Hunted Past Reason (2 page)

She nodded, sighing again, then made a face of mock pleading. "Please, sir," she said in a little girl's voice, "couldn't you write a novel about drinking chi-chis and lazing around in Hawaii with your wife of twenty years?"

He chuckled. "Maybe the next one I—" he started.

"Bobby, we have to go," Doug called.

"I wish he wouldn't call you that," Marian said, "as though you were ten years old or something."

"He doesn't mean any harm," Bob said. He drew her close and pressed his lips to hers, lingering on the kiss.

"Dear God, that was like farewell," she said, tears appearing in her eyes.

"Don't be silly, sweetheart. We'll be at the cabin on Wednesday afternoon. Have a vodka and tonic waiting for me."

"If I don't drink up all the vodka, worrying about you."

He laughed softly and took her by the hand, leading her back around the tree.

"Farewells all completed?" Doug said.

Marian managed a faint smile. Doug's smile became one of sympathy. "Really, Marian, there's nothing to be worried about. Your husband will be sore as hell in every muscle, that I guarantee, but otherwise he'll be intact."

"Okay, okay, I'm going," she said. She kissed Bob briefly on the lips, then moved to the Bronco and got in behind the steering wheel. She turned on the engine and pulled out onto the road, raising her right hand in farewell. Bob had the feeling that she didn't look back because she was crying. Oh, sweetheart, he thought, smiling sadly.

As the Bronco disappeared around a curve, he picked up his pack with a grunt at its weight. "Okay, let's go," he said.

"Whoa, whoa, not so fast," Doug told him.

"What?" Bob looked at him, curious.

"We have to check out our gear before we leave."

Bob frowned. "Now?" he asked.

"Sure, now."

"Why didn't we do all that before we left Los Angeles?"

"It's a good idea to do it now," Doug said. "Double-check before we leave."

"What if I don't have everything I need?" Bob asked. "What can I do about it now?"

"Well, I gave you a list of things you need. I assume you got all of it," Doug said. "I
was
going to go to the supply store with you— as you recall. But you were in New York attending a big meeting."

"Mm-hmm." Bob nodded, wondering why Doug felt the need to call it a "big" meeting. It wasn't that and Doug knew it.

"Oh, well," he said. "Let's do it then."

Doug looked at him questioningly. "Are you sure you're up to this, Bob?" he asked.

"Sure," Bob said. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Are you really?"

It didn't sound like a question to Bob. Doug's smile bordered on disbelief. He chuckled. "Okay. You got me," he admitted. "Naturally, I'm a little apprehensive."

"A lot apprehensive," Doug answered.

"Well, maybe," Bob said. "I'm not exactly John Muir."

"Not exactly." Doug's smile was amused now.

"I'm counting on you to lead me through the wilderness without incident," Bob said.

Doug shook his head, laughing softly. "I'll do my damnedest, Bob," he said. "Okay. Let's see what you've got."

Bob leaned his pack against a tree to open it.

"I see you got a side packer," Doug said.

"Is that bad?" Bob asked. "The salesman said it was easier to get into."

"Did he tell you it would leak more in the rain?"

"Well . . . no," Bob answered. "Are we expecting rain?"

"Y'never know," Doug said. "Did you try it on for comfort?"

Bob nodded. "Yes, I did. The salesman even put a sandbag in it to show me what it would feel like when it was loaded."

"And—?"

Bob chuckled. "It felt heavy," he said.

"Damn right." Doug nodded. "Well, let's see what you've got inside."

Bob unzipped the bag and took out the first item.

"What the hell is that?" Again, Bob felt that it wasn't a question but a judgment.

"A stove," he said.

"That wasn't on the list I gave you," Doug told him.

"The salesman talked me into it," Bob said. "He showed me how easy it was to use. What would you rather have at the end of the day, he asked, cold cereal or hot chicken à la king over rice?"

"You have chicken à la king with you as well?" Doug said, laughing as he spoke.

Bob sighed. He was getting a little weary of Doug's belittling tone. "You never took a stove with you?" he challenged.

"Yeah, sure I did," Doug answered. "Nothing wrong with having a stove. I was just trying to cut down on the weight you have to carry."

"Okay." Bob nodded.

"Canister stove's heavier too," Doug told him. "And you'll have to carry out the canister."

"Oh, no." Bob looked dismayed.

"Oh, yes," Doug said, nodding and smiling again. "Those are the rules of the game, Bobby. You don't leave anything behind. Except for piss and crap, of course."

Bob made a face, nodding. "I understand."

"Do you?" Doug looked at him almost sternly. "There
are
rules, Bobby. It isn't just a stroll in the park we're going on, you know."

All right, all right, Bob thought, He felt like saying it but didn't want the hike to start out on a strained note.

"Before we look at what else you have in your pack—" Doug started.

Oh, God, what now? Bob wondered.

"You're not wearing cotton underwear are you?"

The unexpected question struck Bob as funny, making him laugh. Doug frowned. "I'm sorry for laughing," Bob said. "I just didn't expect that question."

"Well, it's not an unimportant one," Doug told him. "Cotton underwear gets wet from perspiration, feels lousy."

Bob nodded. "I understand. I have on poly prop-whatever-underwear."

"Polypropylene." Doug nodded. "Good. And thin polypropylene socks under your wool socks?"

"Right."

He must have sounded a bit apathetic, he realized, because Doug frowned again. "Bob, these things are important," he said.

"All right. I understand." Bob nodded.

"Okay." Doug looked serious again. "You have three complete sets of socks."

"Mm-hmm."

Doug started to speak but Bob interrupted him. "What do
you
use for a stove?" he asked.

"Two logs close together over the fire," Doug said. "I put my grate across them." He grinned. "Of course, now I have a stove to use."

The hell you do, Bob thought, after making fun of it? He sighed. Well, let that go, he decided.

"Very often, I've just eaten what Muir did— uncooked food, hot tea or coffee," Doug told him.

Well, he
is
trying to be helpful, Bob chided himself. And, after all, Doug didn't
have
to offer to take him on this hike, helping him get background material for his novel.

"All right, getting back to your clothes," Doug continued. "Let's take a look at your boots." He knelt in front of Bob. "Did you know that every mile you walk, each foot hits the ground almost two thousand times?"

"No. Jesus." Bob was impressed.

"And each foot has twenty-six functional bones," Doug continued.

"No kidding," Bob said. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"I can read too," Doug said.

What the hell does that mean? Bob wondered.

"All right, they're leather, that's good. You never buy plastic."

Plastic? Bob reacted. Who in the hell would buy plastic shoes for hiking?

Doug was running his hands over Bob's boots. "Light-weight, that's good," he said. "You won't need heavyweight boots for a hike this short. Ankle-high, good. Padded ankle collar." He grimaced a little. "Well . . . nylon uppers don't need any break-in, but—"

"What?" Bob asked.

"I prefer leather uppers, they last longer, have more resistance." He stood up, grunting. "No matter. Yours'll be fine. You told the salesman to give you an extra half inch of toe room, didn't you?"

"No." Bob frowned. "You never told me that."

"I must have forgotten," Doug said. "It's nothing fatal. Although it
does
help to have that extra half inch when you're doing steep downhill hiking. You
did
wear a pair of thick socks when you were trying them on, didn't you?"

"Yep." Bob nodded, trying not to sound bored, which he was getting.

"Water seal the boots?" Doug asked.

"Yes."

"Cut your toenails?"

"What?"
Bob laughed at the question.

"Not a joke," Doug said. "You're going to be doing a lot of walking. Overlong toenails can cause problems."

"Oh, Jesus." Bob made a face. "Well, I don't think they're too long."

"We'll check 'em later," Doug said. "I have a clipper in case you need it."

Bob repressed a sigh but not enough. Doug looked at him with mild accusation. "Bob," he said, "I'm not talking just to hear the sound of my voice. I've been backpacking for years. Everything I'm telling you is pertinent."

"All right, all right, I'm sorry again, I apologize. I realize you're just trying to help me."

"Good." Doug patted him on the shoulder. "Just a few more things and we'll be on our way."

"Shoot," Bob said. "Not with your bow, of course."

Doug gave him a token chuckle, then went on. "Got gaiters?" he asked.

"What?"

"Gaiters. Like leggings. Helps keep your lower pants dry, safe from thorns. Keeps sand and dirt out of your shoes. Rain."

"Rain again," Bob said. "You know something I don't?"

"No, no," Doug answered. "Just a precaution. I
did
mention gaiters, though."

Bob nodded. No, you didn't, he remembered.

"You have polyprop long johns?" Doug asked.

"Uh-huh." Bob nodded. Let's
get
on our way then, he thought.

His mind blanked out a little as Doug ran through what seemed to be a lecture about using the "layering" system to dress; each item of clothing working in combination with the others to deal with any change in the weather, hot or cold.

Lower layer, the long johns, socks; middle layer, shirt or vest, pile pants; outer layer, windbreaker, jacket, boots. Bob's jacket was quilted, not down; that was good. If down got wet, it took forever to dry. Was Bob's jacket seam-sealed? Bob didn't know; he did not attempt to repress a sigh. Doug went on as though he didn't notice. No snaps on Bob's poncho, not good. In a wind, it would blow out like a boat sail. Snaps would prevent that. What kind of weather we planning on? Bob asked. Never know, was all Doug answered.

"Are we ready to go now?" Bob asked.

"No, no, no, no," Doug said scoldingly. "There are several more important things."

"Jesus, Doug. Are we going to have any time to walk before dark?"

Doug looked at him in silence.

"I know. I know," Bob said apologetically. "Important things."

"You doubt it?" Doug said irritably.

"No," Bob sighed. "I'm just . . . anxious to get going, that's all."

"So am I, Bobby, be
lieve
me," Doug said gravely. "But if we go off half cocked, you'll regret it. I know how to do all this. You don't. So, for Christ's sake, show a little patience. You'll be glad later about what we're doing now."

Bob nodded, looking guilty. "I know, I'm sorry. I'll say no more."

"Don't worry, we'll be on our way in no time," Doug reassured him. "Let's just get through it."

"All right. Lay on, Macduff."

Doug chuckled. "Let's check your food supply," he said.

"Right." Bob took out what he'd brought. "Monologue time," he said. "All food in plastic bags, a few small boxes of orange juice, no cans. Cereal. Beans. Powdered milk. Sugar. Powdered eggs. A packet of cheese. Instant coffee. Nuts. Chocolate."

"Good," Doug said. "Chocolate has all kinds of valuable ingredients. B vitamins. Magnesium. Good for you."

"Marian would be happy to hear that," Bob told him.

Doug chuckled a little. "The powdered milk is good too," he said. "Lots of protein and calcium. Phosphorous. Vitamin D. Perfect in a survival situation."

"A survival situation?" Bob asked. "I thought we were just going for a hike."

Doug looked at him askance. "Just a phrase," he said.

"Glad to hear it," Bob answered.

"So what else you got?"

"Raisins. Powdered potatoes. A little bread. Two oranges, two apples. Energy bars. And, of course, my chicken à la king with rice, turkey tetrazzini, beef almondine."

"Actually, you may have more food than you need," Doug told him.

Bob made a face. "Don't tell me that," he said.

"No tragedy," Doug told him. He picked up a pamphlet from Bob's pack. "What's this?"

Bob took the pamphlet and looked at it, laughed.

"What?" Doug asked.

"
Survival in the Wilderness
." Bob read the pamphlet's title. "Marian must have slipped it in there when I wasn't looking."

"Doubt if you'll need it," Doug said with a snicker.

"I doubt it too." Bob slipped the pamphlet into his shirt pocket.

"Well, you seem to be in pretty good shape, food-wise," Doug told him. "Plenty of carbohydrates— the staple of a hiker's diet. You have enough water to see us through the afternoon?"

Bob showed him his filled water bottle.

"It'll do, I guess," Doug said dubiously. "I think I told you to get a wide-mouth halgene bottle though. Easier to clean. Easier to fill from a stream or spring. Easier to get a spoon into."

"They didn't have any," Bob said quietly.

"All right, all right, no tragedy," Doug replied. "I see you have some water packets too. They're good in a pinch. What else have you got?"

"Pair of folding eyeglasses. Not that I think I'll be doing any reading."

Doug snickered. "Doubt it," he said.

"And a small pair of folding binoculars," Bob told him.

Doug made an indeterminate sound. "Won't hurt," he said. "You might get some use out of them. How about toiletries?"

Dear God, this is going to go on forever, Bob thought. We'll end up camping right here for the week. He took the plastic bag out of his pack. "Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Skin lotion. Sun block. Multivitamins."

"Let's see." Doug held out his hand and Bob handed him the small container. He read the ingredients. "Not bad," he said. "Two, three hundred milligrams of Vitamin C, Vitamin A, good. Vitamin B-1. Vitamin D. Potassium. Sodium. Calcium. Iron." He tossed the container back. "It'll do," he said in a tone that indicated it really wasn't good enough.