Chapter 10: The Choice
A/N: Warning: This chapter is rated “T” and it ain’t for fluff…sorry. This might be a good time to warn you that I majored in Abnormal Psychology and one of my favorite shows is Forensic Files.
Also, those of you who aren’t familiar with an ice storm – it’s beautiful, amazing, and scary all at the same time.
Rosco pulled Hazzard #1 up to the Courthouse at 6:00 the next morning. He didn’t know if he’d slept a wink the night before, and he knew he surely hadn’t been the only one. He’d tried to radio Enos several times but had gotten no response, and he was worried about the man. Despite him having moved to California, Rosco knew enough about Enos to know his heart hadn’t left with him. If they lost Daisy, Lord knew what he might do.
He climbed out of his car and looked up at the sky. It had spent the night changing back and forth between sleet and rain, and now it was drizzling. The dirt roads, though frozen, weren’t bad yet, but the weatherman on the Atlanta station had predicted the mix to change completely over to freezing rain over the course of the day.
He opened the rear door, took out Flash, and walked gingerly up the already slick steps to the Sheriff’s office. He was trying to balance Flash with one hand and fish his keys out of his pocket with the other and in doing nearly knocked over Amos Petersdorf who was standing outside the door.
“Amos, what in tarnation! You just about made me fall an’ scuff Flash. Ain’t you got better things t’ do than stand outside the door?”
“Oh shut up, Rosco. If you can figure out how t’ get th’ door open, I got something t’ tell you.”
“What on earth would an’ ol’ ridge-runner like you need t’ tell me at 6:30 in th’ mornin’?” Rosco found his key and stuck it into the lock.
“I heard you were lookin’ fer Andy Higgins…I know where you can find ‘im.”
“This is Rosco P. Coltrane calling the Duke farm, over. Jesse, Luke, Bo…anyone there? Over.”
Jesse picked up the CB that sat on the kitchen counter. “This is Jesse, Rosco. What’s goin’ on?”
“Uh, Jesse, have you seen Enos by chance this mornin’? I can’t reach him.”
“No, we reckoned he’d stayed th’ night over there. Th’ boys ain’t seen nor heard from him since yesterday.”
“Well, if you see him, tell him him t’ get his rear end over here, an’ I mean yesterday. Someone here wants t’ talk to him.”
“Uh…sure Rosco, we’ll see if we can hunt him up. Over an’ out.”
Jesse hurried out to the barn where Bo and Luke were working on getting the animals under shelter before the weather turned worse.
“Boys!” called Uncle Jesse. “Bo! Luke!”
The cousins ran out from the barn to see what the matter was. “What’s wrong, Uncle Jesse?” asked Bo.
“You boys got any clue where Enos’d hole hisself up?”
Bo and Luke looked at each other and then back at their uncle, confused. “We figured Enos went back to th’ Sheriff’s office last night since we didn’t see him.”
“He ain’t there. Rosco just called here lookin’ for him. Says there’s somebody wants t’ talk to him.”
Luke frowned. “Somethin’ about Daisy, you reckon?”
Jesse shook his head. “I don’t know, Luke, but you boys better see if you can find him, quick as you can.”
Bo turned to Luke. “You think he’d have gone up to his ma’s?”
“Naw, he’d rather sleep in his car than go there.”
“You don’t suppose…”
“It’s the only place I can figure he’d go…”
The cousins hopped into the General Lee, spinning the wheels on the loose gravel of the farmyard.
It was just a short drive to Hazzard pond and Luke breathed a sigh of relief when Enos’s Javelin came into view, resting above the muddy bank.
“Dang, Luke, it had t’ get down to near 30 degrees last night. You mean t’ tell me he slept out here?”
“Well, you did a mighty fine job o’ runnin’ him off, Bo.”
“Look, I’m sorry, alright? I ain’t used t’ Enos takin’ things so personally.”
“He’s always taken’ Daisy personally, Cuz.” Luke pulled the General up behind Enos’s car.
They climbed out and walked over to it. Luke opened the driver’s side door, pushed the front seat forward, and gave the sleeping man’s shoulder a shake. “Enos…Hey Enos, wake up!”
Enos sat up, disoriented. “Wha… where am I?” His memory slowly flooded back. He vaguely remembered climbing into the backseat of the car, listening to the rain on the roof. Surely he hadn’t slept long, it had already been light in the sky last he knew.
“Take it easy, Enos,” said Luke. “It’s alright. Rosco’s been tryin’ t’ get hold of you, though. Say’s he’s got someone down at the station who needs t’ talk to ya’.”
“Who is it, Luke?”
“I don’t know, he didn’t say. He just told Uncle Jesse he needed t’ see ya right away.”
Enos pulled himself into the front seat, picked up the CB, and turned it on. “Sheriff, this is Enos. Come in.”
“Enos, you knuckle-head!” Rosco yelled. “Where in th’ blue blazes have you been?”
“Sorry, Sheriff, I forgot t’ turn the radio back on. What’s goin on?”
“Amos Petersdorf’s over here. He says he knows where Andy Higgins is.”
“Possum on a gumbush! I’m on my way!”
The red clay of Hazzard’s dirt roads didn’t make for easy travel on rain, but they were even worse with the thin crust of ice that had already formed on top of the frozen ruts. It was all Enos could do to keep it between the ditches on the car’s bald tires . It was a painfully slow pace, during which his heart and mind both seemed to be racing more than enough to make up for it. Amos Petersdorf was the elderly fire-chief of Hazzard, but more than that he was one of the Ridge Raiders. In his younger days, before he’d moved into the retirement home in town, he’d known most everything there was to know up in those hills.
The car’s front tires lost traction again and he just managed to keep from loosing it. He picked up the CB. “Luke, Bo, this is Enos. Come in.”
“We read ya’, Enos,” said Luke.
“Th’ tires on this car ain’t gonna get me there on Mill Road. I’m gonna cut down Sand Creek to Highway 20. I’ll meet you in town.”
“Roger that..”
Enos turned left at the next road. It was a couple miles out of the way to go south to Highway 20, but it should have already been sanded by the county, and he reckoned it was quicker than waiting for Jake to pull him out of a ditch.
He was nearly to the Sweetwater overpass when he passed the tiny General Store just outside of Hazzard. He did a double take behind him and skidded to a stop on the shoulder. Carefully he turned the car around and pulled into the store’s gravel parking lot – right next to an early 80’s white Chevy pickup. On the side of the truck was a sign for Rapahoe Telephone & Line Company and there was a steel frame of sorts rigged above the bed. A pole stretched across the frame, holding a myriad of spools of different wires and a huge roll of standard 24 gauge phone cord.
Enos felt as though he were moving through a dream, slowly, like his feet and hands were sunk in molasses as he opened his door and got out. He went to the back of the pickup and checked the license plate. NYR 476. He’d memorized the plate number of Andy’s truck. Andy’s was CGW 963, and this guy was a hell of a long way from home if he was supposed to be fixing lines in Rapahoe County.
He circled the vehicle, keeping an eye on the store in case anyone came out. The frame was easily removable, held in place by only six bolts, one at each corner, two in the middle. There were fresh scrape marks on several where they’d been tightened…or removed. The tires, supported by heavy duty leaf springs, were new – the heavy lugs coated with the area’s red clay. He stopped by the door and peeled back the corner of the magnetic sign. The underneath was just as dirty as the rest of the truck.
The truck was the only vehicle parked there other than his and the owner, Silas’s, truck around back, so he walked around to the front of the store and went in. A man he didn’t recognize, in his mid 30’s perhaps, tall, broad shouldered, with dark brown hair, was walking to the front to check out. Enos grabbed the quickest thing he could find, a packet of peanuts, and stepped to the register right before the other man.
He turned towards the stranger. “Probably have your work cut out for you later with the storm comin’,” he said.
The man looked up at him blankly.
“With the telephone lines comin’ down,” Enos explained. He cast a glance at what the man was buying and saw it was a tarp and a roll of duct tape.
“Oh…yeah,” the man answered thickly. His accent wasn’t from anywhere in north Georgia.
Enos stuck his hand out. “I’m Enos.”
The man grudgingly shook his hand. “Uh…Steve.” Enos noted his hand was smooth, unused to the wear and tear of a telephone repairman.
“Pleased t’ meet ya’. I used t’ live around here, there sure are a lot o’ new faces since then.” He passed Silas a five dollar bill. “Thank ya’ kindly, Silas, keep th’ change,” he said. He left and went back to his car before Steve could finish paying.
Enos’s heart pounded as he waited for the man to return to his truck and tried to decide what he should do. On one hand there was Andy, the illusive pot grower who’s truck Cooter had identified as the one on the surveillance tape. On the other was this stranger – a stranger who everything about screamed at Enos as being “off”, with a nearly identical white pickup.
There was no way he’d be able to track down both before the storm hit. He had to make a choice, and he had to make it now and quickly. If he let this man drive off, he might never see him again, and if he’d been barking up the wrong tree with Andy, it could mean the difference between life and death for Daisy. Likewise, if he was reading more into this Steve guy than he should – he could just be passing through town on his way home, or a rookie at his job – and Andy was the killer, someone needed to go with Amos and check him out.
There was only one thing he could do. As the man climbed in his truck and pulled out of the lot back onto Highway 20, heading east away from Hazzard, Enos pulled out after him and picked up his CB.
“Breaker, breaker…this is Georgia State Patrol calling Sheriff Coltrane. Don’t say my name. Come in, over.”
“This is Ros—co P. Coltrane. What’d’ya’ do, ya’ dipstick? Run off th’ road or forget where you were going? Over.”
“Sheriff… I need you to have Amos show you where Andy is. There’s somethin’ else I’ve gotta check out.”
“What th’ heck are you talkin’ about? Where are you?”
“I can’t talk right now, Sheriff, this is an open channel. I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go. I’m turning my radio off, but I’ll get back with you later. Over and out.”
“What th’ heck was that all about, you suppose?” asked Bo, confused.
Rosco shook his head. “That boy’s done cracked his head or somethin’.”
“I don’t know,” said Luke. “It doesn’t make any sense that Enos’d just bail when he finally knows where Andy is. Unless… Unless he knows somethin’ we don’t know. Almost sounds like he’s followin’ somebody, not sayin’ his name or where he is.”
“What should we do?” Bo wasn’t one to set around doing nothing.
“I guess we go find Andy,” answered Luke. “Rosco, Amos, if ya’ don’t mind, we’d probably have better luck in sneakin’ up on him in the General than in a patrol car.”
“Well,” said Rosco, “Come on ya’ lug-nuts, let’s go cuff him an’ stuff him!”
Amos directed them north through town down to where Ridge-Runner Road took off from Highway 20 to the east. This was an area that neither Bo nor Luke traveled often. Sure, they’d run up here a couple of times ahead of Rosco and Cletus, probably even Enos a time or two, but that was the extent of of their familiarity with it. They turned right off of Ridge Road, then right again and left, down roads that were hardly more than trails through the woods. Uncle Jesse was right, they didn’t know half the roads up here in the hills, and the way Amos was leading them they’d already be lost for sure.
Everyone was silent, save for Amos telling them now and again where to turn, each haunted by their separate anxieties. If this was the man they were looking for, the one who had Daisy, her life could be riding on their shoulders.
The truck stayed on Highway 20 for a couple miles and then turned left up a dirt road. Enos followed it, far enough back so that he wasn’t visible in the man’s rear-view mirror around the curves. Luckily he didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry and Enos was able to keep up while still keeping his car from sliding off the road. The truck crossed over the intersection at Mill Creek Road and continued straight, up Cedar Point Road into the mountains. Just about that time, the sky opened up and the freezing rain began to fall.
Enos cranked the heat up, aiming the blowers up at the windshield as the supercooled drops froze against the glass. For a heart stopping moment, he thought he’d lost the man until he saw the flash of brake lights in front of him. He turned off his headlights and sped up as much as he dared until he could see the faint outline of the truck. His gray, primer colored car would be nearly invisible in the downpour, but he’d have to stay close to keep up.
The longer he followed the man though, the more paranoia began to gnaw at him. What if he was following some poor, innocent guy to his home, all the while putting Daisy’s fate in the others’ hands? What if the man had spotted him and was just leading him on a wild goose chase through the mountains? If he went much further, he wouldn’t be able to keep up. The roads were getting slicker by the minute as the ice began to build up on the roads. Dark thoughts spun through his mind, and he began to feel more and more as though he’d made a horrible mistake when the taillights flashed again in front of him, and the truck turned off to the right.
He stopped the car. The windows were so fogged he could barely tell where the road was, much less how far up in the mountains he was. He stepped out of the car into the downpour and looked around, trying to get his bearings. He recognized the landmarks and knew the road the man had taken was a dead end. There was only the old Johnson place up there – abandoned for a decade or more.
“I’ve got ya’ now, Buddy Roe,” he whispered triumphantly.
Enos climbed back into the car and threw it into reverse. He turned a quarter mile back where there was another trail that paralleled the one the pickup had followed. When he felt he was far enough down the road to be close to the old homestead, he pulled over. From here he could walk through the woods without anyone the wiser. He took his 9mm Smith and Wesson out of the glove compartment and strapped it on, feeling more secure with the handgun at his disposal than the less accurate shotgun which he was only a so-so shot with anyway. He put his coat back on and started through the woods.
Bo pulled the General Lee over where Amos had shown him. They were at the end of a long driveway of sorts, though the wilderness had caught an upper hand in devouring it. As it was, there was a muddy path made by tire treads through the dead grass which stood easily five feet tall to the sides of it. The rain pounding on the roof of the car made the surroundings seem all that much more desolate.
“We’d best go on foot from here boys,” said Amos. “An there’s bound t’ be a few snares along th’ way so stay close. Single file, down the path.”
One by one they followed him down the trail. The rain had mixed with sleet and pelted them like tiny BB’s as they made their way through the undergrowth, but the adrenaline pumping through each of them made it hardly noticeable. Rosco held his gun shakily out in front of him, and Luke carried the bow and arrows from the trunk of the General.
“Rosco,” complained Bo, “would ya’ put that dang pee-shooter down! Your libel t’ hurt us before we even see hide or hair of anyone else. I can’t imagine anyone in their right mind would be out in this dang weather anyway.”
“Would you just hush? You Dukes ain’t got brains as big as a speck o’ dust between ya’. Just stay outta my way an’ you won’t get hurt.”
“Will you two pipe down,” said Luke. “Rosco, Bo’s right. Put that thing away before it goes off.”
“Fine,” complained the Sheriff, returning his gun to his holster, “you two can be cavalier and take th’ lead. Better you get scuffed than me.”
All their worry was for not, however, when they finally got to the end of the trail and the run down farmhouse that sat there. Rosco knocked several times on the door, but no one answered.
Luke peered into the window that looked in off the porch. “Rosco,” he said, “try th’ door.”
“Now, Luke, that would be breaking and enterin’.”
“Not if ya’ have probable ’cause for doin’ so.”
Rosco turned the knob. It was unlocked, and he swung the door open to find Andy Higgins, asleep on a dirty cot with several beer cans scattered around him.
“Rosco, even I think ya’ might be able to take him on and win,” snickered Bo.
“Ooo, why you…” Rosco held up his fists. “I’ll have you know that these were once considered deadly weapons.”
“Thirty years ago…”
“Cut it out you two. Rosco, if you can wake Sleepin’ Beauty up there and cuff him, me an’ Bo are gonna have a look around.” Luke motioned for Bo to follow him. The rest of the house was empty, but outside around the back was another story. Here an enormous greenhouse stood, protecting it’s valuable commodity from the nasty winter of northern Georgia.
“Well,” said Luke, “he’s definitely growin’ weed, but I don’t see any signs of Daisy.”
“Daisy!” yelled Bo. “Daisy!”
Luke shook his head. “She ain’t here, Bo. We’ve got the wrong guy.”
The white pick-up stopped by the old farmhouse. It’s driver got out, leaving the door partially open despite the weather. His mind was elsewhere and not even the cold nor the pelting of freezing rain infringed upon his senses. His was one focus, though skewed and broken in it’s relationship to reality.
Her.
It was time. This time would be better, it would take the voices away. The others had not been perfect, he reasoned, though he could not remember that he’d felt the same with each new girl he had taken. No, they were flawed…that was why the voices were still there, all night, every night, telling him that he must find another. That one had been too tall, this one too short, that one’s hair too dark, this one had died too quickly. It had only been six days since he’d taken this woman, but in a distant part of his mind that still reasoned somewhat normally, Steven Wayne Fortner realized that if he did not kill her today, the weather would.
He went to the rear of the pickup and cut off a length of phone cord from the roll in the back. Never able to hold down a job for very long, the telephone repairman stint had lasted less than a week before he’d been fired. They were after him – jealous of his superior mind he’d supposed. He’d stolen the truck, though he hadn’t thought much about it at the time.
Eventually, spurred by the voices that had whispered in his mind since he was fourteen, an idea had gradually taken shape. His momma could make the voices stop. A woman who’d been dead some twenty years since, with her green eyes and brown hair. If he could find another to trade for his momma, she’d come back. A sacrifice – a life for a life – the voices had promised. He need only find the right one.
He brought the extension ladder from around the side of the house. It was already the correct height, no need to fuss with it anymore. He dragged it over to the old well that stood in the clearing beyond the house.
The first few times it had been hard to get them out. Like an olive, he imagined, stuck at the bottom of the jar that wouldn’t come out, that rolled around…and around… The first one he’d taken to throwing bricks at until she would agree to climb the ladder, but he’d hit her in the head and killed her instead before she’d ever given in. He hadn’t dumped her body like he had the others, but kept it in his closet, wrapped in a tarp, as a reminder to be more careful. The next one he’d shown a hose and threatened to fill up the well. She’d come up willingly enough, but he’d taken it into his head to slice the hose in half since then, and now it wouldn’t reach.
He’d bought another tarp for this one…just in case she was perfect…
He lowered the ladder down into the well where the woman looked up at him without saying a word.
“Climb the ladder,” he told her. “Climb up backwards.” He took the gun from the waistband of his pants and aimed it down and her.
“Okay, mister,” she said calmly. “I will, just…put the gun away, please.”
“Start climbing.”
Daisy turned around and put her foot slowly on the bottom rung, leaning back against it for support.
“Faster.”
One foot and then another, she climbed backwards up the ladder. When she was halfway up, the man stuck the gun back in his waistband and picked up the phone cord. Daisy had every intention of turning and trying to run when she got to the top, but as she came up over the side of the well the man looped the phone cord around her neck, effectively ending her escape plans. She was able to scream once before the cord tightened and cut off the sound.
For the rest of his life, Enos would be haunted by that moment and the memory of Daisy’s scream ringing in his ears. He was nearly to the edge of the woods when he heard her and ran the rest of the way, stopping only when he reached the clearing. In slow motion, the scene played out in front of him, a nightmare that if he didn’t act fast would turn into a reality from which he would never wake.
The man held Daisy in front of him, walking backwards, pulling her close against him by something around her neck. There was no time left for stealth, and even with the rain he knew the man would see him. Enos ran out from the cover of the trees, the rain stinging his eyes, and ducked behind the well. He drew his gun, and, using the well as cover, raised himself up just over the top of the stones, and trained it on the man.
“Let her go! Let her go or I’ll shoot ya’, an’ ya’ better believe I will, too!” Truth be told, Enos might have shot the man in the first place if he hadn’t been holding Daisy in front of him. He’d never had any patience with those who put her in danger.
Daisy had been trying to pull the cord away, with little success. At the sound of Enos’s voice, she looked up in surprise, her eyes wide with fright. “Enos…” she merely mouthed the word, unable to speak.
“You followed me,” Steven said dully, stating it as a fact. He seemed unsurprised. “You need to leave now.” The man transferred the cord to his left hand and with his right, pulled out a .22 caliber revolver from behind Daisy and aimed it at Enos.
When Enos had been on the SWAT team in L.A., they’d always tried to talk the person down first and use force as a last resort, but he knew, even if he’d wanted to, he didn’t have time for that. Daisy could hardly breathe and if the man happened to pull the cord any tighter, she’d be in even worse trouble. The problem was he didn’t have a shot, the man was using her as a shield. Enos needed him to turn or to move Daisy, one or the other.
He picked up a medium sized stone that lay on the ground beside him. The ground sloped down slightly on his side of the well, making him at a lower angle that he needed to be. He would have to stand up to have any chance at all of hitting him without hurting Daisy. It would make him vulnerable and give the man a clear shot at himself, but that was a risk he would just have to take. He only hoped this guy wasn’t as good a shot as he was.
“Lord, please let this work…”
He chucked the rock as hard as he could behind and to the right of the man, into the woods. As it ricocheted through the leaves, the man’s concentration faltered and he turned slightly, moving Daisy out of Enos’s line of fire. He stood and took aim, but in doing so caught the man’s attention and Steven swung his gun back up towards Enos.
Two shots rang out through the hills…