The old company van groaned as it clawed its way up the mountain. Seth had just reached the part where Jud Crandall warned Louis Creed that there were things worse than death when the engine dropped into a lower gear, lurching the whole crew forward.
He tucked the battered paperback behind the headrest and looked out the window.
The road snaked in and out of deep switchbacks. On the right side of the road, ancient rock walls glistened with dripping water. Here and there, outcroppings of stone jutted from the rock face above the van, glittering in the afternoon’s dying orange light.
Tall trees reached up out of the ravines, trying to touch the clouds.
Light coming through the canopy of tulip poplars, sweet birches, and maples created a flickering, almost strobe-light effect as the van struggled forward.
Then the van would round a bend, and the trees would give way to a view that stretched for miles. Far below, like a fingerprint, was the town of Marion, now nothing more than reflections of light on metal roofs.
Seth leaned past the snoring Fabian, who had once again turned his rolled-up hoodie into a pillow. He couldn't get enough of the mountains. Born and raised in Charleston, Seth was a sandlapper. This was the first time he'd ever been this far above sea level.
Jimmy Joe felt the familiar pull of his old friend nicotine, and swerved off 221 onto a short, semicircular drive. A wooden sign surrounded by a thick patch of rhododendrons stood in a grassy clearing between the turnout and 221. The sign read: COLLIER'S LOOKOUT, the letters deeply carved into weathered wood.
Bright purple and pink asters provided a splash of living color along the knee-high rock wall lining the lookout. Three pay-to-view telescopes stood along the rock wall.
Jimmy Joe eased into a parking spot. He opened the driver’s-side door and fished a pack of Weymouths from his breast pocket. He closed the van door, lit one of the brown cigarettes, took a deep drag, and coughed out a plume of smoke. His knees ached from the hours behind the wheel. He needed to stretch just as badly as he wanted the cigarette. None of the guys smoked in the van. They respected Seth too much to leave him cooped up in a cloud of it.
"Alright. you sad sacks. Smoke'em if you got'em." Jimmy Joe knocked on Fabian's window.
Fabian sat up, blinking. "Where the fuck are we?"
Scott pointed at the wooden sign, as if that cleared it all up.
Seth was already fishing a quarter out of his front pocket for the telescope.
Tommy and Scott lit cigarettes and joined Jimmy Joe upwind of Seth. Fabian caught a chill as a breeze lifted through the trees and made a low howling sound in the hollow below. He unrolled his hoodie and slipped it over his head and shoulders before lighting a fresh cigarillo, this one grape.
Like most overlook telescopes, every one of them was out of order. Seth walked over to the rest of the crew. He stayed a few steps away but still close enough to join the conversation.
"What a view," Jimmy Joe whispered in awe of the mountain.
"White people shit." Fabien joked and the guys laughed in agreement.
In the distance, Lake James was but a sliver of gold in the late afternoon light. To the north of the lake was the jagged cut in the Earth of Linville Gorge. Table Rock’s bald face looked down on the lake, and beyond it stood Hawksbill, silent and watchful over the countryside.
“Say, boss man, you think the van is gonna make it?” Scott asked, looking back at the company clunker.
Jimmy Joe took one last drag off his cigarette, and flung the butt to the ground, and stepped on it. "Sure it will. That one has served me well over the years."
"You two dating now?" Fabian asked, grinding the cigarillo’s flame out against the heel of his work boot.
Jimmy Joe's look of bewilderment had the crew laughing again.
Jimmy Joe said, “Finish up and get your asses back in the van. We still have about five hours ahead of us.”
Seth lingered even after the smokers had crushed out their butts and Fabian's cigarillo was back tucked behind his ear, to look at the view one last time. The wind gusted across the overlook, and old trees groaned at its push. Somewhere out in the green shadows, a limb splintered and crashed to the forest floor. Seth was lost for a second, daydreaming about the trail running he would do in Tennessee. He thought that after they got settled in, he might pick up a pair of trail shoes.
"Hey, Lowdermilk, you coming or do we need to file a missing person's report?" Jimmy Joe called from the driver's side window.
Seth sprinted to the van, and climbed back in. Jimmy Joe pulled back onto 221 for the rest of the climb.
The old gas station and Rachel’s Famous Rockhouse Restaurant beside it looked like roadside relics from years gone by. Creeping kudzu vines from the hills behind the buildings were taking over the backsides. Jimmy Joe let the overworked van sputter to a stop beside the sole ancient pump of Hal's Last Chance Gas and Snacks. The guys had seen signs about every quarter mile for the last two miles announcing everything that Hal's sold. They had the coldest drinks on the mountain, discount cigarettes, chips and candy, and, according to the signs the last chance to fill your tank for eighty miles.
Jimmy Joe said, "Everybody hit the head if you need to. This is the last chance."
He looked at the pump and chuckled. It had mechanical number wheels that clicked as the gallons climbed. He fished his wallet out of his pants as he went into the store. A soda machine hummed outside on the wooden porch with a couple of rocking chairs occupied by some old-timers in straw hats and overalls. Wind chimes made from old silverware rattled in the mountain breeze.
Scott stood by the van, silently surveying the scene. It was just habit after years in the service. He was always on edge, always looking for threats that didn't exist.
Inside the store, Fabian was complaining to Tommy about the lack of cigarillo choices. Tommy had settled on a bag of chips and a soda.
Seth was inside getting coffees for Jimmy Joe and Scott. Those two would see the trip through while the back-seaters fell asleep long before they reached the motel. He settled on an apple juice for himself, paid, and went back out to the van. Seth set the coffees down in the front seat cup holders. Scott saw him and nodded. Seth nodded back.
Jimmy Joe had the map out again, folded open on the hood of the van, while the gas slowly trickled into the tank. Scott went over to take a look.
Jimmy Joe traced the road on the map with his finger. "Looks like we can save an hour or so if we hang a right at this fork and cut through Craggy Dean Hollow. What do you think, Scott?"
Before Scott could answer, one of the old men spoke without looking away from the gathering thunderheads.
"Take the left."
Jimmy Joe looked over. "That right?"
The old man nodded once.
"Road'll narrow some, but it'll get you where you're going."
Jimmy Joe folded the map halfway closed. "What's wrong with the other road?"
The old man slowly turned his head.
"Don't pay no mind to it."
Scott smiled. "Why not?"
The old man spat a stream of tobacco juice into the gravel.
"Ain't nowhere you boys need to be."
Jimmy Joe chuckled. "What's out there?"
The old man looked toward the dark mountains beyond the gas station.
"Mountain."
He rocked once more in his chair.
Then he shuffled inside without another word, leaving the electricians standing beside the van with their map half folded between them.
Fabian, Seth, and Tommy were all sawing logs in the back of the van when it rumbled to a stop at the fork in the road. One road led toward Craggy Dean Hollow. The other took the long way through the mountains.
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"What do you think, Scott?"
There was a moment of silence as Scott thought it over. He rolled the window down. The night was pitch-black, the stars blotted out by the trees. There was no sound other than the rumbling of the van.
"Jimmy, we are in the mountains, so we have mountain, either way we go right?"
Jimmy nodded. He took a sip of coffee. The cool mountain night air felt good on his face and eased the ache in his road-weary eyes. He set his coffee back in the cup holder. He put pressure on the gas pedal and turned the van to the right toward the town of Craggy Dean Hollow.