The Legend Unleashed. L.S. Strange
did you get it started?”
Scott mumbled, “What is it with the thousand questions?” Aloud he replied, “I just went over the connections and made sure everything was okay. After I reconnected what was loose, it started.” Uncontrollable, Scott added a little chuckle. To his ears, it sounded like the laugh of a lunatic, but it seemed to be working.
Michael was not deterred. “How did it get loose?”
Scott felt as though he was going to lose it. He managed to maintain enough control so that no one suspected he just had the hell scared out of him.
“Probably the washboard ruts in the road loosened them.”
“I’m glad you fixed it.”
Scott nodded and continued driving. “Thank God he doesn’t have any more questions, or I would have gone insane,” Scott thought. He kept going over it in his mind. How could the wire have come off and the van stay running? Then a comforting idea jumped into his head.
“I bet Bob did it. Yea, yea, that’s it! Bob did it. He woke up while we were gone and decided to play one of his juvenile practical jokes. What a butthead!” Scott thought.
Although this thought temporarily consoled his traumatized psyche, deep in the back of his mind, Scott knew that was not the answer. He did know that he did not want to know what the real answer was. With that, Scott forced these notions from his head. He had to focus all his attention on driving, or he would get everyone killed. After only three miles, the dirt road veered back onto pavement again. He was glad to see this because the jarring of the rutted land was scrambling his brains.
The panorama of the high county was captivating. Lush meadows softly nestled between the majestic solid mountains. The van glided over the pavement mile after mile. The minutes melted into hours as they rode over the winding road to their destination. Scott could not believe that the men were still asleep; it was almost as if they had been drugged. Must be the sleep of the dead. Soon the boys joined them, and Scott was the only one awake. Finally, as the sun was directly overhead, Scott pulled off to the side of the road to consult the map. He had to go “old school” because he didn’t have any access on his android cell phone. Scott followed with his finger the thin red line indicating the route.
“Okay, we are here, and we need to be here. Just a few more miles, and we should see the campground.” Feeling good about maintaining the proper course, Scott placed the map back in the glove compartment and pulled the van onto the road.
At the next fork in the road, Scott veered to the left and began the steep climb up the mountain. He shifted into a low gear to get more pull from the engine as the grade increased. The extra power was needed not only for the van but the trailer as well. Slowly the van ascended the winding road. He prayed no one was coming down the mountain this way because the road was so narrow there would be no place for him to let someone pass. Scott felt as though he were conducting The Little Engine That Could, inching its way up the steep grade. The task was grueling and nerve-wracking. He glanced down out of his window to the straight drop off at the edge of the road. It was a long, long way down to the bottom. Large fir trees looked like saplings, and the undergrowth was just a blur of color. He held an iron grip on the steering wheel because he was afraid of heights. Each second that passed was agonizing, and Scott wished this part were over. Everyone else was still snoozing.
“These guys can sleep through anything!” he thought aloud. Then realized since there was no cell service, that means no tablet or phone. The boys were board and slept.
When they reached the summit, the route went straight for one eighth of a mile, and it felt as though he were driving at the top of the world. Then it started to descend the backside of the mountain. Scott let out a sigh of relief and kept it in the lowest gear so he would not use the brakes too often causing them to overheat. Many times, he had nearly come to a complete stop on the hairpin turns and then let it coast a hundred to two hundred feet, giving the brakes a rest before using them again. The ride down felt much quicker than the tormenting passage up.
At the foot of the mountain, a large valley spread out before them. He reckoned that on the other side of the valley was the campground. He could see the edge of the forest and knew, concealed in it was their target. Scott glanced at his watch. “Three o’clock, not bad time at all,” he thought.
Once again, the van left the pavement to a dirt road. This time, the jostling caused all dozing occupants to stir and grumble. The boys were fidgeting as soon as they realized they were almost there. Both were beaming and had their hands and noses pressed against the window, trying to see more and quicken the pace.
Before long, they had crossed the valley and were at the edge of the forest. The sentinels to greet them were robust fir trees watching every movement as dutiful guards should.
Scott stopped the van. Red and blue lights were flashing everywhere. Their beams ricocheted off the foliage, making it look like an outdoor disco. Ambulances and police cars blocked the road and entrance to the campground. Emergency personnel were bustling about taking no notice of the group. A few large craterlike holes were by the edge of the chain-link fence that ran the perimeter of the campground. It appeared as though massive trees had been uprooted, leaving gaping wounds on the land. Yellow police caution tape covered almost everything in all directions. Scott stared as paramedics loaded stretcher after stretcher into the waiting ambulances. His heart skipped a beat when he realized that a sheet was pulled up over the person’s face on all of them. Then as one was being loaded, an arm fell out from under the sheet. It hung there limp and lifeless. The appendage was mangled, and chunks of flesh were missing exposing stark white bone. Thick dark blood ran down it and dripped from the fingertips. A paramedic gently placed it back under the sheet then wiped is hand on his shirt, leaving behind a nasty crimson stain. Scott and the boys rushed out.
“What the hell is going on?” Scott objected in a mixture of anger, curiosity, and frustration. The jolt of the sudden stop awakened the remaining slumbering passengers. Looking around and realizing they had halted, they disembarked the vehicle. All of them stood together staring, frozen to the spot. They all started talking at the same time.
“What’s going on?”
“This isn’t good.”
“What does it mean?”
“Hey!”
“Dad, why can’t we go in?”
John spoke but was not heard over the din.
“Shut up!” Ron yelled. After all was quiet, he said, “What did you say?”
“Some debauchery has happened here, and they are conducting an investigation,” John replied.
“Who talks like that?” Bob snorted.
“Shut up,” Ron said directly to Bob, then turned to John. “How do you know that?”
“Only intelligent people, something you know nothing about. It’s obvious by the people here.” Mocking Bob, he continued as if speaking to a simpleton. “The men wearing badges are police, and the ones with the medical clothes are paramedics.”
“I’m gonna whip your ass!” Bob exploded.
Ron stepped between them and, with one hard look, stopped Bob from further action and comment.
John continued, directing his comments to the rest of the group, “Something of catastrophic proportions has occurred, and they are cleaning up the destruction left behind. From the carnage, it appears to have been a massacre.”
“What does that mean?” Bob couldn’t help himself.
“It means something bad happened here.”
“Bad?” Bob hollered directly in John’s face. This time, Ron shoved Bob very hard.
“You freaking mook! The opposite of good! Bad! Get it?” Ron’s hands were balled into fists. He had an incredible urge to punch Bob. Just one punch would make Ron feel so good. Scott jumped between Bob and Ron putting his hands out, one on each of their chests, to keep them