Deep in the mountains of northern Pennsylvania, two men sat outside their cabin, cooking freshly-caught fish over an open fire. They were not ordinary campers; their clothes were soiled, their faces unshaven, and their hair long and tangled. Sam and Bill McCoy were from Southern Georgia. Sam, the oldest, smartest and tallest, might have been considered plain-looking, were it not for his tangled mop of hair and his scraggly beard; Bill, on the other hand, was not too bright, albeit not from lack of trying. He had always been slow - he just couldn’t help it - but he was intelligent enough to follow his big brother and do whatever Sam told him to do. Bill had a large, prominent forehead, teeth which were brown and rotted, and deep, dark, furrowed eyes. His equally unkempt head and facial hair gave him a Neanderthal look.
Three years earlier, in 1984, in a little Georgia town, the duo had robbed a bank. Sam had gone wild, nearly killing the bank manager to get into the vault; he also shot and killed a security guard, during a gunfight, on the way out of the bank. They got away with thirty grand in assorted, unmarked bills. The police had frantically searched for them but, even as the noose tightened in the area, the brothers managed to escape.
On the run, the men headed north, seeking safety in the mountains, out of the reach of prying eyes, listening ears and society. They drove their old truck part of the way, then wisely pushed it over a cliff and watched it roll down into the cover. They had bought some supplies, and so took to climbing and hiking the rest of their way on foot. Their journey to freedom took them deep into the mountainous forests, along the beginning of the Appalachian Trail.
A few long months and hundreds of miles later, their great escape had led them to a heavily-forested area, high in the mountains of the Northeast. As they explored, alongside a small, clearwater stream, they came upon an old and seemingly abandoned hunting cabin - luckily for them: it was late-autumn, and growing colder by the day. The place was run down, deserted and would likely remain that way for some time, so they claimed the little homestead as their own, and took it upon themselves to fix the place up, managing to find enough scrap wood to patch the leaky roof and fix the door.
During their first winter in the mountains, they ran out of firewood and nearly froze to death, in the snow-covered, draughty cabin. They managed to survive that ordeal, and continued to live in almost total isolation. In time, they adapted to the wilderness and became true mountain men.
Once every three or four months, Sam cleaned up, in the small stream behind the cabin; he shaved his filthy beard, trimmed and combed his long hair, and pulled it back into a sloppy ponytail. When he donned his dirty baseball cap and scratched sunglasses, he looked fairly normal - even slightly civilized. Only then would the two dare to take the long, two-and-a-half-day hike, to the small town down in the valley. The little burg of Pinecrest wasn’t exactly a thriving metropolis, but it could boast a great fishing lake, a ski lodge, a general store and a sports shop.
Bill waited in the cover of the pine trees as Sam carried the packs into town, to refill them with supplies. No one paid him much attention; in fact, they seemed genuinely happy for the business, especially since he always paid in cash.
After dinner, the brothers shared their newly-acquired whiskey and cigars. They watched the distant sun setting, creeping lower and lower, until it sank below the mountains. It was a clear, cool evening - dusk, in that time when summer days seemed to linger forever, before giving in to the darkness of night. Still, before long, the moon began to make its grand appearance.
Sam looked up at the silvery orb, hovering above them. “Them stars will be so bright and clear tonight, you’ll think you can jump right on up there and touch ‘em.”
He looked over at his brother; “You know what? We have us a good life out here. ‘Cept for one thing.”
Bill glanced over at him, puzzled: “What, Sam? What more could we want? We got us a nice, warm cabin and cash money; the fishin’ and huntin’ is good.”
Sam smiled. “This is true , my brother, but we are still missing something. See, I got this desire - a need that’s a-growin’ stronger every day,” Sam said, staring at his little brother, intensely.
“Um… a desire?” Bill questioned.
Sam shook his head and clapped Bill on the shoulder. “A woman, Bill! Maybe we can find us a woman!”
“Oh!” Bill replied. “Like when the Injuns had them squaws to cook and clean for them.”
“Yes! Yes! That’s all we need: a squaw to take care of us!”
Once again, Bill’s expression was one of bewilderment: “How, though? How we gonna get us a squaw?”
Sam laughed; “Don’t you worry, little brother: it won’t be too hard. I’m working on a plan.”
I have taken pride in writing this novel as so many people have the wrong impression on bikers because they dress in leather clothing which is to protect themselves in case of an accident. The majority of bikers are known Policemen, Firemen, Doctors,
Action-packed adventure that will keep you turning the pages.
When an explosion on board Transcon's flight Three-Seven disables their flight control systems, it's up to a group of "Angels" to save the passengers and crew from crashing into
