Bull Mountain(17)

“The whole tree?”

“The whole tree. We just sat back and watched it burn. When the fire took to the hornet’s nest, I swear I could hear ’em screamin’. Whistlin’ like fireworks. It felt good to hear them burn like that.”

“Then what happened?”

“Deddy saw the smoke from the house and him and Jimbo Cartwright come haulin’ ass out there. We cut a break to contain it and managed to get the fire out before it spread.”

“Was he mad?” Clayton immediately regretted asking that question.

“Well, goddamn, Clayton, what do you think? Hell, yeah, he was mad. I toted a legendary ass-whuppin’ that night. So did Buckley.” He paused again, then brought his voice down. “But I gotta tell you, little brother, it was worth it. It was worth it to hear those little bastards screaming.”

Clayton forced down the rest of his beer and tossed the can on the floorboard like his brother had done. Hal stopped the truck and cut off the parking lights. He popped open the last beer and downed it in three huge gulps. His belch was hearty, loud, and long. Clayton wished he could burp like that.

“We gotta walk from here,” Hal said. He grabbed his shotgun, racked it, and quietly got out of the truck. Clayton followed suit. He thought maybe he’d been here before with Deddy, but couldn’t be sure in the dark. This part of the mountain was peppered with stills, but a lot of them were in disrepair. Ever since the focus had shifted to the crops under the northern face, this area was tended to less and less. It wasn’t abandoned, just not a priority.

They walked about a quarter mile into the woods before they could see the dim light of a campfire through the trees.

“Hey, Hal,” Clayton said. “Whatever happened to Big Merle? I haven’t seen him around for a while. Did his family move off the mountain?”

“He’s dead,” Hal said. “Buckley beat him to death with a piece of stove wood and dropped him in a hole. Fat bastard wasn’t happy with his place in the pecking order—got greedy. It happens. Now be quiet, we got a job to do.”

Hal crept silently through the trees toward the glow of the fire, and Clayton mimicked his every move. The closer they got, the quieter Hal moved until even Clayton could barely hear him from only a few feet away. When they were close enough, Clayton could see it was one of Deddy’s stills, one that was supposed to be decommissioned. It wasn’t. They stopped at a cluster of pine trees and watched a blond-haired man with a patchy beard stoke a fire under a massive copper boiler. The heat coming off the barrels felt good on Clayton’s face after the long hike through the cold woods. He tugged at Hal’s shirt to get his attention, and Hal leaned in close.

“There’s only one,” Clayton whispered. “That’s good, right?”

“It’s good, but it ain’t the one we want.”

“So, what do we do?”

“What do you do when you can’t reach a hornet’s nest?”

Clayton didn’t take long to come up with the answer his brother was looking for. “You set fire to the tree,” he said.

“Very good, kiddo.” Hal ruffled Clayton’s bushy red hair. “I think Deddy’s got you all wrong. Now stay here.” Hal put a finger to his lips and vanished into the darkness. He reappeared less than a minute later directly behind Blondie, who was now copping a squat by a small campfire, thumbing through a skin mag, his rifle propped up against a tree to his left. Hal drew back and hit the man in the temple with the butt end of his Mossberg. Blondie never knew what hit him. He went down hard, face-first into the dirt. It was the coolest thing Clayton had ever seen. His brother was awesome.

“Clayton,” Hal said, snapping the boy back into the moment, “get out here and tie this pig-f*cker to that hemlock tree.”

Clayton shuffled out of the woods with a quickness. He’d always been good with the knots. He was sure Hal knew that. Hal pulled a length of paracord from his jacket and tossed it to Clayton, who bound the unconscious man in no time. Hal kicked over the huge metal boiler—the heart of the ancient still—and the coals spilled out all over the small clearing. Once some of the underbrush started to ignite from the coals, Hal used the high-octane hooch in the barrels as an accelerant, dousing the entire site. Almost instantly the small patch of woods became a blazing inferno.

“Holy shit, Hal! How we gonna put this out?”

“We’re not. They are.” He pointed to the man tied to the tree.

Clayton was confused.

Hal explained. “This fire is going to be seen by the fella Deddy sent us here to find, and I promise you he’ll be along shortly. When him and his boys are all tuckered out from fightin’ a woods fire, we’ll pick them off like fish in a barrel. It’ll be fun. C’mon, let’s go find a place to watch.”

“What about him?” Clayton pointed to the blond man, who was starting to come around due to the intense heat.

“Fuck him,” Hal said. “Come on.”

“But he’ll burn alive.”

“And?” Hal said, beginning to lose his patience. “Get your ass up that path before I leave you here to burn up with him.”

Clayton couldn’t move.

The man tied to the tree by Clayton’s knots awoke completely when the fire started licking his feet and legs. He swiveled his head back and forth, wide-eyed and frantic, taking in the scope of what was happening to him. He struggled to free himself, drawing his knees up to his chin. He screamed at Clayton to help him. He begged. Clayton just stared at him—horrified. Hal gripped Clayton hard under the arm and nearly ripped it off dragging the boy back out the way they came.