by Lisa Gardner
Nemeth turns to Luciana, delivering additional orders. Martin throws me a folded-up tarp, and I have no choice but to unclip the monster blade from my waist and eye it warily. The textured handle feels comfortable enough. And I appreciate the broad guard protecting my hand from slipping down the blade. But the thing is still a beast, razor-sharp on one side, wickedly serrated on the other.
My hands are shaking. I have to take several deep breaths. Then I head out of the tree line, back to the now glistening gray rocks. I unfold the tarp on a large boulder, uncoil the rope, and get to work. It takes me a few moments of trial and error to find my courage and put some muscle behind the blade. In the end, the serrated edge seems to work best for slicing through the nylon. Just to be fair, I use the straight edge on the tarp.
I like the knife more and more. Cuts easily, feels solid and reassuring in my hand. I heft it a few more times just because. Then I have to wonder once more: Did Josh pack such a hard-core tactical knife because he was worried about self-defense? Or because he had his own score to settle in these mountains?
Miggy lost a potential job because of Tim. Scott and Neil lost their chance at the woman they liked. And Josh? What did he lose? And how bad was it, given it sounds like he’s been drowning in a bottle ever since?
I carefully resheathe the double-edged blade, then return to Nemeth with my homework.
Martin grabs the tarp. Nemeth takes the rope. In a matter of seconds, they’ve fashioned a sling of sorts between the two branches Miggy and Scott have fetched. While they fine-tune their invention, I wander over to Luciana, doing my best to appear casual.
“What happened at Martin’s cave? You guys find something?” I keep my voice low because I already sense she’s not eager to share with the group.
“Maybe.” Her voice is terse and equally quiet.
“Daisy pick up scent?”
“Yes. We started to follow, but it didn’t make any sense. We kept running into dead ends, a giant rock here, a boulder there. Natural barriers should pool the scent. Instead, Daisy kept losing the trail.” Luciana shakes her head. “I don’t know. She started spooking. Then I started to get twitchy, too.”
“How so?”
Luciana glances around to ensure no one’s close enough to hear. “I felt like I was being watched. Like someone was studying us.”
“What about Nemeth?”
“You know how he is—never said a word. But he seemed unusually jumpy, kept looking behind us. By the time he spotted the storm rolling in, we were grateful for the excuse to bug out. I don’t like this place. I don’t like these woods. I just . . . don’t.”
Beside her, Daisy whines her agreement. Luciana places a soothing hand on her head. “When we get back to camp, I need to tend to her. And I don’t mean food and foot care. I mean she’s rattled by the conditions and dejected she never found her target. She needs to end on a good note. Morale matters.” Lucy looks around at our group. “For all of us.”
I nod in understanding. This has been a long, strange day. Unfortunately, I have a feeling it’s about to get worse.
Nemeth rises to standing. “All right,” he states. “Time to head out.”
* * *
—
Nemeth spreads the blue emergency blanket in a diagonal pattern across the makeshift litter. Miggy and Scott help Neil lie down on top, then Nemeth uses the edges of the blanket to wrap up the injured man like a human burrito. Pretty slick, I think. Neil’s conscious again, but clearly in pain. Luciana activates a second instant cold compress and tucks it behind his head. Neil smiles gratefully. Final step, using sections of the rope to secure Neil’s form in the carrier.
Now Bob positions himself at the front right pole, while Miggy grabs the left. On the count of three, they lift as one, raising the front of the litter off the ground. The back ends of the two poles are left to drag, which is when I finally get it—travois versus litter. Because Neil doesn’t need to be fully immobilized, such as someone with a bad break or spinal injury. He just needs transportation assistance. Not to mention, given we are now a party of seven mobile persons, we can rotate out two carriers much more easily than four.
With everyone in position, Nemeth starts walking, Daisy and Luciana following on his heels. Next comes the travois, with Scott trailing behind it. Martin glances at me impatiently; he’s clearly waiting to bring up the rear now that Bob has medic duties.
I take the opportunity to fall in step beside Scott. He’s immediately skittish, looking at anything but me.
“How was the cliff climb? Did you see the green thingy, up high?”
“Yes.” His voice is as terse as Luciana’s. Apparently, everyone had a fun-filled afternoon.
“Who did the climbing?”
“I did. You were right. Too narrow for Bob, and Miggy’s afraid of heights.”
“What about Marty?” Because I could see the man scaling the Empire State Building if he thought it would help him find his son.
“Bob ruled him out. Told him he needed to stay below and help direct my path.”
“And Martin accepted this?”
“A chance to watch me suffer more? You bet.”
“You seem to have a complex on this subject.”
“What did Neil tell you?”
“What do you think?”
Scott doesn’t take the bait. He falls silent, then, abruptly: “I couldn’t do it. Follow the cliff trail? There’s this section, only way to continue is to jump.”
I nod, having seen it myself.
“I wanted to. I tried to. But every time I went to launch . . . I kept seeing Latisha, and all I could think was, what if I slipped and fell? What if she had to receive that phone call a second time? I couldn’t do that to her. I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t do that to me.”
I don’t say anything, letting the silence drag out. Soon enough:
“I want to do better,” he whispers. “I want to be better. You have no idea. Ever since that night . . .” A deep, shuddering sigh. “Goddammit.”
Again, I wait.
“I didn’t make it all the way up the path. I couldn’t retrieve whatever’s there. Marty screamed at me. Bob physically restrained him from attacking me. Then we felt the wind change, glanced to the south, and bolted out of there. Thank God.”
“Martin will want to go back.”
“Yep.”
“You?”
“I want to do better. I want to be better,” he repeats with a sad grimace. “Goddammit.”
“Did you brain Neil with a rock?”
“No! Why would I do that?”
“You tell me, because clearly you and your friends have been holding back.”
Scott shakes his head. “I didn’t attack Neil. I have no reason to hurt him. I found him already bleeding on the ground. Swear on my unborn child.”
“And the food bags?”
“No idea. Last night happened just as I said. I left my tent, thought I saw Tim, and took off into the woods, and then . . . you found me. And Luciana superglued my chest. You don’t think . . .” Scott pauses, finally turns toward me with wide eyes. “You don’t think it could’ve actually been Tim? That somehow, after all these years, he’s still alive?”
“Is that possible?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Oh Jesus.” Scott sounds more terrified now than ever before.
“What did Josh lose?”
“What?”
“Tim was generally a good guy and a great friend. But he had a habit of wanting what others had. And you guys had a habit of forgiving him. Until you didn’t. Was it Josh? Was that the breaking point? What did Josh lose?”
I don’t think he’s going to answer me, but then, suddenly, bitterly:
“His faith in his friends. His trust in humanity. His self-respect. After that, what’s left?”
I don’t h
ave an answer, which is just as well, because Scott refuses to speak again.
We trudge back through the woods to base camp. One man down. Seven people lost deep in their own thoughts.
And one terrible suspicion growing in my head.
CHAPTER 21
I’ve never been so grateful to arrive anywhere as our damp collection of tents. The sun is starting to set as we enter the campsite, light falling, temperatures cooling. My rain-soaked clothes that felt refreshing two hours ago are now cold and clammy against my skin.
After the physical and emotional exertion of the day, I want nothing more than to crawl into my sleeping bag and collapse. Camping, however, doesn’t work like that. Neil needs tending; the fire demands building; water requires fetching.
No one speaks as we fall into our roles. Nemeth and Scott unbundle Neil from the travois. Miggy hits the fire, working some kind of magic that gets wet wood burning. I fetch pails of water, while Luciana tends to Daisy. Martin retrieves our food. We’re like a dysfunctional family, ignoring the nearly palpable tension till chores are finished and food is on the table.
When I return with the final two buckets, Neil is situated in front of the now roaring fire, blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a blue shawl while Luciana carefully rinses the back of his head. She touches. He flinches. She touches again. He flinches again. Still, no one says a word.
Martin appears with the scentproof bag of remaining meals. He sets it down, opens it up, and just like that, dinner is served. We take turns choosing main courses and adding boiling water. I am both hungry and not hungry. I have a squirrel brain under the best of circumstances. After today’s events, I can’t concentrate. My mind hums, my skin feels too tight, and my nerves thrum wildly. These are the moments I most crave a drink. To save me from myself. Or at least escape for a little while.
Fortunately, there are no bars in the middle of nowhere. Unfortunately, there’s no cell phone reception, sat phones, or radios either.
I have spent most of the past ten years on my own, but I’ve never felt so vulnerable and alone as I do now.
Miggy and Scott sit on the ground on either side of Neil. He sips water; they chew on rehydrated pasta. Luciana has crossed to the other side of the fire, closer to me. Daisy lies at her feet, but the dog’s deep brown eyes are open, watching.
“Does she still need to play hide-and-seek?” I ask softly.
“Not now. Too dark.” Luciana sounds distant. She’s made a decision. I already know what it is and don’t blame her.
“When will you and Daisy leave?”
“At first light.” She glances at me. “You’re welcome to join.”
“Not sure yet.” But like her, I’ve reached a decision as well. Mine just makes less sense. A dry drunk. That’s what Paul accused me of being when I first started doing this work. Substituting one dangerous addiction for another. I want to think there’s more to it than that. More to me than that. But times like these, even I’m not sure.
Martin steps closer to the fire, clears his throat, opens his mouth. I don’t wait.
“Did you attack Neil with a rock?” I ask in a loud, clear voice. It’s enough to stop him and startle the others.
“What?”
“Did you try to kill Neil out there in the boulder field?”
“No.” Martin sounds genuinely bewildered, if not a trace indignant. “I was conducting my own search.”
“And the food? Did you rip open the bags?”
“Why would I rip open the bags? You were with me when I discovered them—”
I’m already moving on to Nemeth. “And you, where were you this afternoon?”
“At the other end of the cliff face.” He speaks up, equally defensive.
“And you, Bob?”
“Chasing after Nemeth.”
“Miguel?”
“Headed in the other direction; you saw me.”
My attention homes in on Scott. “That leaves you, buddy.”
“I already said—”
“He didn’t do it,” Neil interrupts tiredly. “He wouldn’t do it. Not him or Miggy. For God’s sake, it’s time. It’s five years past time. Tell them. Just tell them everything. While we still can.”
* * *
—
I keep my attention on Martin while Scott, Miguel, and Neil whisper among themselves. I spare a glance for Nemeth and Bob to be sure, but Martin is the one I’m most interested in. He knows, Neil said. I assumed he meant Martin. Martin figured out the secret the guys were hiding. But so far, Martin looks confused and angry. That good an actor?
Nemeth is wearing a reserved, wary expression, as if he knows something bad is headed his way and is trying to predict the blow.
Bob’s expression is the most thoughtful, the least surprised. He seems to have expected some sort of grand revelation. In theory, he’s the person I should know the most about, given our past acquaintance through virtual forums. But as I’m sure the three college friends are about to reveal, there’s a big difference between thinking you know someone and actually knowing them.
The boys stop their whispered huddle, sit back, peer at the rest of us.
Miguel seems to have been appointed primary speaker. Deep breath, then: “We lied. About that night. Not about everything, but about enough.”
I appreciate the strategy. Once you’ve been found out, stop with the petty denials and cut to the chase.
Across from me, Martin’s eyes widen in apparent surprise. But for once, the man shuts up and listens. Nemeth and Bob are already on that page.
“We were drinking. All of us.”
“Even Tim.” Neil speaks up. “A lot. More than we should’ve. More than anyone should.”
“We were off-our-asses drunk,” Miguel clarifies, in case we weren’t getting the picture.
Martin nods slowly, the fact that his son was drunker than originally reported not being of the greatest relevance.
“Josh especially,” Neil murmurs.
“We should’ve stopped him,” Scott sighs.
“What happened?” I push, trying to move them along.
“Tim got to talking—”
“Making a speech,” Miguel corrects Scott.
“Whatever. He was pontificating—”
Neil laughs hoarsely.
Good God, I want to kill all of them. I study Martin again. He still looks like he has no idea where this story is headed. Nemeth is blank-faced, while Bob nods along encouragingly.
“He wanted to thank us for being his closest buds. You know, now, on the eve of his marriage.” Miguel, still sounding bitter after all these years. “He told us he knew he wasn’t perfect, hadn’t always been the best friend. He started with me first, apologizing for stealing my job interview.”
Martin’s mouth gapes open. He shuts it again.
“He told me he was sorry for stealing Latisha.” Neil’s turn. “He’d gone on the double date with every intention of being a good wingman. But then he saw her. And he knew he was being an asshole, but he couldn’t have behaved any other way. He knew in the first instant, she was the woman he’d spent his life waiting to find.”
“Wait a minute.” Bob raises a hand. He looks at Neil. “You dated Latisha first?”
“Briefly.”
“But you’re married to her now.” He points to Scott, who nods shortly. Next Bob turns to Miguel. “What about you?”
“Three out of five of us is enough!”
Bob nods. “And your other friend, Josh?”
“Josh doesn’t date much. Or at least, he’s not one to talk about his love life.”
“He’s not one to talk,” Neil mutters. The three friends exchange glances again.
Miguel closes his eyes, takes another deep breath. “Speaking of which, Tim’s apology to Josh.”
Now I’m intereste
d.
“Tim’s best man,” Bob clarifies, which also grabs my attention. I’d never thought to ask that question. They were all Tim’s groomsmen, but of course, one of them had to be the best man. Presumably, the one Tim felt closest to. The man now detoxing in a Wyoming hospital.
“Josh has a sister two years younger,” Miguel is explaining. “She started at OSU our junior year. She’s pretty.”
“How Josh ever ended up with a sister who looked like that . . .” Neil shakes his head.
I can’t even remember what Josh looked like before his collapse. Dirty-blond hair, sweat-covered face. I noted his symptoms, not the man, which leads me to believe he wasn’t that striking. Another backdrop piece to Tim’s larger-than-life personality.
“We helped Julianna move in,” Scott picks up the story. “She immediately starts making googly eyes at Tim while he’s doing his whole big-man-on-campus routine. Second Tim ducks out of the room, Josh exits right behind him. I walk out into the corridor in time to find Tim shoved up against the wall. Josh, who, for the record, is four inches and thirty pounds smaller, has Tim pinned in place, staring him right in the eye. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Touch my sister and I will kick your ass.’
“Tim laughs it off. ‘Of course. No problem, bro. Never mess with family. Got it.’ ” Scott mimics college Tim’s placating tone. “Tim untangles himself, walks away. But I can tell Josh is still worried. Before Latisha, Tim was a player. Never knew which gorgeous girl was going to walk out of his bedroom Saturday morning, never to return again.”
Neil and Miguel both nod.
“Classes got going and that was that. Sometimes Julianna would come over to our place to hang out, but not often. She had her own friends, social circle. I never even saw Tim and her interact much.” Scott looks at Neil and Miguel.
“I never noticed anything,” Miguel agrees.
“I certainly never put two and two together.” Neil shrugs.
“Tim hooked up with Josh’s sister,” I fill in, trying to skip to the punch line. “But Josh never knew about it.”