Don't Move

by James S. Murray

  She wondered whether he was sick but had avoided mentioning it because he didn’t want to be a burden. That wouldn’t have surprised her, knowing Rizzo as she did. In the dictionary, his picture would accompany the definition of the word selfless.

  Regardless, she decided to keep a close eye on him. They didn’t need the head of the group keeling over this far from medical assistance.

  For the next hour, they moved deeper into the forest. She reckoned they were at least three miles from the bus. The sun had started to dip in the clear blue sky, throwing beautiful long shadows across the forest floor. The temperature had dropped a few degrees, but she was still drenched in sweat.

  The sound of running water at the start of the trek had grown steadily louder over the past hour. What earlier sounded like a babbling creek had grown to the torrential roar of a raging river.

  In the distance, the sun shone down into a clearing. Beyond the grassy lea, a granite crag rose into the air.

  DeLuca stopped and turned to face everyone. “Prepare to see the best spot in the Monongahela National Forest. Davies Canyon, in all her secluded glory.”

  Connor raced past the smiling guide, bounding through the waist-high undergrowth toward the campsite. His grandparents tried to give chase but were no match for the speed and exuberance of youth. He crowed with joy when he reached the tree line, and his voice echoed off the side of the mountain.

  Megan quickened her stride, moving alongside Vargas. For the first time since she could remember, she felt a glimmer of excitement at the prospect of seeing this place of unspoiled natural beauty.

  “Surprised he got us here?” Vargas asked her.

  “A bit,” she said, smiling.

  “A lot, I’d say. But whatever. Looks like the dude has come up trumps.”

  Part of her had seriously started to doubt DeLuca because of his apparently scatterbrained approach. She admitted to herself that she was a harsh judge when it came to organization. She had to be that way when running operations at Hunts Point. But guiding backpackers through dense forest required a different set of skills altogether.

  Megan walked to the edge of the clearing—and stopped dead in her tracks.

  A steep mountain wrapped around the back of the clearing, its sheer face reaching hundreds of feet into the sky. The green grass was long and lush. Beyond the meadow, white water blasted through a rocky flume it had carved at the foot of the mountain. Loud, foaming, at once awesome and terrifying.

  Perhaps it explained why this part of Davies Canyon remained such an unknown gem. No trails led here, and reaching it by water was impossible. Its natural barriers made it a perfect secluded getaway from the stresses of city life.

  Unless someone decided to ruin it.

  “What do you think?” she asked Vargas.

  “It’s dope.”

  “Just dope?”

  “I’ll leave the inspirational shit to Rizzo. This place’ll do me just fine.”

  He flicked open his Zippo and lit up, overpowering the fragrant smell of the forest with the acrid whiff of cigarette smoke.

  They crossed the grassy meadow, joining the rest of the group to look around in awe at the stunning scenery.

  Nothing could ruin this. Not even Ryan and Vargas’s squabbling.

  This was Eden. Paradise on Earth.

  “I take it you all approve?” DeLuca asked, beaming.

  Megan grinned. “It’s perfect.”

  Chapter

  Eight

  While the others started setting up camp in the middle of the clearing, Vargas found a secluded spot at the edge of the tree line and dumped his tent and plastic bag onto the ground. He didn’t want to be part of any conversation right now. The stunning scenery would keep everyone happy and distracted until they found out what was really going on. By then, he’d be long gone.

  He wiped sweat from his brow as he stared back through the forest. The walk had sapped his energy. Probably a bit farther than he would have preferred—he was hoping for a quick getaway.

  Don’t matter, though.

  He checked his watch. Almost six—plenty of daylight left. The backup plan was to wait until the dead of night when everyone was asleep. Luckily, it wouldn’t come to that. These were good people—Ryan aside—and he had no wish to hurt them unless absolutely necessary.

  Just follow the river back to the bus. This would be even easier than he thought.

  He had memorized landmarks along the way. The waterfall. A giant boulder. A fork where a small freshet joined the stream. A hanging valley. All in case he had to use his very rudimentary outdoor skills to find his way back to the road.

  If DeLuca can find this place, I can sure as shit find my way back to the bus.

  Vargas shook the brand-new tent out of the bag. Poles, a bag of pegs, rain fly, and the orange nylon inner body dropped in a heap. He hadn’t pitched a tent since twenty years ago, one lazy summer in the backyard of his orphanage.

  Should he go through the motions just for show? It would likely arouse less suspicion.

  He wrestled off his leather jacket and dropped it by the rain fly.

  But where to start?

  Vargas lit another smoke. Took a deep, relaxing drag. It helped him concentrate on complex tasks. That was what he told himself, anyway. He planned on quitting one day, though it might not be until the day he died.

  Footsteps approached behind him.

  He tensed, prepared to spin around.

  The instinctive response of high alert came from his life on the street—and what was at stake. But then he reminded himself who he was dealing with here.

  Vargas stood and turned to find DeLuca and Rizzo. The pastor wore a cream fleece vest that clung to his painfully thin body.

  Their supposed guide, DeLuca, had stripped down to a sweat-stained T-shirt, revealing his skinny chest and arms. Vargas could take him easily if need be.

  “What’s up, gents?” Vargas asked.

  DeLuca nodded toward the tent. “Wondered if you needed a hand.”

  “I’m good, but thanks. May not look it, but I’m a seasoned pro.”

  Beyond them, the rest of the group had erected their tents in a wide semicircle around a patch of bare dirt. Maybe their place for a campfire. Was that even legal in a national forest? Whatever. It would at least keep them warm while they waited for his return.

  “Oh, but there is one thing you can help me with,” Vargas said. “It’s a little embarrassing, though.”

  “Oh, try us, Richard,” said the pastor. “We’re an understanding bunch.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s like this. I pretty much screwed up. Left my meds back on the bus.”

  “Meds?” Pastor Rizzo asked.

  “Yeah, I take insulin.”

  “Really? Emma never mentioned that before.”

  “’Cause I never mentioned it to her before. Like I said, it’s embarrassing.”

  “Pish. There’s nothing embarrassing about that.”

  “Back home there is, Pastor. Family history of diabetes doesn’t exactly give you much street cred in the Bronx, know what I’m sayin’?”

  Rizzo nodded in understanding.

  “In that case,” DeLuca said, “I’ll take you back first thing in the morning. Don’t worry.”

  “No,” Vargas snapped back. “I need them tonight.”

  He drew in a deep breath. Stay focused.

  Both men eyed him with a hint of suspicion. Or maybe it was his own paranoia creeping in. This was a fairly simple move, yet what rode on it was life changing.

  “Are you okay?” Rizzo asked.

  Vargas let out a deep sigh. “Look, this isn’t something I wanna mess with, Pastor. If I don’t have those meds and I go into shock, I’m effed. Better safe than sorry. Look, I’ll grab the keys, get the insulin, and be back in time to roast marshm
allows. Easy peasy.”

  DeLuca shook his head. “Can’t let you do that, son.”

  “Huh?”

  “The first rule of hiking is never go alone unless absolutely necessary. I’ll come back with you.”

  “Appreciate the offer, but I can make it twice as fast on my own,” Vargas replied. “Besides, I don’t wanna put anyone out. This is my dumbass mistake; I’ll fix it. I know how to get back, don’t worry.”

  “Like any good leader, my first concern is for the group,” DeLuca said. “And in your own words, it’s better to be safe than sorry. The two of us will go together.”

  Rizzo nodded in agreement.

  Vargas cringed inside. The conversation had started to attract attention. Both Jim and Megan, who had been collecting wood for the fire, looked over from their pile of sticks. The last thing he needed was Ryan to come over with a barrage of questions.

  Vargas was a good bluffer, but he wasn’t used to bluffing innocent people. He generally stuck with the philosophy of no honor among thieves. Regular folk got dragged into bad situations only when they horned in where they weren’t wanted.

  “Paul’s right. It’s not safe to hike on your own, Ricky,” Rizzo said. He turned to DeLuca. “Think you can make it there and back before nightfall?”

  DeLuca frowned, as if in serious thought, though Vargas doubted that a serious thought had ever gone through the man’s mind—at least, not one with life-and-death consequences.

  Vargas stood there for an uncomfortable few moments, waiting for the guide’s decision. A hint of anger flared inside him. Yes, his insulin story was bullshit, but that wasn’t the point.

  “We can just about make it,” DeLuca said. “But we need to head off right now.”

  Vargas sighed. “Fine, suits me,” he said grudgingly. “We both go.”

  “Good man.” DeLuca turned to Rizzo. “I’ll take my sat phone in case of emergency. I’ll keep him safe, Pastor, don’t worry.”

  Vargas stifled a laugh.

  “Something funny?” DeLuca asked.

  “No, not really. I’m just relieved that I’ll live to see another day.”

  Rizzo patted them both on the back. “It’s settled then. Just make sure you come straight back. By nine o’clock, you’ll be hiking in the dark.”

  “You got it, Pastor,” DeLuca said. He headed to his tent to grab whatever he needed for their journey back to the bus.

  Vargas grabbed his jacket. The plan had never involved anyone coming back with him, but he needed those bus keys. And if this was the only way to get them, so be it.

  The only thing left to figure out was how to deal with DeLuca once they left the campsite. It wouldn’t take much to eliminate him from the equation.

  Chapter

  Nine

  Megan zipped up her dome tent to give herself some privacy. Even though the sun was near setting, the interior heated up fast. Still, it got her out of everyone’s sight while she spread the contents of her pack out on her sleeping bag.

  Her late husband had loved to take the family camping. She had taken some of his gear from the garage. It was partly sentimental but mostly practical. She flicked open each implement on Mike’s Swiss Army knife. The memory of taking Ethan fishing flashed through her mind. Cutting the leader. Attaching the sinker. Baiting the hook.

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  She closed the many blades and put the tool aside, then picked up the small but powerful UV light that Mike had used to spot scorpions when they camped in the Grand Canyon. Not that she expected any scorpions here, but better to have it and not need it.

  The same applied for the first-aid kit and water-purification pills.

  Next, she unpacked the gas stove and some boil-in-the-bag meals. Megan hadn’t felt real hunger for months. The joy had simply gone from food, even from her favorite dish, artichoke française. Nowadays, she ate out of necessity, just to fuel her body.

  “Where’d Vargas go?” Ryan said to Emma outside the tent.

  The young couple had pitched their tent close to Megan’s, near the roaring water. She had chosen this spot because she hated sleeping in near silence. Back home she used a white-noise generator so that a creaking rafter or a tinkle in a pipe wouldn’t set her heart racing. She hoped the white water would do the same, masking the snap of a twig or the scurrying of a small animal in the surrounding forest.

  “I said, where did Vargas go?” he repeated, the irritation apparent in his voice.

  “Back to the bus,” Emma replied.

  “Huh? Why’s that?”

  They were keeping their voices low, probably unaware that Megan was within earshot. She kept still, feeling a pang of guilt about eavesdropping, but she wanted to know whether Ryan had calmed down yet.

  “What are you looking at me like that for?” Emma asked.

  “Back to the bus for what?”

  “Dad said he forgot his medication.”

  “Medication?” Ryan snorted. “You mean he went to go shoot up or something.”

  “Ricky might be a dick, but he doesn’t do drugs.”

  “Sure, and I can play the saxophone with my ass.”

  Emma tutted. “The driver, Paul, went with him. I’m telling you, Ricky’s no junkie.”

  “Doesn’t matter anyway. The two of them will probably just walk in a big circle looking for the bus. I imagine they’ll find their way back sometime next Tuesday.”

  “Have a little faith. Paul got us here, didn’t he?”

  “DeLuca got lucky, I’m telling you. Working in a Walmart garden center doesn’t exactly qualify you as an expert outdoorsman.”

  While the couple continued their conversation, Megan took sunscreen and a water bottle from her backpack and stuffed them in her daypack. Her plan for tomorrow was to take a solo walk in the woods. Take in the natural beauty without any disturbances, away from any of the interpersonal drama that she had experienced since boarding the bus.

  Ryan eventually left to talk with Rizzo—something about laying down the law so he wouldn’t feel the need to strangle Vargas.

  Megan unzipped her tent to let in the fresh air. She poked her head out and glanced in either direction.

  Emma lay prone on a towel in a polka-dot bikini. She lowered her sunglasses and smiled.

  “Thought I’d catch a few rays before the sun disappears. How’s it going in there?”

  “Just unpacked.” Megan crawled out on her hands and knees. She sat down cross-legged, cooled by the gentle breeze. “I’ve seen you a few times at the church.”

  “I go to support Dad. Trips like these are my payback.”

  “So you’re not religious?”

  “Lapsed. How about you? I mean, you’ve hardly been around since . . .” She gave an embarrassed smile.

  Better get used to these reactions. They’ll eventually peter out.

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Listen, you don’t have to dance around the subject. I won’t ever get over what happened, but it doesn’t mean you have to walk on eggshells around me.”

  “Understood. I hope we can enjoy ourselves this weekend.”

  “You might have your work cut out for you.”

  Emma laughed. “Believe me, Ryan’s a big pussycat. Always does the right thing—with a little guidance. You can’t blame him for being mad at Ricky.”

  Megan nodded. “Do you trust him?”

  “Who, Ryan?”

  “No. Ricky.”

  She sighed long and low. “Ricky is good as long as it suits Ricky.”

  “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

  “Are you asking me why he came on this trip? If you are, the answer is, I haven’t a clue. Ricky has always been hard to read. But don’t worry, I’ll manage the situation.”

  “Meaning?”<
br />
  Emma sat up with a groan and locked eyes with her. “Put it this way: if I keep Ryan under control, there isn’t much trouble Ricky can cause out here. I mean, we’re in the middle of nowhere, right?”

  Megan stared at a couple of clouds drifting through the cobalt sky. She had felt an instant warmth from the confident younger woman. Emma certainly didn’t fit any of her preconceived notions of a preacher’s daughter. But Megan doubted that her confidence and control would be enough to stave off another conflict between the two men.

  Vargas followed a few steps behind DeLuca, wading through knee-high undergrowth. Thank God the heat of the day had started to wane, but his damp T-shirt still clung to him.

  His boots, bought with an eye toward fashion more than utility, squelched on the moist ground. His socks were wet, and it felt like a blister was developing on his right heel. Why DeLuca chose to slog through one of the only damp parts of the forest instead of the mostly bone-dry land, he had no clue. A branch whipped against his cheek. It stung.

  And people did this for fun? Such minor discomforts didn’t matter, though.

  As predicted, he had managed to play on the group’s naivete. The only one with the balls to call him out was Ryan. Emma, kindhearted, predictable soul that she was, had her boyfriend on a tight leash to avoid confrontation.

  Everything was going smoothly.

  Unfortunately, good people often never got what they deserved. He consoled himself that they were suffering only minor collateral damage. They were pawns in a much bigger game. Irrelevant in the big picture. And that picture would soon have him sipping cocktails on a beach.

  DeLuca veered away from the disturbed ferns that marked their earlier passing. Vargas gave him a few moments to see whether he had been distracted by something just off their path.

  For Vargas’s own piece of mind, they had to stick with the recognizable route back. But DeLuca kept heading in the wrong direction.

  He felt a spark of anger. He wasn’t going to let this fool get them lost in the wilderness. Too much was riding on Vargas getting out of here. Failure would ultimately cost him his life. Maybe not today or next week, but someday in the not-too-distant future.