by Gavin Reese
“The point of this mornin’s exercise,” John explained and returned his focus to the group-at-large, “is to test the navigation and mountaineering skills you learned yesterday. Hope you boys paid attention in the daylight, ‘cause this shit gets a lot harder in the dark. Each of you’s got a trail map, just like you’d have at home, and no one’s got the same route. So, you’d best be alone this morning. If you got a trail buddy, one-a you’s dead wrong! There are critters out there, and we’re the ones stumblin’ around uninvited in their home, so watch yourselves. Between the terrain and God’s creatures, a few of you just might get the chance to put your knife fighting and combat first aid skills to use today.” He looked back at Michael. “Maybe even before sun-up. Hope you boys enjoy your day in the wilderness. Truly God’s country out here.”
Their trainer looked around the group, who seemed to await his usual announcement. “It pays to be a winner,” he finally offered to dismiss them. Instead of their typical, frantic rush to hit the trails and establish an early lead on the competition, Michael and the other students purposefully returned to their tents to gather whatever equipment they might need in the next few hours. Already clad in midweight jogging pants and trail shoes, Michael wanted only to grab his small hiking pack, which held his compass, penlight, KaBar, and headlamp, as well as a few other potential survival necessities. He stepped back into the tent and saw that Z and The Baptist were already inside gathering their things. Not gonna let ‘em win, but I’m still not real eager to run off into the darkness alone this morning.
“Dammit,” The Baptist quietly swore and thumped the side of his flashlight, “my light’s dead. You guys have any extra double-As?”
“No, I didn’t think to bring any extra batteries,” Z replied.
“Andrew, please tell me you’ve got some,” The Baptist looked up and plead.
“I don’t, sorry. My lights run on triples, and the headlamp runs off some custom size made in China.” Michael shook his head and offered a sympathetic look. “You wanna borrow a light long enough to see if anyone else has double-As?”
“No, don’t sweat it. I’ll see what I can do before everyone takes off.” The Baptist moved toward the tent’s zippered flap. “Nobody needs to worry about sleeping on the floor when we get back to the house. I’ll take care of that for everyone.”
I don’t know about that, Michael thought to himself. I bet John and his folks find a way to make sure I learn a few lessons out here. “Good luck,” he offered as The Baptist disappeared into the darkness. Michael rummaged through his small Mountainsmith hiking bag, which was really nothing more than a large fanny pack. His last-minute preparations had slightly lessened his sense of dread, but it still must have been visible to those around him.
Z patted him on the shoulder as he stepped around Michael and departed the tent. “Good luck, brother. Be safe out there.”
Michael silently nodded his gratitude. Even though no one knows for sure, these guys understand that something’s up. The training cadre’s been in my ass ever since Haggamore got dismissed. Not hard to put together, even if no one here’s a real-life detective.
“Shake a leg, gentlemen,” John commanded from somewhere nearby, “get the hell outta my campsite!”
Michael donned his headlamp, turned on its lowest setting, and examined the map assigned to him. His dread immediately increased when he realized it was a poor, partial photocopy of a topographical map. Someone had folded the map over itself before copying it, which made it even more useless. A handwritten message had been scrawled across the bottom in small letters that almost escaped his notice: “Good luck. You’ll need it.”
Michael committed himself to surpassing whatever expectations John and his associates had set for him that day. I’m not gonna let ‘em get the best of me, and maybe I’ll have to make another one regret that he tried.
Before he’d gone to sleep last night, Michael had oriented himself inside the tent and knew the back corner was roughly due north. He aligned the map as best he could and confirmed the direction he was to start this morning’s route. Despite any efforts, he’d never regain the obscured, middle section of his directed path. I’ll just have to wing it once I go off-map. Looks like I’ve got about four, maybe four-and-a-quarter miles before that happens. Sensing he could no longer delay whatever fate awaited him in the dark, isolated woods, Michael secured his most essential gear in the Mountainsmith bag, zipped it closed, and stepped from the tent. As he slung the bag’s single strap over his neck and right trap, Michael recalled how his dad would make fun of it. “It’s not a fanny pack,” he’d say, “it’s an ass bag.” The thought brought a brief, needed smile to his face.
John stood nearby and raised his coffee mug toward Michael as he stepped off into the night. “Have fun out there,” he offered and grinned.
“I intend to, John,” Michael retorted. “I hope your boys do the same.”
John sipped heartily from his coffee mug and grinned wider. “I’m sure they will.”
Michael started walking northwest and tightened the bag’s shoulder strap until it was snug enough that he could easily run with it. He soon found a game trail, which matched the approximate location and direction of travel he needed to go. Michael also saw a spattering of light along the same trail ahead of him. Can’t be that many established paths out here, so they probably started us off in the same direction. The sun won’t be up for a while and I need landmarks and waypoints to stay on track. No reason to hurry up and get lost in the darkness. Stepping off the trail, Michael hiked about two dozen yards straight uphill, shut off his headlamp, and retrieved a small penlight from his bag. He’d owned the light since he worked patrol in Silver City and had long ago covered its lens in red permanent marker. Not so harmful to my night vision or so obvious and bright to anyone scurrying around in the dark to find me. Holding the light close to his map, Michael tried to estimate the time and distance until he had to change direction or leave the game trail. The map shows me staying about mid-hill for another mile or two, and then turning south when the mountainside cuts away to the north.
crck-snap
Michael shut off the dim red light and kept his feet in place. Without even shifting his weight, he turned his head toward the sound, which he assumed was one of their instructors stalking their group. He estimated the breaking twig couldn’t have been more than twenty or thirty feet behind him, and, probably, downhill between him and the trail. Whatever had caused the sound must have also stopped in place, for Michael heard absolutely nothing. Definitely a human. Animals are gonna just keep moving along, they aren’t bothered by their own noise. So, now we wait to see which of us grows impatient first. Michael knew that humans were the most restless and impatient predators on Earth. Prey animals will stand still and stare at an area for ten, fifteen minutes before moving on, and most predators will focus on noise for maybe five minutes. People aren’t typically willing to spend more than fifteen or twenty seconds looking at what they think is—
snap
Michael focused on staying still and silent while they passed by. They’ll probably stay close to the trail, but just a few steps above it to keep out of my line of sight, if I were still on the trail, anyway.
The sounds of very slight, occasional rustling and protesting twigs came closer, but still seemed well downhill of him. Only another few seconds passed before a shadow emerged from between the trees five steps below him and moved parallel to the game trail. Not truly a shadow from sun- or moonlight, but, more of a black hole that’s darker than everything else around it. Michael immediately recognized the shadow’s size and gate as Jane. They must-a picked her because she oughta be the lightest and least visible instructor. Big Country’d sound like a bull in a china shop this time of morning.
Michael heard murmuring and feared someone else was nearby. He silently inhaled and tried to calm his nerves.
“No, I don’t see him,” Jane whispered. More indiscernible murmuring.
“Y
es, I’m sure I followed him from camp. He must be farther ahead of me.”
Michael smirked and nodded at the intel he now had. They’ve got radios, and they’re targeting me. That gives me a tremendous edge that they don’t know about.
“I’ll press up and advise when I re-acquire,” she softly spoke while passing by Michael’s unseen position in the darkness above her.
He expected to have several minutes alone to consider his course of action. I can follow her, but that won’t really do me any good. I’ll either succeed, which embarrasses her and means more punishment for me, or, I fail, and she just calls the dogs in on me anyway. I could stay here and wait for daylight so I can see them, but then I’m also easier to see. If I were them, I’d put one guy at a fixed point along the trail to make sure I didn’t get past them. Just enough uphill that no one’s likely to spot him. If there’s a rock outcropping, steep hillside, or cliff, that’d work the best to get out of the line of sight.
After Michael believed at least two minutes had elapsed since he heard Jane’s movement, he quietly retrieved his map and penlight. He searched its topographic lines for the most significant elevation change immediately adjacent to his designated route. There, that’s gotta be it. He examined the spot just before the copied fold where six topo lines briefly converged into a single line immediately uphill from his appointed path. Now that I know where they’re probably waiting for me, what to do about it?
Michael shut off the red-lensed light and tacitly squatted down on his haunches to think for a moment. I could go farther uphill above them. See what they’re up to, maybe. Drop back to the trail after I’m clear of the ambush. Don’t wanna risk a repeat of that rooftop bullshit, though. They won’t be surprised like Haggamore was. That was stupid, Michael told himself, and I really don’t wanna risk a fight out here in the middle of nowhere. Talk about a rock and a hard place. Michael stood back up and realized the depth of his gratitude for his Silver City PD trainers. They taught me to hunt and stalk a lot more than trophy elk. He clicked the red light back on to examine the map once more.
Better idea, Michael thought.
I’ll give her another couple minutes to get farther west, and I’ll head downhill, cross the valley floor, and stay just inside the tree line on the opposite hillside. The map looks like I’m supposed to turn downhill and cross the valley not long after passing the ambush spot, anyway, so I should be able to find the route again from there. If they don’t have thermal, I might have a shot of making my objective without finding out whatever they got planned.
A wry smirk spread across Michael’s face as he cautiously worked his way downhill and on to his new path. I wonder if my screams will echo better from the valley floor than the mountainside. Even though I’d appreciate the help, I’m glad that Sergio won’t be around to risk intervening on my behalf. No sense giving up our secret now.
FORTY-TWO
Training Day 116, 0515 hours.
Teton National Forest, Wyoming.
Michael had been navigating through the unfamiliar forest and mountainsides for the past hour. After crossing the valley, he’d seen occasional, sporadic specks of light on the opposing mountainside. The specks looked like they came from the game trail Michael had abandoned. My classmates are busy giving away their positions. While he’d been stopped for a short rest, a flurry of small lights had suddenly come on across the valley. Unable to intervene or help, Michael watched the lights from two trainers pursue one of his colleagues and push them into an ambush. Their training point made, the mountainside again fell into darkness. Even out here in the wilderness, you’ve gotta maintain situational awareness. Wonder if everybody’s getting that kind of ‘teachable moment,’ or did they mistake someone for me?
Michael pressed on and crossed a game trail just as the sky brightened to his east. Keeping himself well inside the tree line, he rechecked his sabotaged map. Once again, his designated route and present location matched. Back on track. If I get to the map’s objective and nothing’s there, I can at least find my way back to the camp. And, if that’s all packed up and shipped out, I can hike my ass back to Dubois, the last town we drove through.
From an abundance of caution, Michael cut a small strip of cloth from the top of his right sock. He found a large tree immediately uphill of the game trail and walked around to the backside, where he tied the cloth to the base of a branch just about his eye level. Anyone following me won’t see it, but, if I have to come back this way, it’ll confirm this is where I need to veer southeast. Although grateful the early morning light made his navigation easier, Michael also knew he could now be found much more readily. Even if there’s some sorta reckoning planned today, I’m not gonna make it easy for them.
Michael ensured his gear was stowed and then tightened the bag’s straps just a bit further and walked about ten yards uphill from the trail. Even though the hard-packed trail’s quieter and faster, that’s where people expect other people to be. The morning dew helped muffle his footfalls, but also kept his shoes and feet cold and damp.
For another hour, the emerging day brightened and warmed around him. When the mountainside shifted his vector from northwest to west, Michael stopped and retrieved his map. He couldn’t see any landmarks or waypoints from inside the tree line, which made him risk moving out onto the well-established trail. As he did so, Michael took in an incredible view of the Tetons. Gorgeous, right up there with Rocky Mountain National Park. The range’s steep, green-and-grey upheaved peaks rose up and met a clear, bright blue sky. Cold, crisp air blew lightly on his skin just as the sun finally broke over the eastern peaks and cast warm sunlight on his face. Michael closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, and felt at peace, if only for this moment. He allowed himself only a few calming breaths before opening his eyes and going back to work. Can’t stay vulnerable for long.
Michael compared the two portions of his map to what he could see around him and decided he was in the right place. That means downhill from here, while the trail continues west along the mountainside. Looks like the destination is a flat spot, maybe a clearing or meadow. Scanning across the valley, he identified two successive sets of rock formations as his new waypoints. As he stepped off to follow his assigned route, Michael felt thankful for the time he’d spent in the mountains with his dad. I haven’t seen another soul out here since Jane, and the solitude would be unnerving if I didn’t know I was in the right place.
Just before reaching the valley floor, he stopped inside the tree line, knelt, and surveyed the area. Valleys are known as kill boxes for a reason. The instructor cadre might not take shots at me, but this is where I’m most vulnerable to being found and pursued. He silently stayed in place for another ten minutes and heard nothing but birds and an occasional elk bugle. Fall’s coming. A quick review of his map confirmed the destination was near the exposed center of the meadow. Got no choice but the leave the tree line, so I may as well be quick about it.
Michael stood up and purposefully strode through a semi-circular clearing that opened up and joined the valley floor at its far end. As he reached the approximate center, a small, bright reflection from the ground ahead of him caught his attention. Intently looking at the unexpected object, Michael immediately recognized it as one of John’s training knives. Fuck! He stopped and urgently scanned the small clearing for whatever threat he’d missed.
“Drop your bag, Andrew,” John’s familiar voice boomed from behind him. “That dull-ass butter knife’s the only weapon available to you.”
Michael turned around to face John and walked backward toward the training blade. Here comes the consequence. His lead instructor, now a momentary adversary, stepped from behind a small stand of aspens off to his left. Of course, he put himself between me and the sunrise, that was stupid of me not to check that more closely.
“Drop, the bag, Andrew,” he again commanded while pressing toward Michael from about twenty yards away. “I know you got better tools in there, but that useless trainer’s the only on
e you get access to use this morning!”
Michael reluctantly complied. He unbuckled the bag’s shoulder strap and tossed it aside a few yards to the east. Keep it close, just in case he’s right. I might need better tools in a few minutes.
“How’d you get by the cadre?” John kept walking as he spoke, although he seemed in no particular hurry to start their dance; his only concern seemed to be separating Michael from his blades and lights. “She didn’t go far enough uphill from the game trail, did she?”
Michael backed up until he saw the blade in his peripheral vision in front of his feet. He bent down and took his eyes from John only long enough to retrieve the trainer. Expertly flipping it in his palm, Michael ensured the simulated cutting edge extended down his right forearm. “You gotta earn that kinda intel, John.”
“You smug mother fucker, you really think you’re hot shit, don’t ya?” John pressed forward, but Michael couldn’t see a weapon in either of his hands.
His fists are balled up, though, so I can’t say they’re empty, either. The best knife fighters never show their blade before it’s inbound. “No, John, I just don’t like seeing how your training scenarios are all rigged for failure.” He stopped moving back to keep himself near the middle of the clearing. Best to stay away from the tree line. John won’t be alone out here. “I figure you’re either not as good an operative as you claim to be, so you gotta stack the deck against us, or you’re not that good at teaching us to succeed. Either way makes me think you’re puttin’ us in danger, John.”
“You fuckin—” Having closed within a few yards, John lunged with his right hand, and Michael stepped back and set his feet firmly on the ground to block the punch. He batted his left arm up and out to stop John’s forearm while simultaneously punching his right fist into the front of John’s shoulder to cease all his adversary’s forward momentum. Michael succeeded in suppressing the first attack, but, before he could counter, John reflexively dropped down to his right knee, rotated his torso to his left, and swung his right forearm between Michael’s arms and laterally across his abdomen.