Dark Mountain

by Richard Laymon

  “Some good fishing up there. Here’s an Angler’s Guide for you,” he said, and spread open a leaflet on the countertop. “This map’s a bit sketchy.”

  “We’ll be meeting some friends. They’ve got topogs of the area.”

  “Fine. This one’ll give you a nice overview, but it’s weak on detail. You’ve got a nasty ridge here, for instance.” He tapped his ballpoint against a bare spot on the map. “Looks like an easy jaunt from Wilson to Round, but don’t you believe it. It’d take an hour of hard climbing. The topogs’ll take care of that for you.”

  He tapped the counter three inches from the bottom edge of the map. “Okay. You’re about here. You’ll want to take the Juniper Lake trail. It’s two miles to Juniper.” As he scribbled directions on an edge of the map, he said, “That’d be a fine place to spend the night. Some nice campsites all around it. When you head out of there, you just follow the trail you came in on. It branches out at the head of the lake, and there’s a marker there for Triangle Lakes. You just stay on it, all the way. Here’s where it comes onto the map.” He drew a line along the trail. He circled a lake. “This is Tully. It’s beautiful, has a real nice waterfall at the western end. Just a couple of miles farther, you’ve got Lake Parker. They’re a good day’s hike from Juniper. I’d stick to one or the other if I were you. Once you leave Parker behind, you’ve got Carver Pass to look forward to. You’ll want to be fresh when you tackle that. It’s a good three-or four-hour climb, takes you up to eleven thousand feet.”

  “Yuck,” said Julie.

  The ranger grinned at her. “About halfway up, if you’re like most folks, you’ll start wishing you were back home watching a ball game.” He marked zigzags on the map. “You’ve got switchbacks you think’ll never quit.”

  “I’m already exhausted,” Karen said, “just hearing about it.”

  “A great view from the top,” he told her. “And a good, cool wind.” He lowered his eyes to the map. “Right here, on the down side, you’ll run into the Mesquite Lakes. I don’t recommend you bother with those. You’ll know what I mean when you see them.”

  “The pits?” Julie asked.

  “That’s exactly what they are.” He drew his line along the trail. “Wilson’s just an easy three miles beyond the Mesquites, and it’s fabulous. Wooded, good campsites.” He circled Lake Wilson. “From there, you’ve got an easy shot to the Triangles. Get an early start from Wilson, and you should be there by noon.”

  “Sounds terrific,” Scott said.

  “Shall I put you down for Juniper, Parker, Wilson, and the Triangles?”

  “Fine by me.”

  He took out a form and began to fill in the information. “So, we’ve got you into the Triangles on night four. How long will you stay there?”

  “We’ll want to be within an easy hike of here by next Sunday. Maybe spend Saturday night back at Juniper.”

  The ranger marked it down. “If you want to see some new scenery, you can make a circle by following the Postpile trail south out of the Triangles.” He marked the trail, describing the lakes along the way, explaining that the return route was shorter and mostly downhill.

  “So, we’ll figure on two nights at the Triangles, then a night at Rabbit Ears, a night at Lake Tobash, and then back to Juniper. Should be a fine trip.” The ranger reversed the permit form and pushed it toward Scott. “Would you please read this and fill out the rest?”

  Scott studied the sheet. He wrote his name and address, and the number of people in his party. He signed it, and paid the permit fee. The ranger tore off a section and gave it to him.

  “Okay, you’re all set.” He pointed at the screen door. “About a hundred yards that way, you can pick up the trail.”

  “Thanks for all your help,” Scott said.

  “That’s what I’m here for. Have a real good trip.”

  They all thanked him and left the cabin.

  “Well,” Karen said. “That was painless.”

  “The pain starts when we put our packs on.”

  “He was neat,” Benny blurted. “Did you see those neat rifles?”

  “He had a nice Winchester in that rack,” Scott said.

  “Do you suppose he lives up here all the time?” Julie asked.

  “Should’ve asked him.”

  She shrugged.

  “I imagine he goes down before the snow closes the road.”

  “It’s probably beautiful here in winter,” Karen said.

  “Yeah, at Christmas,” Benny added. Hurrying ahead of the others, he turned around and walked backward. He raised his hands like a choir leader. “‘Dash-in’ through the snooow,’” he started to sing, waving his arms.

  “Forget it, Mitch,” Julie muttered.

  He ignored her and continued to sing until she hurled a pine cone at him. It bounced off his shirt. Laughing, he whirled away and ran the final distance to the car.

  “He’s so juvenile,” Julie said, as if to herself.

  Scott smiled. “Must run in the family.” He patted Karen’s back. “Do you think you can stand this for a week?”

  “No sweat,” she said.

  When they reached the car, Scott opened the trunk and lifted out a pack. His T-shirt rode up as he crouched to set the pack down. Karen glanced at the revealed strip of bare skin and the band of his jockey shorts. She remembered Meg’s remark, Hope you’re not planning to screw the guy. We’ll see, she thought, we’ll see.

  He took out the other packs and propped them upright against the rear bumper. He handed Karen her floppy felt hat. She put it on, and turned up the front brim.

  “Gabby Hayes,” Scott said.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  As he opened the top of his Kelty bag to put his shirt away, Karen heard a car engine. She looked up the shadowy road. A station wagon appeared, bouncing over the ruts.

  “Is it them?” Benny asked.

  “Yep,” Scott said. “Looks like they made it.”

  The driver, a broad-faced, florid man with a bald crown and a red fringe of hair over his ears, pulled in beside them and stopped. “How’d you beat us up here?” he asked as he climbed out.

  “Sheer skill,” Scott told him.

  They shook hands.

  “Karen, this is Arnold Gordon.”

  “Call me Flash,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you,” Karen said, and shook his big hand.

  The others climbed from the car: a thin teenaged boy with his father’s freckles and a full head of red hair; a short, rather chubby woman with a pixie haircut; two slim girls, maybe ten years old. Though twins, the girls were dressed differently; one wore her blonde hair in pigtails, while the other had a ponytail. That should help me keep them straight, Karen thought.

  Scott and Flash introduced everybody around. Karen repeated the names to herself, and called up associations to help her memory. Flash Gordon was easy. Nick was Nick Adams of “The Big Two-Hearted River,” a Hemingway story she’d taught last year. Alice was a toughy. Alice, malice, phallus—no, no. Well, she’d have to work on that one. Rose and Heather, flowers. Careful you don’t call them Tulip and Dandelion. “My Wild Irish Rose,” Scottish heather. Remember, Rose has the ponytail. Rosy pony. The Red Pony. That should do it.

  “…three-legged race at the picnic,” Julie was saying to Nick.

  “Oh, I remember that,” he said, blushing. “And the egg toss.”

  “Sure. It broke all over you.”

  With a nod, he excused himself and turned away to help his father unload the car. The entire family had matching red Kelty packs: two huge ones like Scott’s, a slightly smaller one for Alice, and a pair of child-size packs for the girls.

  “Arnold tells me you’re a schoolteacher,” Alice said.

  “Yes, that’s right. High school.”

  “Our Nick’s quite the student. He makes straight A’s in math and science.”

  “That’s very good.”

  “I was at the top of the class in math myself when I was in high school.
Of course, that was a long time ago. I planned to be a teacher, too, but then Arnold came along and I never got around to finishing college.” The challenging look in her eyes made Karen uncomfortable. Did she expect a reprimand for giving up school?

  “From the looks of your children,” Karen said, “you made the right choice.”

  The hardness left Alice’s eyes, and she smiled. “Well, thank you.”

  “We’ve already secured the fire permit,” Scott told Flash.

  “They got a head around here?”

  Scott pointed to an out house nestled in the shadows of trees a short distance away. “All right, gang, let’s hit the facility. Enjoy it, ladies. It’ll be your last look at a toilet seat for the next week.”

  Alice made a face at him.

  “Gross,” said Rose of the ponytail.

  Benny met Karen’s eyes. He looked amused.

  The entire group started toward the stone building.

  “Is it all right to leave the gear over there?” Nick asked his father.

  “Who’s around to meddle with it?”

  “How was your trip up?” Scott asked.

  “That one-lane death trap was a bitch. Poor Alice, she nearly laid an egg. Did you happen to run into a camper the size of a bus?”

  “Did we.”

  “I had to back halfway down the mountain to let it by. A real bitch.”

  “Wasn’t much fun,” Scott agreed.

  Nick watched Julie waiting by the out house. Soon the twins came out, and she pushed in. When the door banged shut behind her, Nick turned away. He looked toward the two cars to make sure nobody was tampering with the packs.

  There was no one in sight. For all he knew, the valley was deserted except for the nine of them and the ranger. But somebody had to belong to those other two cars, so it couldn’t hurt to keep an eye on the equipment.

  The last time he’d seen Julie she was just a skinny kid, a tomboy. Now she had breasts and everything. She was as cute as any cheerleader at Samo, and she would be camping with him for a whole week.

  The thought of that made Nick very nervous. If only she were plain, or fat, or even ugly, he might be at ease with her and they’d have a good time. How could he manage to be himself, though, with someone like Julie around?

  She would probably spend the whole week ignoring him.

  Probably goes steady with a football player. Messes around a lot, too. Girls like her always do. Just not with guys like me.

  Who needs her?

  Behind Nick, the door banged. He looked around. Julie was striding toward her father, her long legs slender and tanned, her hands flat inside the front pockets of her shorts, the white of her bra visible through her T-shirt. She glanced at Nick, but looked away quickly. Her hair bounced and swayed as she walked.

  “Don’t wear your eyes out,” his father said, coming up behind him.

  Nick’s face grew hot. “I won’t,” he muttered.

  They headed for the car, walking well behind the others. “She sure is something to look at.”

  “She’s all right.”

  “All right, my ass. She’s a knockout, and you know it. Now if I was in your shoes, I’d be right in there striking up an acquaintance.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  “You don’t want her thinking you’re stuck up.”

  “I’m not stuck up.”

  Approaching the car, Nick watched Julie pick up her backpack. She lifted it by the straps and swung it onto the trunk of her father’s Olds Cutlass. Balancing it there, she turned around. Her eyes met Nick’s for a moment, as if to make sure he was watching. Then she leaned back, hooking one arm through a strap, twisting, slipping her other arm into place. She leaned forward. The pack tipped against her. She stood up straight; the pull of the straps drew her shoulders back. Nick found himself staring at her breasts, which seemed more prominent than before.

  He turned away to put on his own backpack. When he looked again at Julie, she was wearing aviator sunglasses and a red beret that made her seem like some kind of commando.

  That’s a sharp hat, he could tell her. Sharp? She’ll think I’m a turkey. An awesome hat. That’s better. But he didn’t say it. Instead, he picked up his walking stick.

  “Hey,” Julie said, “is that a real blackthorn stick?” She walked toward him.

  Blushing, he nodded.

  “Can I see it?”

  He handed it to her.

  “Hey, this is nice.” She ran her hands along its polished, knobby shaft.

  “I got it in Ireland.”

  “Really? We’ve been there. Where did you buy it?”

  “Some gift shop near Blarney Castle.”

  “No kidding? We were there. Benny got a shillelagh at that place. Blarney Handicrafts?”

  “Yeah, that’s the place.”

  She returned his stick.

  “Did you kiss the Blarney Stone?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “How about the stairs going up there?”

  “Pretty hairy.”

  She laughed. “Kissing the stone was a cinch after those stairs. Did you get the gift of gab?”

  “I’m not sure it worked on me.”

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” Dad called.

  Julie stayed beside Nick as they walked over to join the rest of the group. With Mr. O’Toole and Dad in the lead, they hiked across a meadow. Ahead, Nick saw a wooden trail sign.

  “Have you ever been up in this area?” Julie asked.

  “Not around here. We’ve been into Mineral King, Yosemite, lots of places. Parts of the John Muir Trail. How about you?”

  She shook her head, making her blonde hair sway. “I think it’s really neat to go where you haven’t been before.”

  “Yeah, like exploring.”

  “And you never know what you’ll find.”

  They reached the trail, a wide dusty track leading into the forest. The sign beside it read JUNIPER LAKE, 2 MI.

  “If it’s all right with everybody,” Mr. O’Toole said, “we’ll stop there for the night.”

  “Fine by me,” Dad said.

  The arrow pointed to the left. They started to walk. The straps felt snug on Nick’s shoulders. The pack, though heavy, rode easily on his back. He took a deep breath. The hot air smelled of dust, and flowers, and pine, and he caught a hint of perfume from Julie. She stayed beside him as they walked.

  She’s not so bad after all, he thought. This could turn out good.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ettie’s leg muscles trembled from the strain of squatting. Finally, she straightened up. She looked at what she’d done. With both hands, she scooped up loose soil. She sprinkled it onto the pile of her feces. “Into the dirt,” she said, “I commit the essence of my foes. As their essence is obscured, so let all traces of their presence be banished from this canyon, that those who seek them might find no cause to trespass here.”

  She brushed her hands on her dress.

  “That’ll do it,” she muttered.

  She backed out of the crevice and sat on a block of granite. This high on the slope, she was still in sunlight. The shadow was not far below, creeping slowly upward as the sun sank closer to the opposite ridge.

  There was already a nice breeze. It made her sweaty dress feel cool. Raising her arms, she let the breeze chill her sodden armpits.

  Merle appeared, off to the right, mounting the crest of the small ridge that separated the lakes. He wore one blue backpack, and carried another. As Ettie watched, he started climbing the shadowy slope. He didn’t get far before abandoning the pack in his arms. With the other still on his back, he made his way higher, leaving the shade behind. He clambered over boulders, scurried up steep granite slabs, and finally vanished. From where Ettie sat, it looked as if he’d stepped through solid rock. She couldn’t see the fissure that led into their cave.

  A few moments later, Merle reappeared. He sprang down the slope, going to retrieve the second pack.

  Though still an
gry with him, Ettie had to admit she looked forward to checking out the booty. If the couple’s tent was any indication, they’d come well equipped. Probably had a camp stove and a couple of nice sleeping bags at least. A stove would come in real handy. Wouldn’t put up smoke like the cook fires they sometimes built in the cave. And their ratty old sleeping bags weren’t much good against the night’s cold. There’d be food, too. Probably enough to keep them going for a few more days anyway. They’d been talking about another raid on campers over by Lake Wilson, just to snatch some food, but there was always the danger of giving themselves away, pulling stunts like that, so it was good not to try it too often.

  In spite of the advantages, she wished Merle would learn to control himself. He was just like his father that way. Poor man got a taste of the power, and just couldn’t stop. Took a policeman’s bullet to stop him. She should’ve learned her lesson from that, and kept Merle ignorant. Seems a man just hasn’t got the same control a woman does. It’s that pecker, of course. Once that pecker gets heated up, nothing else matters.

  I offered ’em down.

  The gall of that boy, laying blame on the Master. The only call he got came from right between his legs.

  She should’ve stopped him. When they saw those two swimming, she’d known Merle might go after the gal. She’d warned him against it. He’d promised to leave her alone. Ettie knew how weak he was. She had to admit she’d half expected him to break his promise. But when he fell asleep after dark, she’d figured it’d be all right. He must’ve been playing possum, just to put her at ease so she’d sleep and leave him free to sneak down.

  Well, he wouldn’t trick her that way again. Next time—if there was a next time—she’d keep herself awake all night.

  As Merle disappeared again into the cave, Ettie stood up. Her rump was numb from sitting on the rock. She rubbed it, and the feeling returned with an aching tingle. Then she started down the slope.

  She was eager to get to the cave and see what Merle had brought in. First things first, though. She’d have to give the campsite a close look to make sure all the traces were gone.

  Halfway down the slope, she left the sunlight behind. In the shade, the breeze felt chilly. Ettie hoped those folks had some nice parkas with them. Her sweatshirt up at the cave wasn’t nearly warm enough once the sun went down.