Road Kill

Chapter 1 (Abridged): 

                   11:30 p.m., December 12
             Big Bald Mountain, North Carolina

 People have a natural aversion to crashing into police cars.  At least the young trooper hoped so as he positioned his squad car to block the ragged gap.  Despite the swirling snow, the twenty-foot break in the guardrail stood out distinctly in the flashing lights, giving it an eerie appearance, like a gateway to oblivion.
 Trooper Robert Harrison came upon the accident site, at the peak of Big Bald Mountain, just minutes before.  Surveying the area quickly, he radioed for the Rescue Squad, called a report into headquarters, and then set out flares.  Traffic this time of night was usually light and he hoped the flares and flashing lights sufficient to warn approaching drivers.  There wasn’t much more he could do until Rescue showed up.
 From the edge of the road, Harrison used his powerful flashlight to scan the valley.  The mountaintop and the curve, at an elevation of fifty-five-hundred-feet, overlooked a steep two-thousand-foot slope of woods and brush.  Harrison was almost certain an eighteen-wheeler created the severely damaged track down the wooded mountainside.  He felt certain they would find only one vehicle but finding any survivors seemed unlikely.
 Big Bald was in his patrol area and he had been the first officer to arrive at accidents at this very spot too many times.  The new four-lane road from Asheville to the Tennessee border eliminated most of the traffic on this hazardous curve.  Now usually only locals used this fifteen-mile stretch of narrow winding mountain road.  Since the new highway opened, time permitting, Bob tried to check this old road a few times each week.  He wondered why a truck would travel this way over the mountain, particularly considering the weather.  There was nothing along the two-lane mountain road, no business or store, which would require an eighteen-wheeler.
 With several inches of dry snow already covering the ground, it blanketed any trace of skid marks.  As he peered down into the wooded valley he noticed the branches showed little sign of sagging as they normally would with a wet snow.   The shifting breeze blew the dry flakes around often lifting them abruptly like ashes from a campfire.  The zigzag motions made him feel a little dizzy.
 The Trooper was anxious to do something but even with his light it was difficult to see very far down the path.  Not equipped to try a descent alone, his best course of action was to wait until the Squad arrived.
 He hoped Homer and Elwood would show up for this call.  Bob couldn’t remember anyone referring to them separately, only as a set, Homer and Elwood.  They always worked as a team, ever since they met in the Army, and were the region's rescue legends, both heroes and rascals.  Several remarkable saves were on their record, many because they took risks considered almost foolhardy by some.  When lives were in jeopardy, they were notorious for disregarding safety procedures.  But the two were effective, and everyone respected and admired their results.
 As if on cue, an old, multi-colored pickup truck arrived, and out jumped Homer and Elwood.  Both were tall and rugged looking and, except for the florescent striped rescue vests, nothing they wore looked official.  They wore boots, jeans and wool shirts.  Homer sported his trademark: a black western hat.  A dark bushy beard hid most of his face, framing his piercing eyes beneath the hat brim.  He was slipping on a pair of yellow leather work gloves. 
 Elwood had on a black wool watch cap and gloves, similar to Homer's.  His thin lined face resembled a clay sculpture, a work in progress, bracketed by wide blond side burns.  The permanent mischievous smile etched into his face accented his light green eyes. The barrel-chested Homer gave Elwood an appearance of being thin, even skinny and weak.  Bob knew better.  If Homer was a bear, Elwood was a mountain lion.
 Bob had been with the Highway Patrol for almost eight-years and the two were members of the volunteer rescue squad long before he became a trooper.  Their daring antics were legendary even then.  He watched as both men reached into the bed of their truck and put on climbing harnesses with battery-powered lights attached to the chest straps.
 Bob couldn't help thinking of Santa’s elves preparing the sled for Christmas.  They spoke not a word, but went straight to their work.
 He watched the two men slip over the crest of the hill, guiding the sled from the front, as the winch slowly lowered it down the mountain slope.  They followed the path of the truck in ankle deep snow, checking debris along the route.  Descending slowly, checking carefully, they looked for the driver or passengers.  Even with their bright parkas and the floodlights trained on them, the two rescuers were soon out of sight.  Time passed slowly as the group waited silently in the chilled night air.
 After about thirty-minutes, they radioed for the rescue team to haul up the sled slowly.
 As it came into view, Harrison could see Homer and Elwood.  They secured canvas covers to the sled and supported the driver’s body between them while being towed up the hill.
 When they reached the top, other team members took charge of the body.  The duo gave a report, such as it was, to one of the rescue team.  There was little, if anything salvageable and no reason to send a team down again.
 Elwood took Bob Harrison to one side and said in a low voice, "Unless you have somethin' real important to do, I suggest we hang around and go back down at first light.  We didn't find signs of foul play or anythin’ like that, but there were a couple of things we sure thought real peculiar…”