Anthem's Fall

Chapter Forty Six

            "I know where the Jansons live," Mike said. He leaned forward and flipped on the sirens. "I used to deliver firewood up there every fall."

  "All right. We'll head right over. Thanks Beth." George turned the cruiser down an empty road leading to the mountain.

 "Beth's right you know," Mike said. "I don't think I've ever heard of someone on Baron Road calling the police over a trespasser. Think about it. None of the trails are on that side of the mountain, and the woods are too thick to pass. Last hunting season I tried to make it up there with some buddies, and we couldn't get through the underbrush for the life of us."

  "Eh, who knows. It's probably just some doped up kids who got too fried to follow the trail or some hunter who drank too much whiskey."

  Both officers laughed.

 Siren sounding, the cruiser sped along as it traversed wide fields and wooded hills, fallen leaves whirling in their wake. They drove by unmanned farm stands, shelves filled with squashes, pumpkins, and apples sitting on beds of hay; the cash registers nothing more than wicker baskets sitting by the produce. Their siren echoed across the land and traveled far in the dry air, joined only by a light breeze from the west. Outside their windshield, the lone mountain rose into the sky. It was blanketed with trees, a carpet of deep red and orange leading to a summit of bare granite a few thousand feet overhead.

  "You hear Kalinoski's youngest is getting recruited to play hockey at university?" George asked.

  "Nah. Last I knew he was just making the high school team." Mike was looking past the spots of old white sap streaked across the windshield to the fast approaching mountain. "Man time flies."

  "You got that right."

            They took a sharp left onto Baron Road and pulled off the smooth pavement onto a dirt path that vanished into the shelter of trees. The tree cover was so thick that the road could have passed for a hiking trail as it ascended in a narrow sinuous course up the eastern side of the mountain.

            "Can't imagine living out here," Mike murmured as he rolled down his window, vacantly staring into the dense wilderness to each side.

            "Different strokes for different folks, I guess. I just hope the suspension makes it through here." George was squinting and gripping the steering wheel, white-knuckled, as he carefully avoided the boulders and roots that lined their way."You might as well turn off the sirens. It's not like we're going to run into any traffic."

            "Good point." Mike leaned forward and shut off the blaring horns.

The moment the sirens subdued, a pall of absolute silence fell. The deep forest surrounding the cruiser seemed to swallow them whole. It felt as though their siren had been the last trace of their pleasant town and cloudless morning. Now they traversed through a narrow path of bright orange and yellow leaves that oddly contrasted with the near darkness caused by the tree cover. Dark tree trunks stood a mere foot away from both side mirrors, evoking an unsettling sentiment, which was left unmentioned by either officer, though each ran a hand across his holstered .38 revolver.

            "Is that a house?" George asked, peering around a turn in the road as the car jostled.

 Skeletal rays of sunlight filtered through a break in the trees and shone down onto a long overgrown lawn and a dingy log house. George slowly pulled the cruiser past the shack. Years of accumulated leaves lay wet and rotting on the roof, which in places was missing shingles and dilapidated. It was unimaginable that someone could or would live in this degree of squalor, yet there was a thin tendril of smoke rising from the mold-covered chimney, and on the overgrown grass a large stack of logs waited to be chopped.