This sabbatical had to end, whether she liked it or not.
DeLuca looked over to her and said, “You stood up to those guys well. Showed some guts. I was just about to pull over and intervene.”
“Pastor Rizzo sorted it out.”
“You’ll forget all about it once you see Davies Canyon.”
“Have you ever been there?”
He shook his head. “Nope. And I bet few people have in the last couple of centuries. It’s not easy to get to, but it’s a dream location.”
“How did you find out about it, then?”
“Google Maps. I scanned the forest for a week, trying to identify something special, something untouched. It’s a clearing at the foot of a mountain, surrounded by dense woodland and a river. Idyllic, some would say. Pristine. Do you know how rare that is in this country anymore? I am so excited.”
Megan nodded. “Me too.”
She desperately needed this trip. And despite the bad blood between two of the travelers, this was paradise compared to the horrors of her last outing.
“So once we get there, how far is the hike from the road to the campsite?”
“Oh, maybe two hours max,” DeLuca replied. “We should make it before sundown, don’t you worry. And if this trip works out how I expect, it’ll be an experience that stays with you for the rest of your life.”
Chapter
Six
The final few hours of the trip had been pure torture for Ricky Vargas. The booze-induced headache had subsided, only to be replaced by Pastor Rizzo’s constant yammering in his ear. An endless stream of anecdotes about reforming, about coming back to the church, about Ricky’s shitty life choices. Some of the questions were highly personal; most were irrelevant.
The man must have Duracell batteries in his larynx. He also loved the sound of his own voice and wouldn’t stop talking. Ever. It was like a bad infomercial on a constant loop. His latest sermon, which Vargas was trying to block from his mind, involved an old wives’ tale that he supposed was about forgiveness.
Rizzo wasn’t a man of God. The devil had sent him to torture Vargas.
Finally, DeLuca turned the bus off the highway and onto a single road. Within minutes, all signs of civilization beyond the road’s shoulder had vanished, replaced by lush, thick forest on either side. The afternoon sunshine punched through the canopy here and there, dappling the forest floor with light.
Vargas thought it somewhat beautiful—at least, to people who liked this sort of shit.
Mountains jutted against the distant skyline. Getting out of here on foot wasn’t an option. That was cool. He had no interest in playing the role of mountain man—just as long as he could keep track of the group’s whereabouts in relation to the vehicle after they had departed for the campsite.
Nothing else really mattered. Not Ryan, who he would never see again. The same applied to Rizzo and his well-intentioned twaddle, and everyone else here. It would be goodbye to these losers forever.
“Not far now, guys,” DeLuca chirped through the crackling speaker. “Prepare to stretch your legs on the way to Davies Canyon and to breathe in some of that pure West Virginian air.”
Vargas would trade all that pure West Virginian air for a cigarette right about now.
A few miles down the road, the bus slowed past a dirt track. DeLuca began to turn in, then abruptly stopped and looked at his maps.
To Vargas, it looked as if the guy had printed directions off MapQuest.
DeLuca backed the bus up onto the main road and continued driving ahead.
“Whoops,” he said to no one in particular.
This happened a few more times over the next half hour. Vargas frowned as he stared toward the front of the bus. Regardless of what he thought of these people, which wasn’t a great deal, it appeared that the guide, driver, or whatever DeLuca fancied himself, was about as useful as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.
Rizzo patted Vargas on the shoulder. “Don’t look so concerned, Ricky. We’ll be there soon enough.”
“Not concerned. Just wondering if this guy’s gonna steer us into a ditch.”
“No, no. Paul has years of experience.”
“In what? Are you sure this guy isn’t one of the Impractical Jokers? ’Cause it seems like he’s screwing with us.”
“Have faith, Ricky. If what Paul says is true, you’ll want to come back here again and again.”
Highly doubtful. “Sure,” Ricky said. “I hope so. It seems super easy to get there too,” he added, unable to resist the sarcasm.
The bus slowed to a halt by a weedy, rutted track through the trees. Moments later, DeLuca turned in and headed into the darkness of the forest.
“Yo, DeLuca, are you sure you got the turn right this time?” Vargas yelled out.
“Most definitely,” DeLuca replied. “This is it. I think.”
“Five times a charm, right?”
Vargas rocked in his seat as the bus’s tires bumped through depressions in the makeshift road. Bile rose in his throat. Those drinks at last night’s card game had come back to haunt him. He should have kept drinking today. That would have stopped the hangover cold.
The bus powered through thick foliage. It appeared that no one had driven this road in a long time—at least, no one with any sense. This really was the wilderness. Was this even a road they were on?
After a few more stomach-churning minutes of bumping and lurching, the bus entered a small clearing. Parking lot would have been too generous a term. No trails led off into the dense growth of trees. In fact, the only thing that betrayed a previous human presence, besides the track leading here, was the crumpled, moldy remains of a tent.
“Okay, everyone, it’s a two-hour hike from here,” DeLuca said. “Grab your stuff, and we’ll head straight off. Got to use the natural light while we still have it, so we can build our campsite before dark.”
Rizzo quickly moved to the front of the bus, got off, and stood below Vargas’s window, no doubt ready to hand out the backpacks along with the appropriate blessing.
Vargas wondered whether a man existed who could be this altruistic, this pure. Surely the old dude had a few skeletons hiding in his closet. Emma had never let on during their time together. It would be fun to find out before he hatched his plan.
The old couple took their grandson outside. He raced around the bus, searching the ground for whatever it was that kids searched for. They grabbed their gear.
Ryan and Emma got their packs next. He eyed Vargas through the window.
Vargas needed to keep Ryan at arm’s length—didn’t need him screwing the plan up. He resisted the urge to raise his middle finger.
Ignore him. He’s irrelevant.
Then Emma glanced up.
Her bright hazel eyes still made his heart skip a beat. In another world, they would still be together. In the end, back when they were dating, Vargas had known he would end up dragging a good person down. So when she dumped him, he did the honorable thing and let her move on. Unfortunately, she took the wrong path and ended up with Ryan.
I may be an asshole, but at least I’m not a douchebag like him.
He sighed to himself as he headed out. Once in the fresh, humid air, he flipped open his pack of Marlboros and wedged one between his lips.
They made me come out here. The least they can do is hang on while I have my nicotine hit.
“This must be your bag?” Rizzo called over.
“Leave my stuff,” Vargas replied. “I’ll grab what I need in a minute.”
The rest of the group had crowded around the rear of the bus, where DeLuca was haranguing them about tree species or some related shit. Vargas didn’t care. The smoke filling his lungs gave him all the serenity he needed—that and Pastor Rizzo leaving his damn bag alone.
Every few seconds somebody gave him a look, m
ostly of contempt or impatience. He knew he couldn’t get away without attracting attention on this trip. Too much, though, was a bad thing. After smoking the cigarette halfway down, he dropped it and ground it under his boot.
Then, when everyone had moved to the other side of the bus for another natural history lecture, he casually walked over to his bag. He crouched, unlocked the zipper, and opened it.
The cheap tent and the plastic shopping bag of food sat at the top. He fished them out before wrapping a sweater around the rest of the contents—contents that only he knew about.
Vargas closed the bag and slid it back inside the compartment, confident that no one would break into the bus until he returned. The ass end of nowhere in a national forest wasn’t a popular hunting ground for thieves.
“You ready, Ricky?” Rizzo said behind him.
Vargas turned to face him. “Do you usually sneak up on people?”
“Relax.” Rizzo peered down at the tent and plastic bag. “Is that all you’re taking? No sleeping bag? Stove?”
The pastor had startled him.
Play it cool. As if everything were going to Rizzo’s plan.
“Don’t need no sleeping bag. Besides, it’s, like, ninety degrees out. And if I run out of noodles, I’ll live off the land. You know?”
“There’s space in my pack. Want me to carry your food?”
“That’s okay, Pastor.”
Vargas tucked the tent underneath his right arm and carried the plastic bag in his left. Yes, he knew he didn’t look the part. But trying to pull it off with the Gore-Tex clothing and the bewildering array of equipment would probably make him look even more suspicious. Better to play the inexperienced but enthusiastic rookie.
They walked over to the rest of the group. Vargas stayed on the periphery, planning to lurk at the back, avoiding Ryan and the general small talk. He wasn’t experienced mixing in these circles. Back when he was dating Emma, it became quickly obvious that he had an innate ability to piss off Bible-thumpers.
DeLuca studied a map that was protected by a plastic laminate. He placed a compass against it and pursed his lips. A few seconds later, he pointed into the woods. “This way, people. If you have any questions about the flora or fauna, please ask. I’ll do my best to answer your questions on the way to our own little slice of paradise.”
“You sure you know where we’re going?” Jim asked, passing it off as a joke.
“You’ll find out in two hours. Now, please follow me in single file and please keep close. We’re heading into uncharted territory. Crossing new frontiers. Our only means of communication is my trusty sat phone.”
Vargas looked at his cell phone. No damn signal, naturally.
Everyone murmured their agreement, hoisted their packs, and trudged after DeLuca. Maryann, then young Connor, then Jim. Emma encouraged Ryan to go next, and he flashed Vargas his perpetual sulky glare. Finally, Megan, who seemed the most likely candidate if he got bored enough to fancy any conversation.
Rizzo gestured ahead of them. “After you, Ricky.”
Vargas followed Megan into the gloomy forest. Right away, sweat beaded on his forehead. The prospect of a long walk got on his nerves. It would soon get to his lungs. But as long as he could remember the way back, it didn’t matter.
Only then could he make his move.
Chapter
Seven
The invigorating scent of evergreens and leaf litter filled Megan’s nostrils. Overhead, leaves rustled in the gentle breeze. Being outdoors had always given her a sense of liberation. The whole place felt alive, uncomplicated. Oblivious to any artificial rules of civilization. Like the distant sound of running water, or the birdsong going on all around her, nothing was choreographed. Nothing had an agenda. It just was.
She tightened the pack straps around her shoulders and adjusted the hip belt, ready for their two-hour hike to the campsite.
DeLuca led the way at an easy pace, maybe because of the older couple and their young grandson. Megan had stayed fit using the cardio machines in her garage and exercising in front of the TV to Shaun T’s workouts. Ever since the accident, the whispers and prying eyes at the gym had proved too much. But her in-house regimen gave her confidence.
Her boots sank into the damp, mossy duff. She scanned between the trees for any old footprints, bits of garbage—anything to betray a human presence.
Nothing. This forest was effectively untouched by human hands. Pristine. Exactly as DeLuca had described it. She wondered whether this group were the first people to come this way in decades. No, centuries.
They weaved between densely growing hickory trees, then stopped by a small brook with perfectly clear water flowing over its rocky bed. The brook flowed from the base of a lovely waterfall.
DeLuca crouched and pointed at the shallow bank. “See there, guys?”
He edged forward, pointing his finger downward.
It took Megan a few seconds to see the small olive-colored salamander. It sat just above the small stream, staring at them.
“Here’s an interesting fact,” DeLuca continued. “Did you know some salamanders are poisonous, and some even have teeth?”
“What about this one?” Emma asked.
He shrugged. “Dunno.”
DeLuca picked up a stick and waved it toward the salamander.
Hardly the actions of someone at one with nature, Megan thought. Then something else caught her eye. Beyond the brook, baby blue against the natural mix of browns and greens, maybe a hundred yards away.
She stepped over the stream, curious about the strange color in the forest.
Emma elbowed Ryan, and they followed.
As Megan bushwhacked through a stand of birch, the view became clearer. An abandoned car with a faded body. Bushes had grown around the sides, and a sapling grew out of the mold-spattered, off-white roof. How it got here without any obvious route in struck her as odd. It had to be a quarter mile away from the gravel path they had driven the bus down.
Ryan swept a branch away from the front grille. “I’d recognize one of these babies anywhere. You see the big chrome chevron and the bumper bullets?”
The two women glanced at each other. The vacant look on Emma’s face told Megan that they shared an equal disinterest in cars. The way she saw it, vehicles had always been purely functional—a tool for getting from A to B, reliability being the key factor.
“It’s a goddamn Chevy Bel Air,” Ryan breathed. “Look at those tailfins! That’s V-8 gold-level trim right there. She must’ve been a beauty in her day.”
Megan peered through the filthy windows. The car’s day was long gone. In fact, the blackened dashboard and seats, and the scorch marks around the hood, made it look as though an engine fire had ended the Bel Air’s career.
Roaring flames jumped to the front of her mind. Screams.
Stop, Megan. Don’t think about it.
“How the hell did it get here, all the way in the middle of the forest?” Emma asked. “We’re a ways from the road.”
“Maybe those missing hikers from long ago,” Vargas said. He had loomed up behind them, along with DeLuca. He grabbed the passenger-side wing mirror, and it snapped off in his hand. “Oops.”
“Idiot,” Ryan snapped.
“What?” Vargas replied. “This thing’s a write-off by now.”
“No, dumbass. This is a ’57 Chevy Bel Air. It’s a classic. Treat it with a little more respect.”
The men stared at each other for a lingering moment. Emma moved between them. “It still doesn’t explain how it got here.”
“Maybe the track from the road used to lead right here,” DeLuca said. “Those birch trees look pretty young to me. Nature just . . . took over. Mystery solved, people.”
Megan frowned. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as dawn follows day.”
“You
mean ‘day follows night’?”
Cheeks flushed, DeLuca looked down at his map. He mumbled to himself before nodding at the woods to their left.
“Let’s keep moving, guys. I’d like to be boiling coffee before the dusk draws in.”
“Lead the way, Paul,” Jim replied.
Young Connor shadowed DeLuca as he set off again. The kid loved being right behind the guide, waving around a stick he had found along the way. The grandparents followed, keeping close.
Ryan, who couldn’t take his eyes off the Chevy, snapped a few pictures on his phone. He thumbed the screen, then cursed.
“What’s up?” Emma asked.
“Wanted to send photos back to the guys at the garage. But there’s no damned signal out here.”
“You thought there would be?” Emma replied. “Let it go, babe. We didn’t come here to stay in touch with our friends back home.”
Ryan continued to circle the area holding his cell phone up, vainly looking for a signal. “Yeah, but the boys will love this. If I can just find a . . .”
“Ryan,” she replied, a stern edge to her voice. “Let it go. We’re out here to be together. You can look at the car on our way back.”
He let out a deep sigh and slipped his phone back in his pocket.
The couple headed off, leaving Megan with Vargas and Rizzo. The pastor leaned against the smooth bark of a beech tree. He mopped his brow with a handkerchief and hoisted his pack.
“You okay carrying that backpack, Pastor?” Vargas asked.
“Don’t worry about me, Ricky. It’s just my age catching up with me.”
“All right, then. But holler if you need a hand.”
The two men headed after the rest of the group.
Megan followed last, observing Pastor Rizzo’s movements. His excuse about his age didn’t wash with her. Yes, he was older than most of the group, though at least fifteen years younger than Jim and Maryann, and they had no problem with the glacial pace set by DeLuca.
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