Psyc 03_The Call of the Mild

by William Rabkin

“But if you’re going to expend all this energy to stay on board, you might as well wait until you actually need to,” Shawn said. “Like when the door is open.”

  Gus lifted his eyes from their firm fix on the floor and saw that the door hadn’t slid open yet. None of the lawyers had gotten out of their seats. In fact, they were all still jabbing away at their miniature keyboards.

  Gus forced his fingers to relax and felt a wave of relief run up both arms. “They don’t seem worried that they’re about to be dumped out in the wilderness.”

  “Which is a sign that we shouldn’t be, either,” Shawn said. “They know Rushton a lot better than we do. He probably plays this kind of prank on them all the time. We’ll sit here for a few minutes, and then once everyone has had a chance to panic, we’ll lift off and head to our real destination.”

  Gus nodded. That made sense. It was the only thing that made sense. Because the other lawyers were just sitting there working away, as if they knew enough not to be alarmed. He loosened his death grip on the armrest a little more and felt the blood tingling painfully back into his fingers.

  Until there was a thump from outside and the helicopter rocked on its skids. “What was that?” he demanded.

  Shawn glanced over Gus and out the window. “Nothing.”

  “That wasn’t nothing,” Gus said. “I know what nothing feels like. It feels like nothing. That felt like something. Which means it couldn’t be nothing.”

  “It’s just the pilot,” Shawn said, checking the view out the window again.

  “He’s leaving?” Gus said. His breath was coming in short gasps now. “The pilot is abandoning his helicopter? How can we get out of here? Does anyone know how to fly a chopper?”

  “Relax,” Shawn said. “He’s not leaving. He’s just . . .”

  “Just what?”

  “Unpacking.”

  Gus forced himself to turn his chair so that he was facing the window. The pilot had opened a cargo door at the back of the chopper and was pulling out a series of large backpacks.

  “What are those for?” Gus said, not wanting to hear the answer from Shawn any more than he would accept it from his own brain.

  “I believe they’re called backpacks,” Shawn said. “You strap them on your back and carry things in them.”

  “Maybe you do,” Gus said, his fingers reflexively clutching the armrest again. He risked another glance out the window. The pilot was closing the cargo door. At his feet was a line of eight backpacks: seven made of beige nylon stretched over metal frames, the last in blindingly bright green.

  And still the rest of the lawyers didn’t seem to notice that anything out of the ordinary was happening. They kept texting away. Until the flat-screen went on in an explosion of static.

  Oliver Rushton smiled warmly at them from the safety of the TV. Gus felt an irrational burst of rage. He wanted to reach into the screen and pull Rushton through, wheelchair and all, and leave him on this desolate mountaintop.

  “Greetings, friends,” Rushton said. “I understand that the area you’re in is one of the loveliest parts of California. I wish I could be there with you today.”

  “I wish you were here instead of me,” Gus muttered.

  “It’s a constant challenge for me to come up with fun, creative, exciting retreats for this team, but I think you’ll agree that this is the best one ever,” Rushton said. “Because this retreat will not only test your strength, your intelligence, and your stamina, but it will also forge new bonds of friendship and trust. Here at the top of this mountain you are all individuals with your own agendas. By the time you reach the bottom, you will all be a family.”

  “I had a family once,” Gwendolyn said. “I didn’t like it much.”

  “So she auctioned off their organs and sold the rest off for medical research,” Balowsky said.

  “I made a sacrifice,” Gwendolyn said, pointedly refusing to waste a glance at her colleague. “I chose to put my career—I chose to put the needs of this firm—over my own personal life. And that remains my intent. I want to work for this firm, I want to work for you, Oliver. But I don’t need these people to be my family.”

  “I understand,” Rushton said.

  Gus had been assuming that Rushton’s appearance was a pretaped video. But of course he was speaking to them live via videoconferencing. Which was excellent news, because it would give Gus a chance to plead his way out of this.

  “But a firm can’t work as a group of individuals,” Rushton continued. “You need to be able to function as a team. That’s why I’ve designed this retreat. Because, as I said, by the time you reach the bottom of the mountain, you will be a family. Or you will all be dead.”

  Chapter Thirty

  For the first time, the other lawyers looked as if they’d realized this wasn’t just another bit of eccentricity from their boss. Maybe it was the way Rushton had emphasized that last word. Or maybe it was the sound of the helicopter door sliding open and the pilot stepping into the cabin. Possibly it was the sight of the gun holstered on the pilot’s thigh. Whatever the reason, Rushton now had everyone’s undivided attention.

  “Sorry if that sounded a little melodramatic,” Rushton chuckled. “But these mountains are harsh, and nature is unforgiving. You will all have to learn to work together if you want to find your way down.”

  “Or we could just use our GPS,” Gwendolyn said, raising her iPhone the way Tanya Roberts had wielded her sword against the temple guards to free King Zed.

  “Yes, you could,” Rushton said. “I would prefer that you didn’t. But of course I can’t stop you. When this call is over, you’ll all step out of the helicopter, and there you will find your backpacks. Inside each pack is everything you will need for the five-day journey down the mountain, and supplies for one more day just in case you decide to take a little extra time to enjoy the scenery.”

  “I don’t mind a little nature hike.” It was Savage, and indeed his muscles seemed to be on the verge of rippling right out of his body in anticipation. “But as much as I love my Bruno Maglis, they don’t provide a lot of stability, ankle protection, or waterproofing. I might as well be barefoot. And that leaves me in substantially better shape than the two women who are wearing heels.”

  “That’s an excellent point,” Rushton said. “And it’s been taken care of. Hector”—at this point, the pilot gave them all a brief nod to introduce himself—“has not only suitable hiking shoes, but clothes as well for all of you. Once this call is terminated, you will each be given a few moments alone to change.”

  There was a low murmur in the cabin. To his shock, Gus thought it sounded like gratitude, when it should have been the angry mutterings of the mob about to storm the castle with torches and pitchforks.

  “One more thing about the wardrobe change,” Rushton said. “Hector will take the clothes you’re wearing now back to Santa Barbara, where they will be professionally cleaned and left for you in your offices. He will also take all your belongings, including any handheld devices you might have with you.”

  Now the muttering in the cabin sounded sufficiently angry.

  “I’m not giving up my cell phone,” Mathis sputtered. “I’m using that to find my way down.”

  “It’s certainly your choice,” Rushton said. “But Hector will not give you your clothes, shoes, and backpack until you have given him everything you’ve brought with you. If it’s worth walking down in business attire to keep your GPS, I won’t try to stop you. Just make sure to avoid the sharp, pointy rocks on the trail. They can go right through a leather sole. And don’t worry about not having any food. I’m sure your colleagues will be happy to share theirs with you.”

  Mathis looked crushed. If the rest of the lawyers were surprised by any of this, they weren’t letting it show on their faces. If anything, they looked slightly relieved, as if they’d been expecting something even worse. Gus wanted to grab them, to scream into their ears. Didn’t they understand there was nothing worse?

  “But y
ou won’t need a GPS, anyway,” Rushton said with a reassuring smile. “You’ve got a map. A highly detailed topographical map with the fastest, safest route marked out.”

  “If you’re giving us maps, why not let us have our GPS as well?” Savage said. “To a skilled hiker, one is as good as the other.”

  “I didn’t say, ‘maps,’ ” Rushton said. “I said, ‘map.’ One of you, and only one of you, has the map.”

  “Who?” Mathis demanded.

  “It better not be Gwendolyn,” Jade said. “Because she’ll take off and leave us the first chance she has.”

  “Not us,” Balowsky said. “You, definitely, but not the rest of us. Not as long as there’s a chance she might need some help.”

  “It might be Gwendolyn,” Rushton said. “Or it might be you, Jade. It could be any one of you. The thing is, that person is the only one who knows. And if he or she reveals that fact to anyone else, every one of you will be fired on your return.”

  “How would you know?” Savage said.

  “Sorry, everyone will be fired except the first person to tell me about the cheating,” Rushton said. “Does that explain how I would know?”

  Apparently, it did, because all the lawyers were glaring at one another suspiciously.

  “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” Rushton continued. “I’m not trying to kill you here. The entire point of this trip is for you to learn to work together as a team. That’s why I’ve given the map to one person, who is forbidden to admit having it. You will all need to work together to reach a consensus on your route, and it will be up to the map bearer to convince the others of the right way to go. If you function well as a team, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “And if there is a problem, we’ll all be dead and you can hire new people,” Gwendolyn said.

  “How could I ever hope to replace your feisty spirit, Gwendolyn?” Rushton said. “No, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. In fact, nothing will make me happier than to see you all march together into the lodge at the bottom of the mountain in five days, where there will be an unbelievable celebration waiting for you. But if something should go wrong, you will not be alone. Each one of your packs has an emergency beacon that will transmit your GPS location once it’s been turned on. There will be people monitoring you at all times. If one of the beacons goes on, you will all be rescued by a search party and the retreat will be over.”

  What does a loophole sound like? Gus was sure he heard five lawyers all diving for the same one. But Rushton wasn’t done.

  “And so will your careers at Rushton, Morelock,” he said. “If we have to rescue just one of you, all of you will be fired. Because, again, this is about working as a team. And as a team there is nothing you can’t do—especially getting down off this mountain in five days. Now, Hector is ready with your new wardrobes, if you’d like to take your turns stepping into the tent he has erected outside to change.”

  There was a moment of hesitation; then Savage leaped up out of his seat. “I’ll go first,” he said, and followed the pilot out of the helicopter. The others gave their handhelds a last longing look, then followed him out.

  Gus didn’t move. He was never going to move. He’d simply sit there, securely belted to the seat, until the pilot had to take off. He wasn’t a part of this law firm, anyway. He and Shawn already knew who the killer was. Their job was over.

  For the first time since he’d seen the backpacks, Gus risked a glance at Shawn. It wasn’t that he was afraid his best friend would be as unsympathetic to his panic as he had been at Descanso Gardens; it was just the opposite. At Descanso, Shawn knew there was no real danger, and he tried to demonstrate that by acting unconcerned. Now Gus was certain that if he looked over at Shawn he’d see the one thing that was guaranteed to make him feel worse: real worry.

  But Gus’ state of mind seemed to be the last thing on his partner’s mind. Shawn’s gaze was fixed on Oliver Rushton’s face. “Good news,” Shawn said. “We know who the killer is.”

  “I’m not interested in what you know,” Rushton said. “Only in what you can prove.”

  “We’ll give you a full debrief just as soon as we’re back in your office,” Shawn said. “The flight shouldn’t take too long, although I think we’ll need to stop to use the little boys’ room along the way.”

  “I’m afraid that meeting will have to wait until you have actual proof,” Rushton said. “I need you to accompany my employees on this retreat. After all, if one of them is a killer, I’m depending on you to protect the rest.”

  “The best way to protect them is to bring them down in the helicopter,” Shawn said.

  “Apparently we disagree,” Rushton said. “If only there were some way to come to an amicable resolution of our differences. Oh, wait, there is. You agreed to serve as my in-house investigative department, which means you belong to me. And if you don’t take part in this retreat, I will sue your firm out of existence.”

  Rushton hit a button on his desk, and the screen went blank.

  Gus risked another glance at his friend and this time he found exactly what he most feared: Shawn was giving him a look filled with sympathy.

  “We don’t have to do this,” Shawn said.

  “You heard what he said.”

  “So he sues us,” Shawn said. “What’s the worst thing that happens? He wins a judgment for gazillions of dollars against Psych. The firm goes out of business, and he gets nothing.”

  “But we are Psych,” Gus said.

  “We’ll start a new firm,” Shawn said. “If we can’t call it Psych, we’ll call it something else. Ic, maybe. Or Out. There are lots of things that come after ‘Psych.’ ”

  Gus felt a rush of warmth for Shawn. That his best friend was willing to sacrifice the only career he’d ever loved just to spare him some misery was overwhelming. So much so that it was even able to overwhelm his fear.

  “Not a chance.” Gus peeled his hands off the armrest, then used one of them to unbuckle and fling off his seat belt. “Let’s get out there and kick some mountain butt.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Now it starts, Gus thought. Any second now my heart rate is going to jump up, my breathing will turn into a series of harsh gasps, my pulse will become ragged and thready—and I don’t even know what that means except they always say it on TV before the really bad stuff starts to happen. Then the panic will take over completely, and I’ll start to run blindly. The last thing I’ll feel is the empty air under my left foot as I step off that cliff . . .

  There was certainly plenty of reason for Gus to panic. They were stranded in the wilderness. And this wasn’t the parklike forest of his recurring dream. This was the top of a granite mountain hundreds of feet above the tree line. Wherever he looked, he saw a vast sea of wild country spread out below him, broken only by the jagged peaks of the rest of the mountain range. It would take a day of hiking just to get to the kind of green wasteland he was used to.

  And Gus’ rescue—his only hope for rescue—the glorious, luxurious helicopter that had brought them to this high-altitude hell, was nothing but a tiny speck disappearing in the distance. It was already indistinguishable from the enormous birds of prey that circled over the mountain—no doubt vultures waiting to pick the flesh off his broken carcass.

  Gus took a breath, expecting his throat to close up and choke off his airway. To his surprise, clear, clean mountain air flowed down easily into his lungs. It flooded his bloodstream as his heart pounded slowly and steadily. It took him a moment to realize exactly what was going on here: He wasn’t panicking.

  Not only was he not panicking, but he actually felt better here at the top of this mountain than he had in days. The hiking shoes Hector had given him were so firm and springy that Gus had to force his legs not to start walking. His new outfit was even better. He had bright blue tees in long and short sleeves, both made of some miracle material that was supposed to wick all moisture, body odor, and, according to the label, bad karm
a away from his body. His shorts looked like generic cargos, but they were breathable, water- and wind-resistant, and also spent their spare time wicking bad things away. Best of all were the zippers that ran around the bottom of each leg; in his pack were extensions that would turn the shorts into long pants in case it got cold. Even the socks seemed to have been woven by wizards. His feet had never felt so snug.

  And he’d taken a moment to glance through the backpack that had his name on it. There were several changes of those wonderful socks and underwear, a Swiss Army knife, a full first-aid kit, two one-liter bottles of water, and a sleeping bag and pad strapped to the pack’s bottom. A fat, yellow plastic cylinder hung off a clip on the pack’s frame; Gus realized this must be the emergency beacon. And then there was the food. Lots and lots of freeze-dried food. Gus had tried freeze-dried food before—his parents had hidden a stash of powdered eggs, pemmican bars, and Tang in their basement during the Cuban missile crisis, and Gus had sampled it all when he and Shawn found the stash decades later—but what he had in his pack was nothing like that. He had kung pao chicken and beef Stroganoff and shrimp Newburg and huevos rancheros. For side dishes he had peas and corn and bacon-infused mashed potatoes; desserts included fudge brownies and banana cream pie and blackberry cobbler. In their current state they all weighed just a little bit less than nothing, but once Gus added water, it would be like he had the entire buffet from a high-end Indian casino.

  Gus was feeling so good it took him a moment to realize why Shawn looked so grim as he walked over to him. It wasn’t just the hazard-warning red of his high-tech T-shirt; he was seriously troubled.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Shawn said.

  “I’m not going to let something stupid like a recurring dream get me down.”

  Shawn studied him carefully. “You be sure to tell me if you begin to hallucinate. Because I know how disturbing a recurring nightmare can be.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve said that,” Gus said. “But you never told me what your dream is.”