by Rick Hautala
“Get the fuck out of my way!” Mark said.
He was coiled and ready to fight, but he checked himself, knowing that he had to back off. This wasn’t the way to handle something like this.
“And I ain’t the only one around town who’s got half an idea that you might have even pushed Phil off that cliff ‘cause you were pissed about him getting that job over you.”
“You’re full of shit, Jenkins.”
Dan smiled a gap-toothed grin but still wouldn’t move out of the doorway. Over by the coffee machine, his friends had all stopped talking and were watching tensely.
“So now that Phil’s dead, of course it makes sense that you’d get his job.”
Mark’s fists were trembling as he squared off against the man in front of him. His pulse slammed heavily in his neck, and a loud roaring filled his ears. He could barely hear himself speak when he said, “Would you please excuse me?” He pushed past Dan and stepped out into the corridor.
Only seconds ago, he had been thinking he’d go out to his car, drive home, and head straight to bed. But now, he didn’t hesitate as he strode down the corridor toward Sam’s office. He walked right past Sam’s secretary and opened the door, interrupting Sam, who was leaning back in his chair, talking on the telephone.
Sam glanced up at Mark, a look of surprise on his face.
“Hey, don’t bother to knock or anything,” he said as he hung up the phone. When he registered the anger in Mark’s expression, he frowned and asked, “What can I do for you?”
“Is it true what I heard?” Mark snapped, fighting back the urge to shout. He walked up to Sam but checked himself from slamming both fists on the desk.
“Is what true?” Sam asked, a slight tremor registering in his voice.
“That Phil was going to get the supervisor’s job?”
Sam’s face flushed. He looked down at his hands for a moment before speaking. Then, nailing Mark with a cold, steady stare, he said, “Yeah. It’s true.”
Mark’s mouth dropped open, but the only sound that came out was a strangled gasp.
“I know, I know you’ve been gunning for that slot for quite some time, Mark, but—well. .. you know, Phil had the college degree and the training from that last job he had at that mill in upstate New York. Looking at who was most qualified, I had to choose—”
“Who’s most qualified? Jesus Christ, Sam! I’ve been with National Paper since high school—since before high school! I know this place inside and out, and I know every damned one of the people working in that division.”
“I know all that,” Sam said mildly, “but when I have a slot to fill, I have to fill it with the best man I can find.”
“And I was second choice—after Phil!”
Running his teeth over his lower lip, Sam nodded silently.
“Well then, I guess you can have it!”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you can fill that goddamned position with your number three choice. Get it? I quit!”
“Now hold on there a minute, Mark. Don’t go off half-cocked.”
Sam rose from his chair but didn’t come around the desk after he read the level of Mark’s anger in his expression.
“Hold on, nothing!” Mark yelled. “That’s it! I’ve had it! I quit!”
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty?” Sam said.
“Hasty? Jesus Christ! I’ll show you hasty!”
He shook his clenched fists and again had to struggle not to slam Sam’s desk—or Sam.
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. First thing tomorrow morning, I’m going back up there on Agiochook, and I’m going to stay up there until I find out exactly what happened to Phil. You got that?”
“Yeah, sure. I got that,” Sam said. “Look, Mark, you know, it wasn’t like I was trying to do you any favors by giving you that promotion. I honestly felt that you were the most qualified person for the job.”
“After Phil Sawyer! Look, Sam, I don’t need any favors from you, all right?” He turned and started to leave, but then turned back. “No, wait a minute. There is one last thing you can do for me.”
“Sure. Anything.”
“You can put the lie to any rumors you might hear about how I pushed Phil off the cliff because he was going to get that promotion over me, okay? Until this afternoon, I had no idea what was going on behind my back.”
“Absolutely. Look, Mark, I think you should—”
“That’s it! You can send my last paycheck to the house,” Mark said. Heaving a deep sigh, he hitched his thumb toward the view outside Sam’s office window. Across the mill yard, in the late afternoon haze, he could see the distant purple slopes of the White Mountains, almost lost in a cloudy haze.
“I’m going up there,” he said, his voice low, not much more than a growl. “And I’m not coming down until I find Phil Sawyer!”
Chapter Eleven
Heading Out
“Do you really have to bring a gun?” Sandy asked.
Mark glanced at his daughter as he grabbed his favorite deer hunting rifle, a Remington 30.06 700 BDL, from the gun rack in the Jeep’s rear window.
“Well, you never know,” he said, smiling grimly as he stepped out of the Jeep and patted his jacket pocket to make sure the extra box of ammunition was still there.
It was a little past six o’clock in the morning. Already the day was warm, a promising start to a beautiful Indian summer weekend. Sandy had gotten up before dawn to drive her father out to the base of the Round Top Trail. This was the longest of five major trails leading up to the summit of Mount Agiochook. Mark had decided to take it, rather than the Wheaton Trail or any of the other trails, because there was less of a chance that he would encounter any of the rangers who were still out searching for Phil. After all, hunting season was more than a month away, and he didn’t want to be seen carrying a rifle in the woods, especially the White Mountain National Forest.
“I have no idea what I might be up against,” Mark said, looking suddenly serious. Other than the initial report to LaBrea, he hadn’t mentioned to anyone the creature’s attack on his campsite or seeing Phil carried off by—whatever that thing had been. “If I have to stay out here for a while, I may even end up having to hunt for my own food.”
Sandy knew enough about hunting and hiking so her father didn’t need to mention some of the other dangers he might encounter.
“But you won’t forget to meet me here in three days with more supplies, right?” he asked.
“Sure thing,” Sandy said. She watched silently as her father dragged his carefully packed backpack out onto the ground and gave it a cursory inspection.
“I’m sure I’ll need more food, clothes, and maybe bullets.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the thin ribbon of brown trail that led up the gently rising slope and into the forest. From here, he couldn’t see the mountain peak that was his goal, but that didn’t matter. This wasn’t a hike to make it to the summit and then come back down. He might be up there for several days, maybe even a week or more, combing the area as thoroughly as he could.
A shiver raced through him as he stared at the gloomy shadows still as thick as ink beneath the heavy pine boughs and thick brush. It was warm down here, but he knew that the closer he got to the summit, the colder it would get. Sucking in a deep breath, he hoisted his backpack and shrugged his arms into the shoulder straps. After adjusting the frame so it rode comfortably on his back, he turned to Sandy.
“So what is it?” he asked. His voice was low and tempered as he held eye contact with her.
“What’s what?”
“You’re keeping something from me.”
Sandy looked at him, surprised.
“You don’t think I can tell? Come on, babe—tell me what’s the matter.”
Sandy shrugged and rubbed her arms as though fighting off a rush of chills. “No . . . I . . . nothing’s the matter.”
Liar! she accused herself.
She kne
w exactly what was wrong!
Ever since last weekend, she had wanted to tell her father about the weekend visit Polly had with Dennis while he was away. She wasn’t any fool. She knew damned well what was going on between her stepmother and Dennis, but how was she supposed to tell her father? Blurt it right out?
Uh, Dad . . . there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you . . . you know, last week, when you were off hiking, your wife was screwing the guy who works at the Mobil station . . . and I’m pretty sure this wasn’t the first time, either.
No, that wouldn’t do at all!
She had waited all week, wanting to tell him, but the opportunity to broach the subject had just never presented itself. Either Polly was around, or he was off to work, or she was at school. Throughout the week, she had been gearing herself up to deal with it this weekend, and then yesterday afternoon, her father had come home from work early and announced that he had quit his job and was going up into the mountains until he found his missing friend.
How could she lay something like this on him now, knowing the kind of pressure he was already under?
Mark placed his hand lovingly on Sandy’s shoulder. “Well, if there is something bothering you, you know you can talk to me about it any time, right?”
Sandy was silent for a moment, so Mark shook her shoulder.
“I said right?”
“Yeah ... sure!”
Sandy squirmed out from under his grip.
“And if it’s—you know, a woman thing or whatever, something you think you can’t talk about with a man—even your father—you should try to talk to Polly about it.”
Oh, yeah! Sure! Sandy thought, hoping to heaven her face didn’t reveal what she was thinking.
“I—well, I guess I’m just—you know, I’m kinda worried about everything,” she finally managed to say.
Mark bit his lower lip and nodded. “Yeah.” He sniffed with suppressed laughter that didn’t have a trace of humor. “It does seem like the shit’s been hitting the fan a lot lately, doesn’t it?”
Over the years, her father had been on her case about using foul language, so Sandy was mildly surprised that he would say something like that to her. It made her feel sad for him and think all the more about the pressure he must be under right now. Inside her chest was nothing but a cold hollow.
“Stop worrying, all right?” Mark said.
Again, he gripped her shoulder and gave her a bracing shake.
“I was practically born and raised in the woods. Hell, I know how to take care of myself out here better than I do in town.”
“I know, I know, but I—”
“But nothing. You’re going over to Karen Bishop’s for an overnight tonight, right? So just enjoy your weekend. Drink a lot of Diet Pepsi and stay up all night talking about boys and listening to music or whatever, okay? Just make sure you’re out here with that stuff I need on Monday afternoon as soon after school as you can get here.”
“Don’t sweat it. I won’t let you down,” Sandy said.
“I know you won’t.”
But I already have! Sandy thought bitterly. She felt herself close to tears and had to struggle not to start crying and blurt out what she really had to say. But she watched silently as her father turned and started up the trail. In his right hand, he held a long maple walking stick which he swung forward with every other step. His rifle was slung across his back, bouncing in time with his steps. Just before he disappeared into the foliage, he turned around and waved to her. Sandy’s heart skipped a beat when she saw a stray sunbeam glint off his rifle barrel, making it flash like cold fire. She cringed, waiting to hear the sharp report of the rifle, but no sound came.
Seconds later, her father was gone, leaving her alone beside the Jeep with a silent emptiness as she wondered if she would ever see him alive again.
Chapter Twelve
Little Red Corvette
“Looks like I killed the last one,” Dennis said as he crushed the empty beer can and tossed it onto the floor where it landed with the five others he had already finished off this evening.
It was a little past eleven o’clock on Saturday night.
Dennis was slouched on the couch with one arm draped around Polly’s shoulder as he held her tightly against him. They were watching an X-rated videotape they had rented, but it wasn’t holding his attention. He was too drunk to concentrate on much besides the slow, steady massage Polly was giving his crotch through his pants. He sighed heavily and considered trying to get things going again, but they had been at it all afternoon, ever since Sandy had left for the overnight at her friend’s house.
“Kinda unbelievable, though, ain’t it? The way things worked out again for the weekend?”
Polly grunted softly, not even looking up at him. He couldn’t tell if she was more focused on the movie or his crotch.
“I mean, after last weekend, when good ole Mark caught me red-handed.” Dennis sniffed and shook his head. “Shee-it! I thought for sure he was gonna clean my pipes.”
“I’ll clean your pipes for you,” Polly whispered as she tugged at the tab of his zipper.
“No, no, I—uhh . . . I can’t right now.”
“Oh, what’s the matter?” she cooed. “Did we wear out Little Willie? Is he all tuckered out?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just I—uh, I’m still kinda thirsty is all.”
Polly sighed and shifted a little bit away from him. “Well, by the looks of it, you’ve cleaned me out of beer. How about some wine?”
“Naw! Wine’s for women and fags,” Dennis said, chuckling softly at his overused joke. “Maybe I’ll zip on out to Nicely’s and pick up another six-pack.”
“You didn’t bring your car, remember?” Polly said. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re trying to be at least a little bit discreet.”
“Discreet? Oh, yeah, discreet,” Dennis said, shifting uneasily on the couch. He considered trying to get things started again, but he knew he was too drunk and too used up to make it. No juice left in the tank.
No, right now all he wanted—all he needed was another beer or two before crashing for the night. He wasn’t going to be able to get it up again at least until morning.
“Maybe you could lemme drive Mark’s “Vette,” Dennis said, suddenly brightening.
Mark had a vintage 1965 red Corvette stored in his garage, but he hardly ever took it out on the street. Just about everyone else in Hilton admired it, some with envy, but Dennis coveted it possibly even more than he coveted Mark’s wife.
“And maybe you could take a flying fuck at the moon,” Polly replied tonelessly.
“Aww, come on!” Dennis said, letting his hand slide down to Polly’s breast and giving her a gentle squeeze. “Here you’ve been taking advantage of me all night, practically raping me, and you won’t even let me have a little fun.”
Polly looked up at him, frowning. “You didn’t mean that the way it sounded, I hope.”
“Course I didn’t, but the store’s only half a mile down the road,” Dennis said, pressing the point. “Who the hell’s gonna care or even notice at this hour?”
“I am,” Polly said tightly. She grabbed him by the wrist and removed his hand from her breast. “And as drunk as you are, if you wrapped that car around a telephone pole or something, I think Mark might notice, too.”
“Shit, I can drive just fine like this.”
“The hell you can!”
Polly shifted forward to sit rigidly on the edge of the couch.
“If you’re so friggin’ desperate for some beer, you could walk to the store!”
Dennis snorted and shook his head. “We could both go. Get a little fresh air ‘n all. Might even revive me, if you know what I mean.”
Polly didn’t reply. She focused her attention on the television instead.
“Well, then,” Dennis said, standing up slowly and with great effort. “I guess I’ll have to go all by my lonesome.”
He buttoned up his shirt, adjusted his
pants, patted his wallet in his hip pocket, and then headed out into the kitchen.
“Be back in ten or fifteen.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Polly called out.
Her gaze was fixed firmly on the TV; she didn’t bother to turn and wave to him as he walked out into the kitchen. He was just about to go outside when the Corvette key ring, hanging on a hook by the door, caught his attention. Without any deliberation or hesitation, he snatched it up and stepped out into the crisp, cold night.
“What the fuck,” he muttered.
The only problem he could foresee was getting the garage door up without alerting Polly. Once he started up the car, he could haul ass and be gone before she even got to the front door. Of course, there’d be hell to pay once he got back, so maybe he should make it worth his bother and take an extra-long spin around the block—maybe even head out to Route 26 and see just how fast this baby could go.
