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Authors: Rick Hautala

Tags: #Horror, #Fiction

The Mountain King (4 page)

BOOK: The Mountain King
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Chapter Five
 

Back Home 
 
 
“Before I drive you home, I’d like to take you over to the hospital, if you don’t mind.” 

Guy LaBrea, Hilton’s police chief, was frowning as he watched Mark, who was sitting in his office, shivering as he sipped at a cup of coffee. It was his second cup within fifteen minutes. Guy didn’t like the way Mark’s eyes were so red-rimmed and runny. His skin looked sallow, almost sickly; and from what Mark had just finished telling him, Guy wasn’t so sure Mark was thinking all that straight, either. “Not packing a full seabag,” as he liked to say. 

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Mark said, his voice soft but firm as he fought to maintain a rational tone. “All I need is a hot shower, maybe a bowl of soup, and a good night’s sleep and I’ll be fine.” 
Guy almost said something but remained silent. 
“What I want you to do is get a search party organized to go up there and find Phil.” 
“Sure, sure I will. I’ll get on the phone and do just that . . . just as soon as I haul your ass into the emergency room so the doctor can check you out.” 
Mark shook his head angrily. 
“For Christ’s sake, Guy! For all we know, Phil’s still up there, either dead or unconscious at the base of The Zipper. If
you
don’t do something about it, then I sure as shit will!” 
“No need to get all wound up, okay?” Guy said. “Truth to tell, I don’t see how Phil could’ve lasted the night up there—not with how cold it’s been getting lately.” 
“Christ! What are you talking about?” Mark shouted, but then he checked himself, sat back, and forced himself to relax. Then, against his will, he started snickering softly to himself. “Oh, I get it. You don’t believe me, do you?” 
“Well, I think you maybe—” 
“Are delirious, right? Maybe a little out of my mind or something, is that it?” 
“Not at all.” 
Mark set his coffee cup down carefully on the desk beside him, fighting hard to keep his hand from trembling. 
“Well you’ve got it wrong, Guy!
Dead
wrong!” He clenched his hands into fists and pounded them in frustration against his legs. “I
know
what I saw, all right? I know it!” 
“Yeah. You say you saw Bigfoot.” 

“Jesus Christ, Guy! I don’t know what the hell it was! I just know I saw this ... this
thing
that had no right being there. It sure as shit looked like some kind of bear or ape or something, but . . . but—fuck! I don’t know ...”  

Guy let loose a small laugh that fueled Mark’s anger. 

“You won’t think it’s so fucking funny after you send someone out there and find Phil’s body, now, will you?” 

“No, no,” Guy said, suddenly sobering up. “It’s not that at all. It’s just—for a second there, I had this image of Bigfoot, you know, hitchhiking from Oregon to Maine.” 
“Jesus
Christ!
This is Phil Sawyer we’re talking about!” 
“I know, I know,” Guy replied. “Look, Mark. As soon as you agree to let me take you into the emergency room for a quick checkup, then I’ll get on the horn to the Forestry Department and—” 
“No!
I want you to do it
now!”
 
Guy sat back and rubbed his hands down the side of his face. “Christ, it’s dark as shit now. We can’t get someone up there till morning, anyway.” 
“I don’t give a shit! Don’t they have helicopters with searchlights or something?” 
Guy nodded. “Well, yeah—I suppose they do, but still, I don’t know if I—” 
“Forget what I said about what I saw or what I
think
I saw, all right? Just report a missing hiker and get those Forestry assholes out there so they can earn their pay this week!” 

“Yeah—well,” Guy said, “they earn their pay as it is, I suspect. Hell, just last July they
more
than earned their pay when they spent nearly the whole month looking for those two hikers from New Jersey that went missing. Remember that?” 

“Shit, yes. I was out there beating the brush a few days, myself. But this is
Phil
we’re talking about! This is the guy I work with at the mill day in and day out!” 

“Okay, okay,” Guy said, reaching for the phone. “I’ll give Fred Gibbons a buzz.” 
Guy held the receiver tightly while he looked up the number, then punched the buttons. While he was waiting for someone to answer, he added under his breath, “And right after that, I’m taking you down to the hospital . .. even if I have to cuff you to get you there.” 
“All right . . . all right! I’ll go!” 

Mark stayed where he was while Guy made the call. He was thankful that Guy omitted any mention of the “huge, dark, furry shape” he had seen. Then, once he was assured that a group of rangers would organize a search and go out first thing in the morning, he followed Guy out to the cruiser for the short drive to the hospital. He thanked Guy and told him he didn’t expect him to wait while the doctor checked him over. Once the brief examination was completed, Mark got dressed and walked out into the lobby. He intended to phone home for Polly or Sandy to come and pick him up, but he saw Guy sitting there, waiting for him. 

“I told you you didn’t have to wait for me.” 
“Hey!” Guy said with a shrug. “What are friends for? So, did you get a clean bill of health?” 
“Just what I told you. Dr. Blaine said all I needed was some rest.” 
“Cruiser’s waiting.” 
“Let me give Polly a quick call, let her know I’m on my way home.” 

After phoning home, Mark and Guy walked back out to the police cruiser. They spoke very little on the short drive out to Mark’s house on Cole Hill Road.  

Mark still seriously doubted how much—if anything— of what he had seen up on Mount Agiochook had been real. The glaring, antiseptic reality of the hospital had reduced the threat of that large, shadowy figure until it seemed to have no place whatsoever in the real world. Still, Mark couldn’t shake the gnawing worry that his eyes
hadn’t
been playing tricks on him, that he
had
seen—something. But how could it have been real? 

If his fatigue and fear hadn’t weakened him to the point of hallucination, that meant there really might be something—something
dangerous
up there on Agiochook! 
“What the fuck is Dennis Cross’s car doing in your driveway?” 
Guy’s voice broke into Mark’s reverie. He shook his head and looked up as Guy slowed down in front of Mark’s house. The cruiser’s headlights swept like a probing searchlight across the front of the house and the red Mustang parked there. 
“Goddamn! That son-of-a- . . .” 
Guy took a deep breath and held it as he pulled to a stop at the bottom of the driveway and killed the engine. Mark already had his door open and was halfway up the driveway, moving with a speed that bespoke his anger. Someone was sitting in the car. Mark knew it had to be Dennis because he was so damned fussy about his ‘83 Mustang he would never let anyone else drive it. He grabbed the car door handle and flung the door wide open, ready to drag the man out onto the lawn if he had to. Guy hustled up the walkway a few steps behind him, his hand on his service revolver just in case things got out of hand. 
“Hey!” Mark shouted, leaning his head into the car. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” 
“Ahh, I was—I was just on my way to work. Third shift for the next few weeks at the mill, you know?” Dennis stammered. He gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands as if he didn’t dare let go of it. “My—uh, my damned car started acting funny on me, so I pulled in to see if I could borrow some tools to fix it.” 
Mark scowled as he studied Dennis, trying to read if there was anything else beneath the stupid-ass grin he was wearing. 
“So, you got it fixed now?” Mark asked. 
Dennis nodded. “Yeah—yeah. Just blew a spark plug is all. Put a new one in, no sweat.” 
“Your hands don’t look like someone who’s been working on a car.” 

“No, well, your—ah, wife let me wash up after I was done,” Dennis said. His voice had a slight tremor to it that made Mark suspicious, but he forgot all about Dennis Cross as he slammed the car door shut, turned, and went up the side stairs to the kitchen door. He hardly noticed as Dennis started up his car, backed out onto the road, and drove away. 

“Hey! Polly! I’m home!” Mark shouted as he strode into the kitchen. A moment later, Guy appeared in the doorway with Mark’s backpack in hand. 
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then from somewhere inside the house a voice called out, “Mark? Is that you?” 
Scuffing footsteps approached. Polly walked briskly into the kitchen but then stopped short, her eyes widening with surprise when she saw Police Chief LaBrea standing there beside her husband. 
“Oh, Mark!” Polly said. “You don’t know how worried I’ve been, wondering when you were going to call. I’ve been waiting all afternoon for you to call from New Hampshire.” Frowning, she stared back and forth between the two men. “Is something the matter?” She looked past them, out the window toward the driveway. 

Mark frowned deeply, then hiked his thumb toward the kitchen window. “Dennis Cross was just leaving when we drove up.” 

“Yeah, he—uh, he stopped by on his way to work. God, Mark! I was worried sick when you didn’t call this afternoon. Guy. Why are you here? Has there been any trouble?” 
Mark sighed heavily as the accumulated fatigue of an entire night without sleep dropped onto him like a hammer. His legs suddenly felt unable to support him. He nodded slowly. “Yeah—Phil got hurt up on the mountain yesterday.” 
“Jesus, is he all right?” 
Mark shook his head. “No. I don’t know. He got lost. I don’t know where he is.” 
“Oh, my God!” Polly said, taking a backward step and leaning against the counter for support. Mark thought her reaction seemed just a bit exaggerated, but he didn’t say anything. He was ready to collapse, and all he could think about was how incredibly nice a hot shower and then bed were going to feel. He was about to thank Guy and excuse himself when the kitchen door burst open, and Sandy walked into the kitchen. Her jacket was draped over her arm, and her book bag was slung over one shoulder. She stood in the doorway a moment, panting heavily. Sweat darkened the ringlets of hair above her forehead. 
“Hello there, beautiful,” Mark said, moving over to her and giving her a big hug. “Who you running from?” 
“Huh? Oh, no—no one,” Sandy said. “I saw the cop car out front and sort of panicked, I guess.” 
Her eyes danced from side to side as she looked at her father’s face close up. Her lower lip was trembling as she opened her mouth as if to say something else, but words wouldn’t come. 
“Hey, are you okay?” Mark asked, sudden concern darkening his brow. 
Sandy bit her lower lip and nodded once, quickly. “Yeah. Sure. I was going to ... I was just heading back from Karen’s house, and I . . . Dad, we have to talk.” 
“Not right now, sugar-babe,” Mark said, letting his shoulders drop wearily. “I’ve got to get some shut-eye before I fall apart.” 
He took a shuddering breath and let his head drop. His eyelids felt as though heavy weights had been suspended from them. Dark, swirling waves were crashing inside his head, tugging at him, threatening to pull him under even as he stood there, staring blankly at his daughter. 
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said. His voice was no more than a whisper. “I’d better get upstairs. See you in the morning, all right?” He started out of the kitchen, then stopped and looked back at Guy. “Oh, and thanks for the help.” 
“No sweat,” Guy replied as he carefully placed the backpack down on the floor. 
BOOK: The Mountain King
9.01Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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