In the Lake Azure community where Matt lived, winter meant some hunting in the hills but mostly ice-skating parties on the lake, alpine and cross-country skiing followed by hot brandy before a roaring fire or soaking in a heated spa in the lodge. Up in the hills, winter meant hardship. And these old coal roads were so hard they were rattling the company truck and his teeth.
He was still rattled anyway from the argument he’d had on the phone yesterday with his senior partner for the Lake Azure community, Royce Flemming. Matt’s dad and Royce had been lifelong friends, and Matt was honored to be his junior partner and manager of the upscale community perched on the scenic edge-of-Appalachia town of Cold Creek. When his dad died, he’d felt even closer to Royce, but recently they were at odds over the older man’s fast push to drill for oil and gas in the area.
Fracking, they called it, though the actual name was hydraulic fracturing since the process involved forcibly injecting water, sand and chemicals to fracture deep shale, to release the precious products trapped inside. Just in the past few months, drilling here had gone bonkers. There was already a big break between the haves and the have-nots in this area. Now the issue of lucrative fracking contracts going to only a few select people was causing rifts among the locals. Fracking brought in business, but the truck drivers and rig men caused problems in the once-pristine area.
Money talked, but why couldn’t Royce see his lucrative new business could hurt the human and natural environment of his big Lake Azure investment? So far, the disagreement hadn’t permanently damaged his close relationship with Royce, even when he’d declined the opportunity to invest in Royce’s new fracking company earlier this year.
Matt swore under his breath as he made another hairpin turn around the mountain, still heading up. Most of the heights around Cold Creek were foothills, but these inclines were serious stuff. The old 1970s pavement was bumpy and broken. The road was one-lane with pull-offs every couple of hundred yards so cars could pass, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to do that. He remembered his dad driving the family up Pike’s Peak out West when he was a kid. They got so scared of the drop-offs and the lofty view straight down that they’d turned around at the top and headed right back to civilization.
“Damn!” he muttered when he made another turn and saw a pickup coming at him. It was a rickety affair with the front bumper loose and bouncing—tied on with wire or twine. He could see two men in the cab and a mule sticking its head out of the bed of the pickup as if it were enjoying the view. The rule was that the vehicle heading up was the one to back down to the pull-off, so that was him.
He slowly inched his way backward, using the rearview mirror, his side mirrors and craning around to look out the rear window. He wasn’t used to driving this truck. Why hadn’t he sent someone on staff up here with this stuff? His bailiwick was his office in the lodge, talking to new owners and investors, and doing community PR. He couldn’t fathom how difficult this drive would be in rain or snow.
At least the next pull-off spot was not right on the edge of a cliff. It had a sign that read Falls County School Bus Stop. Tall, scrawny pines and a few oaks had clawed their roots into the rock here and leaned out from the pull-off. He carefully backed into it, making sure his rear wheels were at least six feet from the edge. The other truck passed him with a honk and a wave and a hee-haw from the mule. For a moment, he just sat there, breathing hard, his heart pounding.
He reminded himself why he was determined to deliver these gifts to Woody’s family personally. The guy had the guts to take a stand against the invasion of fracking in the area. The old man—sixty didn’t sound old, but mountain men looked old at that age—had led peaceful protestors with hand-printed signs. They’d insisted the fracturing of the bedrock to suck out oil and gas would break up not only the rock but the families and the town. Matt knew Woody was right. He should have taken a stand, too, but he also saw the good things about fracking, like the money rolling in and, hopefully, less dependency on foreign oil. He was above all a businessman like his dad and Royce, wasn’t he?
Sitting on the edge of the pull-off, he was tempted to head back down and send someone else up with the things for Woody’s family. But he wanted them to know their family patriarch had not been forgotten, that he meant more than a few nice words at his funeral and a couple of hundred dollars in an envelope. He wanted Woody’s widow to know how much the man had meant to him.
“Okay, up we go,” he whispered just as another truck appeared, this time heading up. It was another old pickup, but the guy in it was driving too fast. The truck didn’t have a front license plate, but then up here, maybe there were no real rules. Matt took a closer look. Was he nuts or was the driver wearing a ski mask? The truck didn’t take the turn but headed toward him.
There was nothing he could do but yell and turn his wheels. The truck slowed but bumped into the front of his truck, pushing him back. Matt laid on the horn, held to the steering wheel, tried to get his truck in Drive, but the other truck edged it backward....
The front of Matt’s truck tilted upward, throwing him back against the seat. He was going over! His stomach went into free fall though the truck hadn’t yet. His back bumper pressed into the trees. The truck stopped, shuddered and hung hundreds of feet over the rocks below.
As she made the next sharp turn, Char gasped. A white truck with Lake Azure, Inc. painted on its side was tipped nearly off the cliff, right where the school bus stopped for the kids who lived above. She’d heard a horn honk long and loud a few minutes earlier. Maybe the truck missed the last turn and spun out, since its rear, not its front, was dangling over the edge, propped up by two trees. No other vehicle was nearby to help.
She put her emergency blinkers on and pulled as close to the cliff face as she could. She jumped down from her truck and ran across the road toward the truck. A man was inside!
“What should I do?” she shouted, her voice shrill. It sounded like a stupid question. She had to get the man out of his truck before it crashed over the edge.
The bitter, strong wind ripped at her hair and jacket. What if a blast of air tipped him off? Or maybe even if he moved. She’d swear the two tree trunks that held his truck were shaking as hard as she was.
She could hear the engine was still running. The driver opened an automatic window.
“A guy in a truck shoved me off,” he shouted. “Meant to. I don’t have any traction. I’m afraid if I shift my weight or open a door to jump out, I’ll send it over.”
The fact someone had done this on purpose stunned her. What was going on? If her cell phone worked up here, she’d call her brother-in-law, the county sheriff, for help, but she was on her own. It wouldn’t help to go back up for help from Elinor and Penny.
“Don’t move until I get something you can hang on to if the truck goes. I have some jump ropes I can tie together. Those trees are shaky.”
“I’m shaky. Hurry!”
She ran to her truck and knotted together the three jump ropes she had, tying square knots because she knew they would hold. But she’d never be able to balance the man’s weight if the truck went over the edge.
“I’ve got ropes here, but I’ll have to tie the end to a tree. I don’t dare drive close enough to you to tie it to my truck. It would never stretch that far.”
She knotted it around the trunk of a pine tree that looked sturdy enough, though that almost took the length of one rope. This wasn’t going to work.
A grinding sound, then a crunch reverberated as the truck seemed to jerk once then settled closer to the cliff edge.
“Now or never!” he shouted and opened his door fast.
Desperate,