BJ stopped and raised a hand and pointed down and over to their left. Brian came up beside him and looked. At first, he saw nothing. His eyes searching and then between a heavy thicket, he saw three men sitting in camp chairs. They all wore camouflaged hunting clothing. It appeared as though they were drinking, and he and BJ moved down toward them, slowly and carefully, keeping the larger trees between them and the men.
Their high vantage gave them a view of the camp below. Twenty feet from the men was a pile of rotting carcasses. It looked as though they killed their prey, but only used parts of the animal, leaving the rest to rot. Don’t they know how to butcher? How the hell can they stand the stench? Brian wondered. Perhaps it was the mound of beer cans and empty liquor bottles? There were three tents and beside the tents were boxes of liquor, whiskey, vodka, gin as well as beer and a couple of kegs. Christ, these assholes were sitting around drunk. Brian was amazed.
Beside one man, who’d had a large gut, from drinking beer no doubt, was an AR15, laying in the dirt. All the men looked dirty and rough, their faces sporting beards. No surprise, shaving wasn’t high on the list for most men during this time. Though he and BJ chose to shave and shower quite regularly. Another man, a black man, was stretched out in his camp chair, his booted feet propped up on a log. There was a low fire burning, nearly burned out. A hunk of meat over a spit, the smoke spiraling up.
The third man, this one white, thin and lanky, was smoking a pipe, and to Brian, it looked like a crack pipe, not a tobacco pipe. So, they were drinking and getting high in the woods. There were three ATVs parked off to the side, with several five-gallon gas cans. There was also a pile of empty food cans, various trash. Brian scrutinized each face, burning them into his memory. The fat one had rounded cheeks, with a patchy beard. He also had a large mole in the middle of his eye brows. He mentally named him Mole. The black man had two gold earrings that stretched his earlobes. Brian named him Pirate. The third man, had an unibrow and a hawkish nose. He named that man Crackhead.
When they got back to camp, he’d give the women their descriptions. He’d also advise them to shoot the men on sight. Though these men didn’t present a problem now, when the booze, drugs and food ran out, they would go looking. He could only hope that at that point, those men would move on, in a different direction. Five miles was too close, but the only alternative was to kill them here and now, outright murder.
Brian watched them for a long time. He vacillated back and forth. He didn’t want to play God, but he didn’t like knowing they were that close to his home and children. If he let them live, would they be a threat to his large family? He’d need to talk to BJ and the women about this. It was easier to kill someone in the heat of rage, but cold-blooded killing? Brian wasn’t sure he could do that.
It had taken he and BJ well over two hours to walk this far in the woods. He didn’t think the men below could walk half a mile before collapsing. He began to back out, and BJ followed. Both men crept backward until the camp was completely out of sight. Then they turned and made their way up hill and away from the threat. Neither man spoke as they turned southeast.
Half an hour later, BJ stopped.
“What do you think?” He asked, looking back over his shoulder.
“I was seriously thinking of just shooting them all where they sat.” Brian said, wiping the sweat off his face.
“Yeah, me too. But, honestly, I don’t think I could have done it. Somehow I doubt they would have noticed.”
“I doubt it too. They are a concern, but I’m not sure they’re a threat. I want to speak to the girls, see what they think. Also, give them those men’s description, should they ever show up. If they keep drinking like that, I’m pretty sure one of them will accidently shoot the others. Or, leaving that food to rot, a bear will come by and take care of our problem for us.” Brian snorted, shaking his head.
“I can’t believe they just piled that mess up and let it rot. That’s a serious biohazard. If we’re lucky, they’ll die by their own stupidity. Clearly, they have no idea how to preserve food.” BJ shrugged.
“Let’s head back and see if we can’t get some meat. I don’t know about you, but Paadi’s starting to get a crazed look in her eyes. I don’t think I’d want to be on the wrong end of her temper.” Brian sniggered, his shoulders shaking with laughter.
“Don’t I know it, ‘fish, fish, fish. Gwad daum it, I’m sick of gwad daum fish.’ Is what she told me before we left.” BJ practically giggled, imitating Paadi’s heavy accent.
“Ohhh, you’re in trouble! I’m gonna tell Paadi that you’re making fun of her accent.” Brian said in sing song fashion, laughing harder now.
“You beada not, I’ll go wicked crazy on you,
