Ever Onward Read Online Free PDF Page A

nothing, Jess, but Uncle
Bob’s gone off somewhere.” He then called out loudly. The only
reply came from a chattering squirrel.
    While Jessie scrambled into his
clothes, Josh walked over to his brother-in-law’s bag. Now that the
light was better, he could see that there was something in there.
Too small to be Bob. A raccoon? He poked it with his walking stick
and heard a faint crunching sound. Nothing moved. Whatever it was,
it was dead. Pulling back the cover, Josh saw what looked like a
squashed wasps nest spilling out of Bob’s red longjohns.
    Father and son stood in the early
morning light looking down at the remains of Robert Fuller. Jessie
turned to his father. “It’s a joke, right? Uncle Bob’s idea of a
joke?” The hopeful tone of his young voice was overlaid with
fear.
    “I hope so, son, but I don’t find it
very funny.” They both called out, then began searching around the
camp, yet all the while Robert Fuller lay where they had found him.
Twenty minutes later, Jessie went back to his uncle’s bag and
stirred the remains with a stick. What he saw caused his to jump
back screaming. Shaking like a leaf in the wind, Jessie began to
cry. Josh held him tightly, saw what had so startled his son and
choked back tears of his own.
    By the time they were packed, the sun
had indeed burnt off the mist surrounding Haystack, yet neither
father nor son had any interest now in climbing. One of their group
was dead. Not only dead, but gone as well! All that remained of
Uncle Bob was his deflated thermal underwear and dental bridge
Jessie had found in crumpled gray ashes.
    Jessie moved about like a robot long
overdue for a tune-up, his movement stiffs, his expression blank.
The boy was in shock. His father wasn’t a hell of a lot
better.
    While Jessie silently packed their
gear, Josh disposed of the body by rolling the remains in the
sleeping bag and placing several large rocks on top. Jessie joined
his father at the make-shift grave. As he looked away, he spied
something glittering in the morning light. A gold band. Robert
Fuller’s wedding ring. Picking it up, Jessie handed it to his
father.
    “Aunt Doris will want this.” The boy’s
voice was distant and dream-like.
    Josh handed slipped the ring in his
pocket, then hugged his son. Several minutes later they were on the
long trail back down to the lodge.
    John’s Brook Lodge was well over a
hundred years old. Over the decades it had been added to and
refurbished many times, but for the most part it still looked like
what it was, a rambling old log cabin beside a gurgling stream,
nestled between the High Peaks, some three and a half miles from
the nearest road.
    When Josh and his son reached it, the
sun was a little past noon. The trek down had been a silent one.
Josh had tried to get Jessie to open up, but the boy had only
retreated further into himself. Josh decided not to press him for
now, believing that time would work its slow but sure healing
process. Once they were home, things would somehow sort themselves
out. Heart attacks happened. People died.
    Neither of them wanted to discuss the
fact that Uncle Bob’s body had somehow turned to brittle, gray
ashes.
    Lost in his own thoughts, Josh paid
little heed to the fact that they hadn’t met any other hikers on
the trail. When no-one answered his call as he entered the lodge,
however, his guts did another flip flop. Where was the pretty young
girl who was usually baking bread? Where was the grizzled old coot
who always greeted them from his rocking chair on the front porch?
Where the hell were the other hikers who had either spent the night
or stopped in for tea or warm lemonade before going on to the
various trails?
    Josh, his head suddenly pounding, went
into the back room. Row upon row of rough but sturdy bunkbeds
greeted him. Most were still made, the top of a faded sheet folded
neatly over a warm blanket. Some, however, were occupied. Several
packs leaned against walls. Clothes and raingear hung from