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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Mystery
- Subject: Mystery
- Published: 12/09/2012
The Bypass
Born 1961, F, from Birmingham, AL, United StatesBlood runs down my arms and mixes with sweat to pool at my fingertips. There is barely a life left in the hands. Our family vacation had turned to inexplicable tragedy.
We made this trip a few times a year traveling in from Birmingham on I-59 and driving through North Alabama with its own beauty of the Lookout Mountain area and the stark rock formations of the lower Appalachians. When we weren’t in too much of a rush, we’d take exit 205 and visit the quaint town of Mentone. A tiny treasure of a town nestled in the mountains with local artisans and home cooking just a stone’s throw from Desoto State Park.
Then on we’d go traveling past Rising Fawn, Georgia. I would think how I might someday want to leave the city and move to this picturesque town. There are several variations of how this town got its name. The Cherokee tribe occupied these lands before they were forced out during the Trail of Tears. Before I looked up any history on the name, I had come to think the name was from the way the mountains look like a fawn lying down. Whatever the name, the mountains here rise up in awesome beauty.
We would take the Rising Fawn exit for a stretch and to get our first lottery ticket of the trip then back on to I-24 as it meanders along the Tennessee River and winds past the factories and into the hills through Chattanooga and on to the Great Smoky Mountains.
This trip had started off like so many before it. I had my cheap digital camera in hand to take photo upon photo of the mountains. I hiked with urgency up Clingman’s Dome as if the mountains would vanish before I reached the peak. Then hurriedly back down I would go to get to Newfound Gap and catch the sunset over the lookout. Back down the mountain I would go on the Gatlinburg Bypass with lots of sudden stops to take a photo. The winds were picking up. A storm named Sandy was kicking up its heels and the winds were howling over from North Carolina. It was unseasonably warm today. In just a few days, this balmy weather would change over to 22 inches of snow.
On this day, a day so much like many vacation days, with the leaf peepers headed home and the late season tourist busy eating fudge or hitting one of the many Christmas shops, or maybe at the Aquarium or Titanic, I decided to venture out and get photos of the last few leaves. I always find the ones that hang on the longest to have the most color. I had stopped above Gatlinburg and the rest area and decided to leave my car there and take an ambitious walk up the mountain.
It was getting close to dark and I even had a few bats flying overhead. I edged down the side of the mountain, off the pathway through some large rocks to get a better photo and was absent-mindedly not paying attention to my surroundings. Just then, a man wearing a blue North Face jacket and gloves, heavy wear for today, appeared out of nowhere. I immediately felt ill at ease. He tried to start a conversation about photography, but there was just something about him that was not right. I turned to go and he asked where I had parked. I didn’t answer. I took a step up and felt his hand clench down on my left arm. He pulled me back and, with the incline, I quickly lost balance and began to slide but was caught by the boulder behind me. I stood up and shook myself off then squared my eyes into his. He sneered. I knew my gut had been right. He was up to no good.
I surveyed the roadway. I was just a few yards from the highway, but far enough down to where a passerby wouldn’t be able to see me without parking on the overlook.
The man said “you’re going to walk up on the road and follow right next to me just like we was together”.
My mind was reeling. For some reason I had a flashback to a movie about an airplane crash where the survivors were interviewed and said the ones who had survived were willing to do whatever it takes to survive and those who didn’t died. Why I had that thought at a moment like this was beyond me, but I knew what I had to do. In a flash of seconds I was either going to be the victim or the survivor.
I turned as if to walk up to the roadway but navigated my steps to where I would have the left side of my body just in front of a boulder while the man would be completely in front of the lower boulders. I glanced back and he was off guard looking down at his feet. I had no experience in kicking but did my best Karate Kid kick. There was the flash when he looked up as he fell backwards. He didn’t go down the edge of the mountain like I had hoped but he had lost his balance. As he was sliding backwards, he had lunged forward enough to grab the hood of my shirt and I was pulled back with a snag like a fly fisherman making his catch.
He had my shirt and I was holding my left foot at an angle against the rock with my right side sliding slowly against the pull. He was going to take me down with him. In a split second decision, I let go of the rock praying my left foot could hold me for a few seconds. I reached down and snatched the bottom of the shirt and peeled it off exposing only my bra underneath. The man’s eyes widened with sudden fear and recognition as he realized his hold was lost. He flung the shirt over his head and struggled to pull himself forward. It was too late. He plummeted backwards and fell headfirst onto the boulders below. I heard the distinctive sound of his scull cracking against the rocks. I didn’t look back. I was sliding, sliding, sliding. I had lost my balance when I pulled my shirt off.
Surging forward with adrenalin, I pushed my body forward lying down like a snake. I dug my Keen’s into the soft dirt and my hands clung to the jutted rocks exposed from years of foot traffic. I was inching upward. Miraculously, my right foot found a small rock. It was just enough to get a slight balance. I looked up and saw the roadway was not far away. If I could just get a few more inches upwards, I would be off this perilous mountain face and back onto the overlook path.
I had dirt in my mouth and nostrils and my eyes were tearing. The ground was dry and fine like cinnamon. I took a deep breath and stretched my foot onto the small rock. I balanced it there and twisted my arms to the rock crevice. I could almost make it. I would have to let my foot move from its balance then grab the surface rocks and swing my body to the far left and get back on the trail. If I missed, I would end up down the edge of the boulder on top of the man.
With one last leap of energy I shoved off the rock leaving the safety of the dirt. I fell hard to the left in the rock crevice with a protective rock behind me and the crevice trail in front of me. The rocks pierced my bare flesh and I could feel blood oozing from my shoulders. I didn’t try to wipe it as it snaked down my arms and mixed with the blood from my fingertips.
A few steps through the short trail and I was on US 441, the Gatlinburg Bypass. I looked a mess with my shirt missing, covered in dirt and blood and my pants torn. I didn’t know whether to head south towards the Welcome Center or wait on a passerby. I decided to start walking. Within minutes people were pulling over at the next overlook to try to figure out if I was just nuts or needed help. A few tourists held their iPhones up and took pictures of me as they passed. I limped downhill and then the lights of the park ranger's truck were being reflected off the pavement. He rolled down his window and asked if I was in trouble. I told him I had been attacked and needed help. I sobbed. He reached over to open the passenger door and I jumped into the truck. He took off his ranger jacket and handed it off to me. We drove to the Welcome Center where I had left my car. I was thankful to have left my keys in the upper wheel well.
I entered the Parkway in Pigeon Forge passing the huge Titanic replica then heading left into Apple Barn Resort past families playing on the shores of the Little Pigeon River and crowds of people meandering, their bellies full, outside the Apple Barn Restaurant. I drove on down Lonesome Valley Road to where our vacation home awaited. The world was still going on as if life was normal and nothing horrific had happened. After a long shower, I went back to give my statement to the police. They said they had gone back to where I had been and even found the blood splatters on the rocks, but not a sign anywhere of a body.
I awoke to the sound of the bump, bump, bump of I-59 just as we passed into the “Welcome We’re Glad Georgia’s On Your Mind” sign. What a dream. My camera is still in the pocket of my hoodie and Rising Fawn is just ahead.
A fictional story by
Evangeline Carlisle
The Bypass(Evangeline)
Blood runs down my arms and mixes with sweat to pool at my fingertips. There is barely a life left in the hands. Our family vacation had turned to inexplicable tragedy.
We made this trip a few times a year traveling in from Birmingham on I-59 and driving through North Alabama with its own beauty of the Lookout Mountain area and the stark rock formations of the lower Appalachians. When we weren’t in too much of a rush, we’d take exit 205 and visit the quaint town of Mentone. A tiny treasure of a town nestled in the mountains with local artisans and home cooking just a stone’s throw from Desoto State Park.
Then on we’d go traveling past Rising Fawn, Georgia. I would think how I might someday want to leave the city and move to this picturesque town. There are several variations of how this town got its name. The Cherokee tribe occupied these lands before they were forced out during the Trail of Tears. Before I looked up any history on the name, I had come to think the name was from the way the mountains look like a fawn lying down. Whatever the name, the mountains here rise up in awesome beauty.
We would take the Rising Fawn exit for a stretch and to get our first lottery ticket of the trip then back on to I-24 as it meanders along the Tennessee River and winds past the factories and into the hills through Chattanooga and on to the Great Smoky Mountains.
This trip had started off like so many before it. I had my cheap digital camera in hand to take photo upon photo of the mountains. I hiked with urgency up Clingman’s Dome as if the mountains would vanish before I reached the peak. Then hurriedly back down I would go to get to Newfound Gap and catch the sunset over the lookout. Back down the mountain I would go on the Gatlinburg Bypass with lots of sudden stops to take a photo. The winds were picking up. A storm named Sandy was kicking up its heels and the winds were howling over from North Carolina. It was unseasonably warm today. In just a few days, this balmy weather would change over to 22 inches of snow.
On this day, a day so much like many vacation days, with the leaf peepers headed home and the late season tourist busy eating fudge or hitting one of the many Christmas shops, or maybe at the Aquarium or Titanic, I decided to venture out and get photos of the last few leaves. I always find the ones that hang on the longest to have the most color. I had stopped above Gatlinburg and the rest area and decided to leave my car there and take an ambitious walk up the mountain.
It was getting close to dark and I even had a few bats flying overhead. I edged down the side of the mountain, off the pathway through some large rocks to get a better photo and was absent-mindedly not paying attention to my surroundings. Just then, a man wearing a blue North Face jacket and gloves, heavy wear for today, appeared out of nowhere. I immediately felt ill at ease. He tried to start a conversation about photography, but there was just something about him that was not right. I turned to go and he asked where I had parked. I didn’t answer. I took a step up and felt his hand clench down on my left arm. He pulled me back and, with the incline, I quickly lost balance and began to slide but was caught by the boulder behind me. I stood up and shook myself off then squared my eyes into his. He sneered. I knew my gut had been right. He was up to no good.
I surveyed the roadway. I was just a few yards from the highway, but far enough down to where a passerby wouldn’t be able to see me without parking on the overlook.
The man said “you’re going to walk up on the road and follow right next to me just like we was together”.
My mind was reeling. For some reason I had a flashback to a movie about an airplane crash where the survivors were interviewed and said the ones who had survived were willing to do whatever it takes to survive and those who didn’t died. Why I had that thought at a moment like this was beyond me, but I knew what I had to do. In a flash of seconds I was either going to be the victim or the survivor.
I turned as if to walk up to the roadway but navigated my steps to where I would have the left side of my body just in front of a boulder while the man would be completely in front of the lower boulders. I glanced back and he was off guard looking down at his feet. I had no experience in kicking but did my best Karate Kid kick. There was the flash when he looked up as he fell backwards. He didn’t go down the edge of the mountain like I had hoped but he had lost his balance. As he was sliding backwards, he had lunged forward enough to grab the hood of my shirt and I was pulled back with a snag like a fly fisherman making his catch.
He had my shirt and I was holding my left foot at an angle against the rock with my right side sliding slowly against the pull. He was going to take me down with him. In a split second decision, I let go of the rock praying my left foot could hold me for a few seconds. I reached down and snatched the bottom of the shirt and peeled it off exposing only my bra underneath. The man’s eyes widened with sudden fear and recognition as he realized his hold was lost. He flung the shirt over his head and struggled to pull himself forward. It was too late. He plummeted backwards and fell headfirst onto the boulders below. I heard the distinctive sound of his scull cracking against the rocks. I didn’t look back. I was sliding, sliding, sliding. I had lost my balance when I pulled my shirt off.
Surging forward with adrenalin, I pushed my body forward lying down like a snake. I dug my Keen’s into the soft dirt and my hands clung to the jutted rocks exposed from years of foot traffic. I was inching upward. Miraculously, my right foot found a small rock. It was just enough to get a slight balance. I looked up and saw the roadway was not far away. If I could just get a few more inches upwards, I would be off this perilous mountain face and back onto the overlook path.
I had dirt in my mouth and nostrils and my eyes were tearing. The ground was dry and fine like cinnamon. I took a deep breath and stretched my foot onto the small rock. I balanced it there and twisted my arms to the rock crevice. I could almost make it. I would have to let my foot move from its balance then grab the surface rocks and swing my body to the far left and get back on the trail. If I missed, I would end up down the edge of the boulder on top of the man.
With one last leap of energy I shoved off the rock leaving the safety of the dirt. I fell hard to the left in the rock crevice with a protective rock behind me and the crevice trail in front of me. The rocks pierced my bare flesh and I could feel blood oozing from my shoulders. I didn’t try to wipe it as it snaked down my arms and mixed with the blood from my fingertips.
A few steps through the short trail and I was on US 441, the Gatlinburg Bypass. I looked a mess with my shirt missing, covered in dirt and blood and my pants torn. I didn’t know whether to head south towards the Welcome Center or wait on a passerby. I decided to start walking. Within minutes people were pulling over at the next overlook to try to figure out if I was just nuts or needed help. A few tourists held their iPhones up and took pictures of me as they passed. I limped downhill and then the lights of the park ranger's truck were being reflected off the pavement. He rolled down his window and asked if I was in trouble. I told him I had been attacked and needed help. I sobbed. He reached over to open the passenger door and I jumped into the truck. He took off his ranger jacket and handed it off to me. We drove to the Welcome Center where I had left my car. I was thankful to have left my keys in the upper wheel well.
I entered the Parkway in Pigeon Forge passing the huge Titanic replica then heading left into Apple Barn Resort past families playing on the shores of the Little Pigeon River and crowds of people meandering, their bellies full, outside the Apple Barn Restaurant. I drove on down Lonesome Valley Road to where our vacation home awaited. The world was still going on as if life was normal and nothing horrific had happened. After a long shower, I went back to give my statement to the police. They said they had gone back to where I had been and even found the blood splatters on the rocks, but not a sign anywhere of a body.
I awoke to the sound of the bump, bump, bump of I-59 just as we passed into the “Welcome We’re Glad Georgia’s On Your Mind” sign. What a dream. My camera is still in the pocket of my hoodie and Rising Fawn is just ahead.
A fictional story by
Evangeline Carlisle
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