by Mark Dawson
He doubted that she had the cash and, if she did, he guessed that she would need it more than he would. “Don’t worry. We can settle up when we get your brother back.”
Milton was arranging the gear in Mallory’s new pack when he noticed that the girl had walked away from him and had approached the woman who had just entered the store. He watched as the newcomer turned to her, the concentrated expression that Mallory had worn as she scouted the shelves changing into a smile that Milton thought bore a little awkwardness, too.
He hoisted the pack onto his shoulder and walked over to them.
“Ready?” he asked her. “We should get started.”
“Mr. Milton,” Mallory said, “this is Special Agent Flowers.”
The woman turned to him and extended a hand. “Ellie Flowers.”
She looked familiar.
“I’ve seen you in town, haven’t I?”
“In the bar last night.”
He remembered: she had been talking to Mallory. “Sorry about that,” he said.
“What’s your name?”
“John Milton.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Milton.”
“Likewise.”
“Mallory says you’re going to go up into the woods with her.”
“That’s right. She said the FBI wouldn’t.”
“My partner didn’t want to, no. There’s just the two of us and he’s not convinced that they’re out there.”
“But you are?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s your partner now?”
“Probably halfway back to Detroit by now.”
“And you’re staying here?”
“No,” she said. “I’m going into the woods.”
Milton fought the urge to let out a long, impatient sigh. “You know what you’re doing?”
“I’ve hiked before. Camped a few times when I was younger.”
“You got equipment?” He looked down at her feet, shod in plain leather flats.
She followed his gaze. “I’m not an idiot,” she said indignantly.
“I was just saying—”
“Well, don’t. I’m a federal agent. I know what I’m doing.”
He let it ride.
He had riled her up. “What’s your involvement in this, anyway?”
“Mallory asked me to go up north and look for her brother. I said that I would help.”
“I don’t know about that. This is a federal matter. I don’t need your help, and I’m not sure it’s even appropriate, especially after what you did last night.”
Milton snapped, “After what I did? You saw what happened just like everyone else. They went after me.”
She shrugged. “You have a temper. If Mallory’s right and those boys are up there, what’s to say you wouldn’t just make things worse?”
Milton started to snap back a retort, but caught himself, took a deep in-and-out breath, and managed a tight smile. “All right, then. Fair enough. Good luck.”
Mallory turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“Like she says, she’s a federal agent. You don’t need me. I’ll see you around. I’ve packed your gear for you. You’ve got everything you need.”
The girl’s face fell. “No. I want you to come.”
“I don’t think so.”
He started to leave, but the girl reached out and grabbed him by the wrist.
“Please,” she said. Still holding onto him, she turned back to Ellie. “Please, let’s all just relax and start over, okay? Agent Flowers, Mr. Milton is an experienced outdoorsman. You said to me yourself last night that’s not what you’re good at. Doesn’t it make more sense for him to come with us up there?”
“This is a federal—”
“Yes,” the girl said, interrupting her, “the thing with the men is a federal matter. But Mr. Milton is going to help me get my brother back. That’s a family thing. Totally different.”
The woman started to retort but stopped herself.
“And, Mr. Milton, if they are up there, isn’t it better that the FBI is involved?”
Milton drew another breath. He had already entertained doubts that this was a foolish idea, that agreeing to help the girl was pandering to his ego as much as thinking it was the right thing to do, but he relented. Grandiosity was not something that a drunk could afford. Humility was better. Healthier.
“I don’t take orders from anyone except myself,” he said. “And I’m not a tour guide.”
“I don’t need you to guide me, Milton.”
Humility was better. But not easy.
He picked up Mallory’s pack again and slung it across his shoulder. “Get the stuff you’re going to need and meet us outside. We’ve only got eight hours of daylight left before it starts to get dark. I want to get as far north as we can by the time we have to stop.”
Chapter 12
SPECIAL AGENT Flowers had rented a Cadillac Escalade from the place in town, and Milton quickly decided that it made more sense for them to travel the short distance to the place where they would start to hike in that rather than in Mallory’s tired old Pontiac. He opened the rear door and found the button to fold down the third-row seats, the motors humming quietly as they doubled over into the floor. He transferred his gear into the SUV, laying his rifle down in the space between the pack and the back of the second-row seats, and then collected Mallory’s pack and slotted that alongside. Flowers was struggling with her own pack, catching the strap on the door as it closed behind her, and he crossed the sidewalk towards her with his hand out to help.
“I got it,” she said tetchily.
She freed the strap and hauled the pack to the back of the Cadillac. Milton watched her as she muscled the bag across a wide puddle. She was medium height and elfin, with brown shoulder-length hair and exquisitely delicate bones in her face. Her eyes were grey, and her lips, which were full, were set in a severe expression that matched her frown. She had bought more appropriate clothes in the store and had changed into them in the changing rooms out back. She had transferred her suit and work shoes into the car already. The waterproof jacket and leggings and the walking boots were much more suited to the terrain, although Milton was sure that her feet would blister as she broke the firm leather in. Knowing that, and not wanting her to slow them down, he had returned to the counter and bought zinc oxide tape, antibacterial ointment and a sterilised needle.
“This isn’t what I had in mind,” Milton said to Mallory when Flowers was out of earshot.
“Give her a break,” she said. “It makes most sense for us to go together, right?”
“We’ll see.”
The rear door slammed, and Flowers came around and opened the driver’s door.
“Ready?” she said.
Milton opened the rear door for Mallory and followed her inside.
MILTON OPENED out the map that he had bought in the store and spread it across his knees. Ellie turned around in her seat, and Mallory leaned in closer.
“Where did your brother say they were hiding?” he asked her.
She studied the map, gaining her bearings, and then pointed to the Lake of the Clouds, right up on the southern shore of Lake Superior. She pointed to a spot on the southern shore.
“Where?” Milton said. “I don’t see anything.”
“It’s not marked on the map,” she said.
“What isn’t?” Ellie said.
“There’s an old copper mine up there. It’s been abandoned for years. That’s where they are.”
“But you’re not sure where it is?”
“Not exactly. Up by the lake.”
“Mallory—” the agent began.
“It’s all right,” Milton interjected. “If they’re up there, I’ll find them.”
“You sure about that?” she said dubiously.
Milton ignored her. He studied the map. “It’s twenty miles from here. We follow this road out of town, go over the railroad, and then we can get into the forest from there. We
’ll hike the rest of the way.”
Ellie turned back to the wheel and started the engine.
Milton leaned back in the comfortable leather seats and tried to dislodge the nagging doubt that this whole enterprise had the potential to be a big, expensive mistake.
THE RAINS came again as they drove out of town. The clouds had rolled in with startling speed, and the patchy blue that had been overhead after lunchtime was replaced by an angry churn of inky blacks and greys. As they drove along the narrow blacktop, pressed between the shoulders of fir trees that loomed close on both sides, a tremendous boom of thunder ripped down from the sky, and the rain hammered down. The light vanished and it was quickly almost as dark as it would be at night. The automatic lights flickered on, but the rain was so heavy that Ellie had to drop her speed right down.
He wondered whether it might not make more sense to turn around and go back to Truth, take another night in the hotel, and then start again early tomorrow morning. He was about to broach the suggestion, but when he looked across at Mallory she was so intent and so buried in concentration that he changed his mind. She wouldn’t want to take anything that might be construed as a backward step. She would have seen a delay as an opportunity for Ellie and himself to reconsider their involvement. He was sure that she would resist if he tried and, after a moment’s thought, he allowed the thought to pass.
They might get a little wet, but at least they would be on their way.
They turned north and kept driving for another mile, passing tiny one-track service roads and fire breaks that branched out to the left and right. They passed two other vehicles during the short drive: a truck laden with logs, so wide on the narrow road that Ellie had to drive halfway onto the shoulder to let it pass them, and another SUV, its lights glowing like golden bowls in the seemingly solid wall of water.
The northern boundary of the town was delineated by the railroad that ran from east to west. They crossed the track and reached a narrow road on the other side that skirted the southern boundary of a farmer’s field. Corn was growing in the field, stalks as tall as a man swaying in the strengthening breeze. The four-wheel drive kicked in as the wheels slipped across the slick surface, and Ellie switched to high beams to paint light in the gloom as far ahead as she could. She stopped and switched off the engine, the courtesy lights shining warm and cosy as a perverse counterpoint to the torrential deluge drumming against the roof and cascading down the windshield.
Milton looked at the map again. The farmer’s field was perhaps a mile long and a mile wide. They would need to head north, crossing the field before getting to the start of the woods. He had no idea how fast Mallory and Ellie would be able to travel with their packs, but, assuming a decent pace, he figured they would be able to make a good start into the woods by the time they had to camp. Three or four miles ought to be possible today.
“This will be fine,” Milton said. “You might as well stay inside while I get the gear ready.”
Milton reached behind him for his pack and took out his waterproof trousers and jacket. He pulled them on.
He opened the door and stepped out into the rain. It was as heavy as he could ever remember, save the storms he had suffered through the Asian monsoon season, and he was grateful for his waterproofs. His boots sank down an inch into the quagmire and the mud sucked hungrily as he lifted his feet to step around to the back of the Cadillac. He opened the back and, after taking out what he needed from his pack, he attended to his rifle. He fitted the scope cap tightly to the sight and wrapped the muzzle with electrical tape, sealing it, so that it was reasonably watertight. He wasn’t keen on the rifle getting wet, but there was nothing that could be done about it in weather like this. As long as he maintained it carefully when they got under cover again later, he was happy enough that the gun would fire reliably when he needed it to.
He prepared the packs for Mallory and Ellie and called for them to come around.
“I’m just going to call the bureau,” Ellie called back. “Two minutes.”
Mallory struggled through the slop and came to stand beside him. Milton took her pack and worked it around so that she could easily slip her arms through the straps, but rather than do that, she paused. She opened the ties at the top and then reached into an inside pocket of her jacket. He watched dumbly as she withdrew a .45 calibre pistol from her pocket and slipped it into the mouth of her new pack.
“What is that?”
“What does it look like?”
It was a Ruger P90 with a custom grip, and it looked enormous in her small hand. “What are you doing with a pistol like that?”
“My father had lots.”
“You’re not taking it.”
“Mr. Milton, those boys are murdering dirt bags. What if I need to defend myself?”
“That’s what I’m for, Mallory. Me or your FBI friend. Give it to me. I won’t go out there with you if you’re taking a gun.”
“I’ll go with Ellie, then.”
“I’m pretty sure she’ll say the same thing. You want me to ask?”
She looked at the gun, then at Milton, and, seeing that he was not bluffing, she held it by the barrel and passed it to him. It was the stainless manual safety model. He popped the magazine and checked it, seeing the full seven-shot load. He pushed the magazine back into the gun, equipped the safety, and put it into his pack. He didn’t have a handgun with him. Maybe it would come in useful, but there was no way he was going to let her anywhere near it.
Ellie stepped out of the Cadillac and shut the door behind her. She grimaced up into the slanting rain as she came around to the back. “Everything all right?”
Mallory looked at him, her eyes expressive.
“We’re good,” he said. “Speak to them?”
“No signal,” she reported. “This weather, I guess.”
“We get storms like this,” Mallory said, struggling to make herself heard over the rain. “It’s not unusual that it takes the network down.”
“Is it important?” Milton called.
“It’ll keep.”
He held up her pack for her to slide her arms into the straps.
“Ready?” he asked them both.
“Yes,” Ellie said.
Mallory nodded, still a little sullen at the confiscation of her weapon.
“This way,” Milton said, pointing to the field. “I reckon we’ve got three hours before we need to stop.”
He led the way.
Chapter 13
ELLIE FOLLOWED at the rear of their small little convoy. Milton was at the head, setting a brisk but not hurried pace. Mallory was in the middle, bent over a little. She reached up to the straps of her pack with a frequency that suggested she was struggling. Ellie wasn’t surprised. Mallory was smaller than she was, and she was finding the pack difficult to carry.
They left the car behind them and started into the field. The crop reached well over her head, but there were narrow paths through it that had been left to allow access for the farm’s machinery. The path was rutted, the trenches filled with water and mud, and the ridges slick and treacherous underfoot. By the time they were halfway across the field, it felt as if they had been cut off from Truth and the rest of the world. The stalks bent down at them as the wind whistled around, and Ellie began to feel her mood change, an oppressive atmosphere taking hold. She thought of Orville, the way he would have driven back to Detroit in his Denali, listening to his god-awful country and western, drumming his fingertips on the wheel in that annoying way he had. She started to wonder. Had she done the right thing when she put the hammer down on him like that? He was still her supervising officer, after all. There would have been better ways to let him down. She could have stomached one more dinner with him.
The rain kept falling, and the thick clouds piled up overhead. Ellie’s boots were watertight, and she was thankful for that. But the leather was stiff, and she could feel it as the upper on her left foot began to abrade the skin. God, a blister, and they’d hardly st
arted. That was going to be embarrassing. She pulled the peak of her hood as far over her face as she could, rubbed the water from her eyes, and continued on, following Mallory deeper into the field.
They reached the northern end, stepping out from between the high shoulders of the corn. The track at this end had been bolstered with a top layer of asphalt for the first few yards, but then, as that petered out, it became a sodden, waterlogged mire. They followed it for a hundred yards until they were at the start of the trees. Milton stopped in the limited shelter of an oak to consult his map. He seemed satisfied with their progress, considered his direction, and then shouted over the roar of the deluge that they needed to follow the animal trail that had been beaten into the undergrowth towards the northwest.
Ellie pressed on. This was not what she intended to do today. She thought of Orville again. He would already be back in Detroit, maybe even home with his wife. She could have been home, too, at the little apartment she was renting. She could have drawn a bath and submerged herself in it for an hour with a glass of wine and a book. A good long soak would help to drive away the chill that had seeped into her bones even before they had set off on this pursuit. Orville had confided in her that he couldn’t stand Truth or the Upper Peninsula, that he had no time for the people, and that the sooner he could get back to civilisation, the better. Ellie told him that she thought he was being condescending. That had started another argument, and he told her that she could do as she liked. He added that she had been gulled by a little girl, that the trip would be a wild goose chase, and that he was still going home.
Milton allowed them to stop at five o’clock, but only for five minutes. He had identified an area on the map that he wanted them to reach by sundown.
Sundown, she thought. How would they tell? It was already dark with the thunderclouds overhead.
Milton forged on, picking a path that led them around the fallen boughs and the worst of the vast swathes of nettles and bracken and, very soon, the track was invisible behind them. All they could hear was the sound of the rain on the trees.
