Dark Mountain (3 page)

Should’ve played it safe, he thought. Should’ve stopped back at the bend. But now he was committed. What he could see of the road ahead didn’t look good. The mountainside rose up steeply to the left, leaving no room for turning out. To the right, there was no more than a yard’s width before the ground fell away. Even if he parked at the very edge, he doubted there would be room for a recreational vehicle to squeeze through.

“What’ll we do?” Karen asked.

“If worse comes to worst, we can always back up.”

“Oh, wonderful.”

Scott’s foot jumped off the accelerator as the camper came down the center of the road straight at them. In a reflexive move, he pulled at the wheel as if to raise the nose and shoot above the oncoming vehicle. His car remained earthbound. He stepped on the brake, and eased to a halt.

The camper moved over close to the mountain’s wall and
stopped, blocking two thirds of the road. An arm poked through the driver’s window. It waved Scott forward.

“Can you make it?” Karen asked.

“Sure,” he said. “Just to be on the safe side, though, I want you out.” He looked over his shoulder. “Everybody out.”

“I’m not scared,” Benny said.

“No arguments.”

With a sigh, Benny opened his door. When he, Julie, and Karen were outside the car, Scott unbuckled his seat belt. The trio walked ahead of him, Karen nodding and speaking to the man behind the wheel. At the rear of the camper, they stopped and turned around to watch. Karen straddled the road’s edge, her eyes fixed on his right front tire. Her lips were drawn back in a grimace. She wiped her hands on the sides of her corduroy shorts.

This must be really bad for her, Scott thought as he inched forward. Karen knows no one’s immune to an accident. She’d barely escaped death in a car crash three years before, and her fiancé had been killed.

With the fingers of his left hand curled around the door lever, he steered alongside the camper. He watched its gleaming side as he slid past it, no more than an inch away. If the car should start to tip, he realized, he wouldn’t be able to get his door open.

Not at first anyway. He might find an instant, though, just before the car slipped over the edge.

He glanced at Karen. Her hand was covering her mouth. Benny looked relaxed. Julie was squatting down, hands on knees, staring at the tire.

Ice fishing when he was a kid, Scott drove out on the frozen Saint Lawrence River with his father. Sometimes, the ice creaked and groaned under the weight of the pickup truck. They always kept their doors open for quick escapes. Everyone did, driving on the river. Everyone but fools.

He wished he had his door open now. A little precaution like that could save a man’s life.

The front of his car was even with the rear of the camper. He fought an urge to speed up, and kept to a steady crawl until he cleared the vehicle. Then he swung to the left and stopped in the road’s center.

Benny climbed in first. “Boy, Dad, that was really close.”

“A piece of cake,” he said, and backhanded the sweat off his upper lip.

“Hope we don’t have to go through
that
again,” Julie said.

Karen slumped in the passenger seat with her knees against the dash. She stared straight ahead. Her lips were a tight line.

Reaching out, Scott rubbed the side of her neck. “You okay?”

“I guess,” she muttered.

After another traverse, the road curved around the mountainside to a high, wooded valley. A weathered sign, caught in a patch of sunlight, read
BLACK BUTTE RANGER STATION, 6 MI
.

The forest, pressing in close on both sides of the unpaved road, opened up. Karen saw two cars ahead, parked under trees. One, a dusty Mazda resting at a rakish angle, had a rock at the base of each rear tire to keep it from rolling.

“Guess we beat them to it,” Scott said.

“What do they drive?” Karen asked.

“Probably the Plymouth station wagon.”

Karen imagined a station wagon trying to squeeze past the RV on the thin strand of road along the mountain slope, and her stomach tightened.

Scott swung off to the left. He pulled forward slowly, the tires crunching over fallen limbs and pine cones. He parked with the bumper close to an aspen, and shut off the engine. “Let’s leave everything here for now, and check out the ranger station. We can pick up our fire permit while we’re waiting.”

They climbed out of the car. After the air-conditioning, the heat outside felt stifling to Karen. But the air smelled sweet, and a soft breeze stirred the trees. She took a deep breath. She stretched, arching her stiff back, sighing with pleasure as her muscles strained. Then she followed Benny around the rear of the car, the thick mat of leaves and pine needles springy under her boots. “This is really wonderful,” she said, joining Scott and Julie.

“Warm,” Scott said. He took off his flannel shirt, rolled it up, and tossed it into the trunk. His T-shirt was tight across
his chest, with a slight rip at the shoulder seam. “Well, let’s see if we can scout up a ranger.”

They walked alongside the tire tracks toward a small log cabin in the clearing ahead. A Jeep was parked close to the cabin’s side. The snort of a horse drew Karen’s eyes to a corral at the left, where a man in a uniform was currying a brown stallion. “That’s probably the ranger,” she said.

They walked toward the corral. The man saw them and waved. He slapped the horse’s haunch, tossed aside the curry brush, and climbed over the fence. “Hello there,” he called in an eager voice. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting. I was out on the trails, just got back.”

“No,” Scott said, “we just arrived ourselves.”

“Well, that’s good.” He smiled at Karen and Julie, winked at Benny. He looked to be barely twenty, with short blond hair and cheerful eyes. Though he wore a badge on his uniform shirt, he was unarmed and had a casual manner that put Karen at ease. “Come on over to the office,” he said. “We’ll take care of your wilderness permit and get you on your way.”

They followed him toward the cabin.

“Where you folks from?” he asked.

“Los Angeles,” Scott told him.

“Dad’s a pi lot,” Benny said, looking proud.

“Oh? What do you fly?”

“L1011s, mostly.”

“No fooling? The big birds. My old man’s a crop duster. He flies a replica of an old Fokker DR-1. The triplane?”

“Sure. Von Richthofen. The Flying Circus.”

“Yeah. My old man calls himself the Green Baron. He works out of Bakersfield.”

“Sometimes I wish I had three wings,” Scott said, stepping onto the porch after him.

“All that airfoil, he can glide for miles. Sometimes has to.”

They entered the dim, shadowy cabin. The young man
stepped behind a counter near the door. On the wall was a huge topographical map of the area. A poster of Smokey the Bear hung over a two-way radio. Benny nudged Karen’s arm, and pointed to a rifle rack on the wall across from them.

“Whereabouts are you heading?” the ranger asked.

“We’re hoping to make it over to the Triangle Lakes area.”

“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.”