saw that this was not a boy he was looking at, but a young woman, with her hair cut short. Her brown locks had a choppy look, but she pulled it off nicely. She looked at Clayton, with a little fear in her eyes, but also a fierceness that he could sense immediately. “I’m Clayton.”
“Gnobbit,” the girl replied.
“Nobbit?”, Clayton asked.
“Yes, she said. G N O B B I T. Kinda like a mix of Gnome and Hobbit, Gnobbit. It’s my trail name.” She smiled as she said it. She was a little on the short side, but I wouldn’t put her into the category of Halfling. She had a quiet beauty that was easy to see, especially when she smiled. She was dressed in all black clothes, with a small knife at her waist.
“Well, way back a few years ago, I hiked the Trail as Fictilibus. You can call me Fic, if you want”. Clayton replied, remembering once again, his time on the Trail so long ago.
Clayton looked at the pile of stuff at Gnobbit’s feet. She had gathered a large amount of freeze-dried food and other sources of calories. “Doing a little resupply?” he asked.
“Yes, I found all this scattered about and also a small closet in back had some more stuff. I had to jimmie the lock, but it was pretty easy. I have more than I need right now, so I’m willing to share” was her response.
“My supplies are a little low, so I think I might take you up on that offer. Which way are you heading?” Clayton saw her eyes narrow a little as he asked the question. A little wariness crept into her voice.
“North. I need to get back home to Pearisburg, Virginia and find out what the heck happened out there. I was only supposed to be on a two-week hike.”
“I’m heading home too. I live a ways north of Pearisburg. My squad and I were down here for some survival training when all of this went down. We had some real shitty things happen, and I have been separated from my guys.”
“Squad? Your guys?” Gnobbit’s eyes narrowed a little more and a look of fear entered them. “Are you Army?” she asked, taking a step back and moving her hand to her knife.
“Yes, I am, but I’m not one of the bad guys. Have you seen anything strange dealing with Army personnel?” Clayton wanted to put her at ease. He tried to present a relaxed posture, but something didn’t feel right.
“That’s exactly what a bad guy would say.” Gnobbit said. After a second or two of hesitation she added. “Yes, I have. Men dressed in camo and driving one of those drab hummers are the ones who did this damage. I was hiding up on the hillside while they ransacked the place and took a bunch of stuff. It was scary.”
“Those same guys, or ones like them, killed my LT and another of my squad. I’m not sure who they are, but they are not real Army, or they have gone rogue. Also, we were attacked by some locals yesterday which is what split us all up. I think they thought we were the bad guys, and we didn’t have the time to explain to them as they were shooting arrows, shotguns and rifles at us. That’s why I changed out of my camo when I found these nice hiking clothes laying in the wreckage of the store.” Clayton explained. “You know, since we are both headed in the same direction, maybe we should hike together. So, we can watch each other’s back. And your skill at finding food, seems to be a true asset.” “I think I would like that.” The young woman replied. “Speaking of food, I’m a little hungry. I was thinking of checking out the hostel on the other side of the building. Eat a little something and maybe look around to see what is there.”
“That sounds like a great idea. I have been walking all night. I’m wiped out. It would be good to get some sleep without having to worry about anyone attacking me. But first, some food.”
The pair split the pile of food and put it into their packs. Gnobbit had stashed her pack in a dark corner of the store. After looking around the store one more time to see if there was anything else of use, they went to the door. Clayton stood in the shadows and just observed the small parking lot and the road in front of the building. The view looked like your typical afternoon day in the northern Georgia mountains. The clouds had rolled in and it looked like rain was on its way.
They hefted their packs and walked along the building, down some stone steps to the parking lot. They followed a wooden rail fence to a gravel pathway. There were picnic tables under a large tree. Looking up into the tree, Clayton could see dozens, if not hundreds of shoes and boots hanging from the branches. There are many stories about this tree, but Clayton had figured those boots were from hikers who had walked the first 31 miles of the trail in the wrong boots and had purchased something that they hoped would work better at the Outfitter here. Slinging their rejected foot ware up into the tree as a ritual or rite of some kind. Clayton considered it just glorified trash, but it did look cool on a foggy morning, which was what the weather was like the last time he had walked by here, twenty-four years ago.
After the last table, there were stone steps that went down to a green door. They went down the steps and up to the door. Clayton tried the door, and it was locked. The small patio outside the door was surrounded by a small picket fence. Gnobbit dropped her pack and went to the small opening in the fence and walked around the side of the building. Clayton heard the crash of breaking glass as he sat exhausted on the stone steps. Two minutes later the door opened and there was Gnobbit, smiling her secret smile. “Welcome to Walasi-Yi Inn.” she said. “Come on in.”
Clayton smiled, grabbed his pack and walked inside the old hostel.
The room was dark as they entered. The only light was coming in the three windows to the left. One of the windows had broken glass beneath it. Gnobbit’s entry point. Her burglar skills were impressive. The area they were in looked like a living area. There was a mishmash of couches and recliner chairs, a low coffee table and a few regular chairs. To the right was a small bathroom with a toilet and stand-up shower. The back of the room had a small bar and behind that a kitchen sink and counter. A passageway on the right led to the sleeping area. It was much darker back there, so Clayton put his head lamp on to explore that room. The room had several clunky bunk beds all around it. They appeared to be made of 2 x 4s, 2 x 6s, and plywood. Thin mattresses were present on each bed and the upper bunks had ladders built in.
Clayton headed back to the kitchen area and dropped his pack. He was starving. He dug through the new food Gnobbit shared with him and pulled out a nice Mountain House Meal. Chili Mac with Beef. He tried the sink to see if it worked, but no water came out.
Gnobbit was in the living area looking through a bookcase against the wall. “It looks like the water isn’t flowing.” Clayton stated the obvious. “This building must be on a well. No electricity, no pump working. Luckily, I still have enough water in my canteens. How are you doing for water?”
“I’m good.” Gnobbit responded. “I have about a liter and a half.”
Clayton pulled out the old alcohol stove he had found in the old pack. He saw another can of denatured alcohol on the counter next to the sink when he was looking around and it was still half full. He poured a little into the stove to save the supply he had in his coke bottle and lit it up. A soft blue flame filled the old can. Clayton poured some water into his pot and placed it on the stove.
Gnobbit, reached into her pack and pulled out a small blue stuff sack. Inside was a small pot and inside that was a little stove. Also inside the sack was a small red canister. She screwed the stove on to the canister and fired it up. Her flame was also blue, but it made a low hissing sound that seemed to mean business. “I hope I can get more of this fuel soon. Otherwise, I’ll be cooking on a fire for my meals.”
“The trail provides.” Clayton announced. “You never know when the things you need will just show up. I have seen it happen a hundred times.”
“Me too.” Gnobbit replied. She sat watching the blue flame lick over the bottom of her pot. Her concentration revealed that she was thinking of something important. “What do you think happened, Fic?” She asked her new hiking partner.
“I really don’t know, Gnobbit. We saw what looked like an atomic explosion over Atlanta. What was it? Two days ago, now. Wow, it already seems like a long time ago. So much has happened. If you take that with the addition of the rogue army, it seems like something might have happened to our government. Maybe an overthrow or something. We were completely out of contact with our base, except for an emergency beacon which seems to have stopped working. I remember hearing something on the radio on the way down. That asshole Richard Flaherty was stirring things up again. Whatever is happening, it seems to not only have affected this part of the country, but maybe all over the place. No electricity points to a breakdown in infrastructure and basic services.” Clayton reached down to his pack and pulled the beacon out of a side pocket. He turned it on and waited a minute. Searching… Searching… Searching… He took the device over to the window and sat it on the sill. Hoping that maybe it just needed a better view of the quiet sky.
The water was boiling now. Gnobbit’s stove worked a bit better, and she had already transferred her hot water into a bag of food, and it was sitting on the counter, finishing up the cook. Clayton did the same with his water and placed his pouch next to Gnobbit’s.
He flicked on his headlamp and looked around some more while his meal soaked in the hot water. He first came to the bookcase that Gnobbit had been checking out. There were a few dozen paperback books on the shelf. Every genre seemed to be covered. On the third shelf down he saw a long, but short book with a green cover. The A.T. Guide, is discernable as his headlamp came to rest on the cover. It was last year’s version. Since Taylor took the maps, this might come in handy along the trail. Let us know what is ahead of us. He thought. He set it aside and asked Gnobbit. “Do you have a trail guide?”
“Yes.” She replied. “I have this year's version of The A.T. Guide. It really comes in handy.”
“I found an old one over here that I think I will bring along, so we can compare notes along the way as we plan.” Clayton set the book on the coffee table and continued looking around.
In the corner he found a box with the words Hiker Box on it. He looked around inside to see what was there. He found one of those canisters that Gnobbit had used and when he shook it; it seemed be at least a quarter full. He held it up and showed his light on the can. “The Trail Provides.” He announced towards Gnobbit. “It still has some fuel in it. I can bring it along in my pack, just in case. Maybe if we keep finding this stuff, we can share the stove at times. Your stove works a lot better than my little alcohol stove and I’m in the same position as you as to finding fuel for it.”
“Sure.” She replied.
The box had a few odds and ends that other hikers had discarded. Some of it was trash, some useless stuff that wouldn’t be needed and a few odds and ends that Clayton didn’t feel the need to carry for now. He continued on his search of the rooms.
The food was done. Both hikers sat spooning their meal into their mouths. Neither saying anything. Just replenishing calories.
When he was done, he licked off his spoon and folded up his trash and put his cooking gear away. His eyes had taken on the weight of a thousand tons. “I think I need to get some shuteye. If you need me to keep watch or something later, just wake me up.” He grabbed his pack and walked into the bunk room. He found a bunk that was in a little alcove, away from the rest of the room. It was even darker back here. He got his bag out and took off his boots. He didn’t even bother taking off any clothes. It was warm enough inside, so he just flopped down on top of the bag and after about fifteen seconds, a small, soft snore escaped his nose. He was already asleep.
“Fic, wake up.” Clayton could feel his shoulder being softly shaken. The plea to wake up had been a soft whisper. “What’s up Gnobbit? You need me to keep watch?” He asked.
“No. There’s someone outside. Many someones by the sound of it.”
Clayton listened and could hear the tell-tale sound of a humvee’s diesel engine idling out in the parking lot. More than one by the level of sound that was getting through the stone walls. He could also hear men talking and shouting to each other. He quickly got up out of his bunk and slipped his boots on.
He grabbed his bag and shoved it into his pack. Gnobbit already had her pack beside her.
In the back of the alcove, the bunks had stopped, leaving a small hidey hole that they could use. Clayton grabbed Gnobbit’s and his pack and placed them in the back of the space. He ushered Gnobbit into the space and told her, “Just stay there, I’ll be back in a second.”
She nodded and drew her knife from her belt. Clayton did the same with his knife. He couldn’t see shit, so he turned on the red function of his headlamp and moved off to the living room area of the hostel. There was light coming in the windows from the flashlights outside. It moved around to and fro and caused shadows to jump up and move around. Clayton turned off his red light and crouched in the doorway. Just then someone tried to open the door to the hostel. It was locked. Clayton sent a word of thanks to Gnobbit, who had obviously locked the door after Clayton had passed out.
Clayton could hear the men talking to each other and then there was a loud boom as someone, or something was bounced off the thick door. They were breaking in.
Clayton retreated to the alcove and crouched in front of Gnobbit. “They're coming in.” He updated her.
“Duh.” was her response.
They heard the barrier give up its last hold on its hinges and the door came crashing down inside the building.
The men stopped talking and came looking. Clayton could see their flashlights moving over the space and then he saw it coming into the bunk room. He froze in place and felt Gnobbit do the same.
Only one man came into the bunk room. He shined his light on every bunk as he quickly moved to the end and then back. He even shined it on the bunks in the alcove, but didn’t bother to come back and shine it in their hidey hole.
Both hikers let out a slow, quiet breath that they just realized they had been holding as the light moved out of the room and back to the main space.
“The place is empty.” Said one of the men.
“Not much here since we took the stuff.” His companion replied.
“Just following orders. The Regime is now in charge, and they are calling the shots. Personally, I don’t think they had to bomb all of those cities, but I guess The Boss thought it was necessary.”
“Yeah, that was intense, but this is the way we need it to be. We gotta keep hitting the resistance hard and fast. Squash it before it takes hold. If they won’t give us the power, we need to take it, and take it is what Flaherty did.”
Their conversation continued, but they were heading out of the building and their words became garbled and unreadable. After a few more minutes, the area became quiet again.
The companions sat for a few more minutes. Clayton checked his watch. It was 0430. At 0440, Clayton once again crept out of the hole and into the main room. He moved towards the now open space where the door had been and peeked outside. He saw three humvees move down the road to the north. He also smelled smoke.
After the humvees had moved out of sight, Clayton walked up the stone steps and onto the gravel trailway. He could see a flickering light coming from inside the store. Those fuckers had torched it. Seeing the light grow brighter he turned around and moved to the door.
Gnobbit stood in the doorway with both packs. Clayton grabbed his and slung it on his back. Gnobbit did the same with hers.
They both walked up the stone steps and turned left. Moving under a covered breezeway, they continued along the path. There was an open yard behind the building. More picnic tables and some large trees. The breeze was picking up here. Coming down the ridge and blowing through this gap. They moved on quickly into the woods and walked about 300 meters until they came to a small campsite. They hunkered down here and waited for daylight. As they sat near a small rock fire ring, a soft rain began to fall. Both hikers pulled out their rain jackets and put them on.
As the adrenaline once again died down in his body, Clayton could feel how his body and mind felt. He actually felt pretty good. His body had recharged and repaired itself while he slept. Even his sore shoulder felt better. He felt like he could put in a strong hike in the coming day. “Did you sleep at all Gnobbit?” He asked.
“Yes. I got a few hours. I’m feeling pretty good considering.”
“Me too. Are you ready to put in some miles today? Get closer to home?” He asked.
“I am.” She replied.
The dawn had started to brighten the woods to the east, and the rain continued at a steady patter. Their eyes were well adjusted to the dim light, so they once again donned their packs and started walking along the now wet trail. Hiking north. Hiking home. As they started their day’s walk, Clayton kept thinking about what he had heard. The Regime. The Boss. The Resistance. Flaherty. He needed to learn more.