Hillbilly

HILLBILLY

He sat on the front porch of the cabin in the hills watching the rain continue to fall. It had been raining like this for the past week with no let up in sight. There had come one little lull for about an hour, day before yesterday. At least they wouldn't come while it was raining this hard. Maybe when it let up, if it ever did, then they would come. When they did he would be ready for them. Leaning against the rough wooden chair in which he was sitting was an M-15 assault rifle and he had a 357 Magnum tucked inside his waist band. In the cabin, in various vantage points, there was enough firepower to hold off an army. He hoped that would not be necessary but if it was he would take it as it came.
It had started almost a year ago when he had been to the city down in the central part of the state. He had decided it was time for him to buy a new truck and went to the city to
get what he wanted. Like most people up in the hills, he was a little slow talking and slow moving. That is what started the problem with the men who were coming.
He had just taken delivery of his new three quarter ton four wheel drive Dodge pick-up. He had spent most of the day shopping for the truck and was tired. It was still a long drive back home and he was anxious to get started. He hadn't dressed up for the trip to the city since it wasn't Sunday and he didn't expect to see anybody important. Just wore his paratroop boots, his bib overalls and a blue work shirt. He looked like what he was, a backwoodsman in town.
I guess that's the reason things happened like they did. He had stopped at a convenience store to fill the dual tanks on his truck and get himself a sandwich for the trip home. As he walked back to his truck after paying the clerk he was accosted by three young men in their early twenties. One of them stepped in front of him so he was forced to stop to keep from running into him. The other two took positions on either side so as to block his movements away from the confrontation.
"Hey, Hillbilly," the one in front said, making it sound like an insult, "Where'd you get that new truck? How did a hillbilly like you ever get the money for anything like that?" His entire manner was one of scorn and insult.
"I worked hard and saved my money, just like anyone else," he told them in a slow drawl. He attempted to pass his accosters and get into his truck. They weren't through with their harassment though and the one who had done the talking gave him a push backward. "If you have that much money you can buy us a few beers, "he said. "Then, maybe, you can get in that pretty new truck and go back up into the hills where you came from."
Taking the man's silence for fear, he pushed him once again. Only this time the man pushed back. And when push came to shove, the man pushed a little harder. Surprised and angered by the resistance, the talker reached for the knife he always carried. "Come on, hillbilly, I'm gonna cut your heart out, he cursed, Then we'll just take what money you have and get our own beer." His two friends were laughing and dancing about and egging him on. With that encouragement, the talker made a lunge toward the man intending to cut him with the knife. The man surprised him again by stepping in close instead of backing away. He grabbed the talkers wrist and, with a quick twist, sent the knife into his own chest. The talker made one short step before crumpling to the ground with the knife through his heart. Turning, the man was just in time to see the other two scramble into an old sedan and peel out of the parking lot.
Meanwhile, the clerk who had seen the whole incident, had called the police. They came with sirens blaring a moment or two after the other accosters had left.
Seeing the man standing over the downed victim, they drew guns and commanded him to get on the ground. Before he could comply, the clerk came out and told the officers what had transpired. By this time an ambulance had arrived on the scene so the officers asked the man to follow them to one side. After taking his statement and that of the clerk he was free to go; however, one officer warned him to watch his back. "The fellow you killed," he said, "has several brothers and they are all gang members. They will be looking for revenge. I wouldn't want to be you right now."
He thought about what the officer had said as he got in his truck and began the long drive homeward. He had already been tired and the altercation had drained him of whatever reserve he had. It seemed to him that the drive back to his cabin was three times as far as it had been coming down to the city. He had made it inside the cabin and collapsed on the couch, where he had spent the night.
When six months had passed without him hearing anything further about the incident he began to hope for the best. Then he had seen a strange car go by on the road driving slowly,
with two men inside. They went on up the road a ways then turned and came back still driving slow. The next day, the same car made the same trip past his cabin with the same two men inside. He saw nothing more of them for two weeks and then one day when he had gone to the crossroads store for coffee and bread, they followed him home. They didn't stop; just followed him til he turned off up his driveway, then stopped. They sat in their car for several minutes, looking at the cabin, before turning around and driving back the way they had come. He knew he was being stalked, for he had stalked his share of game in his time. He had stalked a few men, too, during his time in the Army Rangers. There was no doubt in his mind who was involved in the stalking. He was sure it was kin folks of the young man who had died by his own knife. After all, the police officer had warned him. He decided to make some preparations for self preservation after they followed him home from the crossroads. That's when he had taken to carrying the 357 and keeping the M-15 handy. He didn't intend to make it easy for whoever came to even the score. Now he had even more reason to be wary; two days ago he had come back from the woods to find a rabbit nailed to his front door with it's throat cut. There was a note, scrawled on a piece of a paper sack, which read, "You can run, Rabbit, but we are going to get you. When we do we're going to leave you just like we left this rabbit."
He wasn't scared but he wasn't one to take any chances either. He started watching when he went out into the woods so as not to be caught by surprise. He didn't intend to run, though, for he wasn't the running kind. Besides they were in his territory here in the hills. He knew every trail and spring and cave in the surrounding area for ten miles in each direction. He could out maneuver them if it came to that but he still intended to stay at his cabin.
He had told only one person about his troubles. That was the old man who had a cabin on the next ridge over. He had been visiting one of the times when the outsiders came by. He had noticed them looking at the cabin and asked about it. Never one to lie, the man told him about his run in with the three in the city. He said he reckoned this was some of their friends or kinfolks come to settle things. The old man just nodded by way of reply but said nothing as he filled his pipe with tobacco. Though he didn't smoke himself, the younger man enjoyed sitting on the porch with the old man while he smoked.
Nothing more was said while he finished his pipe, then the old man took his rifle and started back over the ridge toward his own cabin. He hadn't gone very far when he came upon two men with hunting rifles standing alongside the trail. "That's not a very safe place for a man to visit," one of them said. "In fact, it's downright dangerous." They made no move to stop him, though, as he stepped past the place where they were standing. They just stood watching him til he was out of sight down the trail.
That had been three weeks ago and it had been raining ever since. He figured that was the only reason they hadn't been back; or at least he hadn't seen them. When the rain quit that's when he figured they would come. He'd have to be wary once again.
He had never married; didn't even have a dog so there would be no-one to grieve if something happened to him. There was no family as he had lost his only brother and kin in the war. He had moved up to the hills as a way of dealing with being all alone. Here he could forget the war and all that went with it.
Now it seemed someone was wanting to bring a war to him and there was nothing he could do about it.
The next morning it was still raining but the clouds didn't seem to be quite as thick. You could almost see the sun from time to time. He guessed that the rain would be gone by tomorrow and the woods and ground would begin to dry up also.
Soon, then, they would be coming and he had begun to look forward to it. Not the war that was coming, but the getting it over with. That's the way he had been while he was in combat; he always got in a little bit of a hurry when they were moving out. Just wanted to get the job done, that's all.
Expecting them to wait until things dried up a bit was a mistake. It was almost a costly one. He had just set his coffee cup on the porch rail when it literally exploded. He heard the sound of the shot at the same time the cup disintegrated. Grabbing his rifle and falling sideways out of his chair, he rolled off the end of the porch to the ground. Then, staying close to the side of the house he scurried around and into the back door. He was determined not to let them drive him into the woods just yet. He knew something he was sure they had no way of knowing. Under the floor of his kitchen was a tunnel that led from the house to a brush covered slope approximately two hundred yards away. It had been one of the things he had kept from his combat training. Always have a way out of any situation. His tunnel started under the table, which was a large spool left by the power company when they ran new power lines through the hills a couple of years before. To gain access all that was required was to lift one side of the table which was hinged with concealed hinges. It was a simple matter to let the table return to its place when one was inside the tunnel. Thus even a very thorough search was unlikely to reveal it's location.
From where the tunnel came out it was easy to slip unseen into the woods. After that it was just a matter of locating them before they located him. He was pretty sure he would be able to do that unless they sure enough had an army.
The outer end of the tunnel was covered with what appeared to be a large boulder. In reality it was a man made boulder constructed of light weight aggregate and given the look of reality by the special effort of coloration. Only a very close inspection would be able to detect any difference between it and the boulders nearby. With the brush growing all over the hillside it was virtually invisible.
He had spent several months digging and shoring up the tunnel, getting rid of the dirt and rock by filling up pot holes in the county road and his own driveway. This took care of most of the detritus and what was left he hauled down to the creek where he scattered it along the bank. The first rain storm afterwards had washed all evidence of this away.
Now, with the outsiders already here, he began preparing to repel them as long as possible. The back door was made of planks fastened together with screws much as storm cellar doors were made and covered with steel sheeting. Only dynamite or some other explosive would gain them entrance there. His windows were covered with thick steel shutters which closed from the inside. The outer walls of the cabin, itself, were rock and logs which he had treated with a fire retardent chemical because of brush fires. The roof was the weakest part of the cabin as it was of regular corrugated metal; but at least it wouldn't burn.
With the cabin secure, he began transferring most of his firepower to the tunnel. Once his major weapons were in the tunnel he picked up his cross-bow and arrows and strapped them to his back. He had learned to use the cross-bow for hunting deer and other large game and had even gotten a bear with it last winter. He had become expert in it's use by constant practice and was as comfortable with it as a weapon as with any of his guns. He still had his 357 and his M-15 in the kitchen with him as well. There had only been a few sporadic shots from outside during the two hours or so since they had shot his coffee cup. It was early in the day though and he figured they were trying to come up with some way to draw him out or a way to get inside. He knew they would not be content to spend a lot of time just waiting. He was counting on their impatience to make them careless. He had several gun ports installed in such a way as to prevent anyone from shooting inside the cabin through them. These enabled him to have a good field of fire all around .
It was nearly noon when the first one of them got careless. He attempted to move from one spot to another across a small clearing. The distance was barely two hundred yards from the cabin and the man didn't miss. He couldn't be sure how badly the attacker was hurt but he lay where he fell without moving. He was still laying there an hour later but sometime after that someone apparently dragged him to cover.
He didn't know how many there were of them but he guessed at least seven or eight. He made this guess based on where the shots had come from. Even with one down that was a considerable force for one man to deal with. He thought it was about time for him to get the odds down just a bit so, leaving his rifle, he carefully made his way into the tunnel. It took several minutes for him to make his way to the end of the tunnel and several more before he came out. He had lifted the cover enough to look all around and be sure nobody was near before coming completely outside. When he was sure it was safe
and he was not being observed, he lifted the cover and stepped out into the brush. In moments he had faded back into the trees and made his way some distance back from the cabin. Then he began to work his way around to the front where most of the shots had come from. Being careful to make no noise, he began stalking his prey as though stalking game. His intention was to remove some of his adversaries and thus bring the odds down a bit..
Suddenly, he spied one of his attackers standing with his shoulder against a large tree several yards off to his left. Moving carefully, he took his cross-bow from his shoulder. Removing an arrow from the quiver and fitting it to the bow, he took careful aim and loosed the arrow. It flew straight to the target and, going completely through his head, pinned the outsider to the tree. He never made a sound and, since he was already leaning against the tree, he didn't fall. "That makes two I won't need to worry about", the man thought as he moved on in an arc toward the road in front of the cabin. He had no intention of crossing the road and giving them a chance at seeing him. So far he didn't think they knew he was out side and he wanted to keep it that way for a while.
The next one he got with his knife. He was standing with his back to a large pine tree when he heard a sound behind him. Carefully taking his knife from it's sheath, he turned just as the other fellow started to tap him on the shoulder. The surprise on the fellow's face when he realized it wasn't one of his compatriots, let him know they had no idea he was among them. His knife thrust was quick and accurate, slicing the outsider's throat and severing his windpipe. His only sound was a small gurgling noise as his final breath left him.
That made three accounted for with, maybe, five left. It was time for him to return to his tunnel and the cabin before someone discovered the bodies.
Back inside the cabin he began to shoot once in a while just to let them know he was there. That would give them something more to worry about when they did discover the bodies.
All of a sudden he heard some yelling then they started shooting in earnest. He guessed they had found those two fellows out there in the woods. The shooting died down some-what but was still steady. They must be still trying to figure out what had happened to those two, he thought. Well, he was going to give them something else to think about in a few minutes. He had rigged up a timing device which would fire from two sides of the cabin so they would think there were at least two inside. Now for another foray out through the tunnel. This time he intended to get their vehicle so as to leave them afoot. They had already shot out the tires on his truck so he thought it only fair to disable theirs.
Again, he left the mouth of his tunnel without incident and made his way back into the woods. This time he went the opposite direction from before so as to head for where they likely had parked their vehicle. Sure enough, about three hundred yards down from his driveway was a late model Ford van with the windows darkened with film to prevent seeing inside. Moving carefully, in case there was anyone with in the van, he made his way up to the rear. Reaching inside his shirt he removed a small block of plastique and a fuse and timer. Taking his time he located these under the rear of the van near the gas tank. After setting the timer for fifteen minutes, he returned to the tunnel once more. In moments he was back inside the cabin watching toward the road. When the explosion came it shook the cabin and rattled the windows. He would have liked to see their faces when they realized someone had blown the van up.
There was no firing from outside for several minutes after the blast; then they began shooting rapidly once again. Of course the only damage they could do was if they shot holes in his roof and, so far, they hadn't done much of that. He would learn later that the man he had wounded at first was inside the van on a pallet when he blew it up. There were pieces of his body scattered for several hundred yards.
During the next hour he was able to pick off another one who had foolishly climbed a tree. Evidently the fellow thought he would be able to get a better look at the situation from a higher vantage point. His foolishness cost him his life for he made a perfect target for the M-15 rifle. The hillbilly knew that made four either dead or wounded which left five if his calculations were correct. So far they had lost approximately one half of their force and he wasn't even wounded. He knew better than to relax, though, and get careless. It would still take some doing to get through this in one piece.
He realized he was hungry and looked at his watch to see what time it was. He was surprised to see it was only ten-thirty as it seemed days since that shot that took his coffee cup. He hadn't given any thought to breakfast after that but now he decided it was time to eat something. There was plenty to cook so he set about getting a fire going in his wood cook-stove. When he had it started he placed several strips of bacon in a skillet and set it on top. While the bacon was frying he made another pot of coffee and got a loaf of bread from the cabinet. When the bacon was nearly ready he broke three eggs in the skillet and stirred them with a fork. In a few minutes his breakfast was ready and he set about eating, knowing it might be his last food for a while.
Evidently, the smell of his food cooking had made it to those men who had attacked for they started shooting fast and furiously. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after the last bite of egg, he pushed back from the table. Clearing the dishes from the table, he prepared for another trip to the outside.
This time he intended to remain outside until it was over. There was no point in going back and forth any longer; he had already done what he planned. The remaining attackers were bound to be worried not knowing for sure if he had help.
He came out of the tunnel and almost got caught. If the fellow had been turned slightly to one side, he would have seen him lower the trap door. He had just straightened up and was preparing to move out when he saw someone with their back toward him. This time there was no way to do the job silently as the distance was too great for a knife throw and he had the rifle in his hands. If he tried to lay down the rifle and get the cross-bow into position the movement was liable to catch the attention of his foe. The only thing to do was use the rifle so he loosed a round which took the fellow just below the left shoulder. He was dead before he hit the ground but the sound would carry to the others. Someone might come to investigate so he'd better move out and fast.
Keeping low and being careful not to expose himself more than necessary, he made a circle once more. This time he was farther out than the previous times and he thought it likely that he was well outside their hiding places. Figuring there were four men left out there somewhere, he took great care in moving about. He caught one standing near where the van had been parked and, this time using his cross-bow, got him without making a sound. This left three to worry about. Just as he found the next one, and was drawing a bead on him with the cross-bow, he heard the sound of a twig break under a foot. Letting the arrow fly, and throwing himself sideways he heard the shot and expected to feel the burn of the bullet. Instead, as he rolled over upon hitting the ground, he saw the other fellow fall. There appeared to be a bullet hole in his forehead the best he could tell.
Calling out first, the old man came out from behind some brush into the clearing where he lay.
"Didn't want to spoil your fun," the old man said. "Just watched til that fellow had a bead on you. Couldn't very well stand by and see him shoot you. Might be whoever moved in after you wouldn't like my pipe." He cackled as he said this last.
Just then they heard the sound of sirens coming up the county road so they walked back to the cabin. They were sitting on the porch with cups filled with cold coffee when the Sheriff's car came blaring up the driveway. right behind him was a police car with the emblem of the city police on the door. The officer who got out of it was the same one who had warned him to be careful. He was a few steps behind the sheriff as they approached the cabin.
"This officer was worried about you," the sheriff told the hillbilly. "He came all the way from the city to get me to come check on your safety. While we were deciding the best way to handle things someone phoned in about some kind of explosion around here. Must have been that van we saw down the road a piece. What happened out here anyway?"
"Well, sheriff, some fellows came up here looking for trouble and they found themselves a fair share of it. You will find them scattered around in the woods and one of them is down near that van you mentioned."
"You mean to tell me you two fellows handled all of those toughs from the city?" the police officer asked.
"Nope," the old man cackled, "He handled them by hisself." This with a nod toward the younger man. "I just stopped by for a cup of coffee after it was over with."
Saying he was going to radio for the coroner, the sheriff walked back to his car. After looking at the hillbilly for several minutes, then shaking his head, the police officer followed.
Several hours later, after everything was cleaned up and everyone else had gone, the two friends sat once again on the porch. This time the coffee was hot and fresh and there was a jug between them from which they had poured a splash of liquid into their cups. Sipping from the cups, the old man opined as how "it shore is peaceful up in these hills."