Rough Road Ahead (In Progress)

Chapter 13

    

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            The farm house sat on the top of the hill looking old and warn. The doors were rustic, the light blue paint stripping off, revealing the rotten wood beneath it. The house was barely worth saving, after my father was done restoring it there wouldn't be an original piece left. "There it is." Good said, a smile settling on his smug face.

            The trailer pulled up, my father parked it and stepped out, still at gun point. Good motioned for us all to get up from the sofa. Stepping out of the trailer doors, the cold air hit me. It was freezing on top of the mountain. Hugging my arms I walked across the long damp grass, my shoes soaking through. I felt my feet sloshing around in my socks, swimming, trying to keep themselves from drowning.

            My eyes viewed the area. Trees were growing across the landscape, creating a perfectly clear circle where the old house stood. Everything looked so dead, so dreary as I walked closer to the farm house, the dark over-cast sky creating an ominous glow to the air that seemed heavy as it entered my lungs. It was a bone chilling cold like nothing I had ever experienced.

            "Get to work, pops." Luck said, hitting my father on the back and walking with him towards the house. Their feet pattered up the old steps, the rotten, bug infested wood creaked under their weight. My fathers equipment was already at the site. The pickup trucks with materials in the back and the fork lift ready for use.

            I knew how my fathers job worked, but had never witnessed it first hand. I knew he had to enter the house, assessing it's structural damage and making sure it was strong enough to move without re-enforcement. Then he would slowly place slivers of wood under the foundation, lifting it evenly on all sides before driving his huge fork lift over and lifting the house onto it's supportive base that would carry it down the mountain and back to our town. He would strap it down, making sure it was secure and then we would be on our way.

            The farmhouse was smaller than I had expected, it was barely even a house. That meant, however, that my father would be able to get the job done quicker. The smaller the house, the less work that was needed, and the less work that was needed the quicker we would be out of here.

            Good stood us all in the mud, his gun still in his hand, but it was no longer pointing at us. "Ok. This is the home stretch. You guys just need to hold out until we have our gold and then you are free to go."

            "Are you really going to let us go?" My mother asked, her hands feebly cupping her hips, trying to keep herself centered.

            Good put his left hand into the air, "I swear on my mothers life."

            Somehow I knew he was telling the truth. I could see it behind his eyes, that fear he had of his mothers death would make him keep his promise.

            After a short pause, he started to speak again, "You..." his voice trailed off, snapping his fingers trying to remember our names, "Brad."

            Brad yawned, stepping forward from behind me. I had been trying to ignore him, but that seemed nearly impossible while he was talking. However, he had been much quieter than I had known him to be. Maybe he had been caught up talking to Max, I guessed. "What?" He asked, his thick arms crossed over his chest. Maybe he was cold too?

            Sam grabbed my hand in his, as if trying to reassure me. I smiled in his direction.

            "You look strong, help your father and Luck with the house." He pointed for him to move towards it.