The men in the mountains

It seemed a normal village when I arrived, friendly enough to strangers and I soon found employment assisting the village elder in his numerous schemes: trading, collecting taxes, acting as mediator in disputes and generally being involved in everything and anything happening in the village.

It was a couple of days before I witnessed gunfire for the first time. Up until then, as I say, everything seemed normal.

My job that day was collecting offerings. At the time I had no idea what the offerings were for, but that didn't matter, everyone else seemed to and I had nobody turn me down. I did all the fetching and carrying, the village elder merely greeted the locals and marked the offering received on a clipboard as we moved around the village. 

As we were walking along, there was a sudden splatter of wood in a fence we were passing. "What on earth?" I said.

"Oh, it's just a bullet," said the elder, matter-of-factly.

"A bullet?" I said. "You mean someone's shooting at us?"

"That's right."

"You seem awfully calm. Shouldn't we take cover?"

"No point. Oh, we all tried ducking and hiding at first, but you can't live your life creeping around the floor. You just have to take your chances."

"But who's shooting at us?"

"The men in the mountains."

"Why? What have you done?"

The elder laughed. "We haven't done anything. They've been shooting at us for years."

"For years! Can't you stop them?"

"My predecessor tried asking them to stop. They shot him."

"They killed him?"

"Yes, that's why it's best not to say anything."

"But that's murder."

"It's all very well labeling it murder, but we're hundreds of miles from the nearest police and they're up in the mountains with high powered rifles and telescopic sights, firing down at us. If we ire them they just shoot more. You can come out from behind that cart, they're done for now."

"How can you be sure?"

"It's never sustained fire, just the odd bullet."

Eventually I braved standing up and we returned to our work. 

"Who are they?" I asked.

"The men in the mountains," the elder said. "It's not my place to know more than that."

"They've been there for years you say."

"Yes, all my lifetime."

"But what do they live on? The mountain's desolate."

"This," the elder nodded to the cart.

"The cart. This is for them?"

"That's right."

"You mean you take food to the very men who are shooting at you."

"We tried stopping but they just get angry and shoot more. Don't worry, though, they never shoot the cart, we're safe taking it up the mountain. And going down again - as long as we hurry."

"But where do they get the bullets, surely they'll run out if they've been there years."

The elder didn't answer, but a thought struck me. I rummaged in the care and there sure enough was a box of bullets.

"You take them the very bullets they shoot you with."

"As I said, we tried stopping but they shot us more than ever before. We lost two men."

"They'll run out of bullets eventually."

"We might all be dead by then."

I resolved to leave the village at the first opportunity, but I was bound to complete the work I had been hired to do. To help the village elder take the cart up the mountain. 

Eventually the cart was full and we were ready. There were three of us altogether, myself, the village elder and one of the villages, who went by the name Ratboy.

It was hard going. Though there was a well-worn path, the incline was steep and the cart heavy, it seemed a venture in madness to attempt to push a cart this heavy up a hill this steep, not even taking into account the purpose of the journey - to feed and arm your enemy. We did, however, make steady progress. However, half way up the hill there was a sudden sound of gunfire, and Ratboy fell to the ground, dead.

"You said they didn't shoot the men bringing the cart," I said, ducking for cover.

"They haven't before."

"Let's go," I said. "They're clearly getting worse, it's no longer safe to even bring their food to them."

"But if we turn back they'll just shoot more, we're be vulnerable with out backs to them, pushing a great cart."

"Let's leave it here."

"That won't please them either. I'm sure it was an aberration, let's push on."

"An aberration! A man is dead."

As I spoke another shot rang out, hitting the village elder this time. He collapsed to the floor. "The cart is yours now," he said. His final words.

But I wasn't going to leave the cart. Not to these murderers. They didn't deserve food, clothes, drink, let alone more bullets.

I pushed the cart away from the track and over the side of the mountain, where it crashed its way down the hill. I didn't stop to watch its descent, I turned and ran back down the track, past the village, and off towards wherever, somewhere without the men in the mountains shooting at us.