The Mountain King (7 page)

Chapter Ten
 

Promotion 

“Hey, I’ve got some good news for you.” 

Mark was slumped in a cushioned chair in the employees’ lounge with his feet up and his eyes closed. An untasted cup of coffee had gone stone-cold on the table beside him. He roused himself the instant he heard the voice of Sam Barker, his department supervisor. 

“Uh—yeah,” he said, vigorously rubbing his face with the flats of his hands. “Sorry ‘bout that. I was— umm—” 

“You were sleeping on the job,” Sam said, his voice sounding flat. Only the faint trace of a smile told Mark that his boss was ribbing him. 

“Yeah, well, I have been kinda stressed out lately . . . ‘specially these last few days.” 

Sam hooked a chair by the rungs with his foot and dragged it over so he could sit down beside him. Folding his beefy arms across his chest, he sighed heavily and leaned back. 

“Can’t say as I blame you,” he said. “Everyone I know is pretty damned upset ‘bout what happened to Phil. He was a good worker and more than that—a good friend. By the way, how’s the search going? You hear any news?” 

Mark shrugged weakly, wishing to hell his mind would clear; but fatigue and worry over the past week had worn his resistance down. 

“The rangers and I came down off the mountain day before yesterday ‘cause of the weather. We . . . didn’t find anything.” 

Sam grunted and frowned. 

“They lost a day or two because of the weather, but I’d guess right now, between the men the Forestry Department and the police have put out, there’s got to be better than fifty men up there.” 

“Think they’ll find him?” 

Again, Mark shrugged and shook his head. 

“I hate to say it,” Sam went on, “but I don’t see how anyone could last up there this long without supplies, not with how the weather’s been lately.” 

“No, I don’t suppose,” Mark replied distantly. 

“Well, I’ll tell you this much,” Sam said as he leaned forward, staring earnestly at Mark. “I know you’ve been grinding yourself pretty hard about it. You went back up there looking for him, and Phil’s wife told me how you’ve been over to see her, offering her support.” 

“It’s the least I could do.” 

“Yeah, but you know, you can’t let something like this take over your life.” 

“It’s not taking over my—” 

Sam cut him off with a quick wave of his hand; then he pointed a finger at him as though scolding him. “Lookie here! When I told you to take the week off, I meant it.” He stared harshly at Mark for a moment. “You’re not doing me or anyone else any good, dragging your ass around like this. Christ, the way you look, I’d say you sure as hell need some time off.” 

Mark took a deep breath but found that he had nothing to say. 

“Now if I have to, I can get the company doctor to enforce what I’m telling you. And you know I will. But I’d rather see you cooperate with me, all right? Go on home and get some sleep—I mean some real sleep, not just dozing for fifteen minutes during your break. You have to forget about what happened up there. Let the authorities take it from here on out.” 

“Yeah, but I can’t forget,” Mark said so softly under his breath he wasn’t even sure if Sam heard him. 

Sam shifted his weight forward and stood up. Looking down at Mark, he said, “Oh, and there’s one more thing. I want you to report to my office at seven-thirty sharp on Monday morning. I want to go over with you some of your new responsibilities as shift supervisor.” 

“What—?” 

“You heard me right,” Sam snapped. “You’re getting a promotion. Staring first thing Monday morning, you’re first-shift supervisor in the department.” Satisfied by Mark’s surprised reaction, Sam snorted with laughter. “No more third shifts for you, bud. Who knows? Maybe it’ll improve your sex life.” 

Mark stood up and fumbled to shake his supervisor’s hand as he sputtered his appreciation. Still unable to believe what he had heard, he watched as Sam left the room; then he went over to the sink and dumped out his cold coffee. Just as he was leaving the lounge, a group of workers entered. They were chatting and laughing together, but as soon as Dan Jenkins, a young man who worked with Mark in the paper coating division, saw Mark, he stopped short and nailed him with an angry stare. Catching the instant tension, the other workers all fell silent and drifted over to the coffee machine. Folding his arms across his chest and standing in the doorway, Dan watched with narrowed eyes as Mark approached. 

“Well, well, well,” Dan said, “I just heard you’re gonna be big-time boss now.” 

Frowning, Mark said, “Oh, yeah? Where’d you hear that?” 

Dan smirked and shook his head. “The scuttlebutt. ‘Course, I figured it was bound to happen ... I mean, now that Phil’s out of the way.” 

A red flash of anger filled Mark. He clenched both fists and took a threatening step forward, but Dan didn’t back down. 

“And what exactly is
that
supposed to mean?” Mark said, his voice low and trembling. 

“You know damned right well what it’s supposed to mean,” Dan said, straightening his shoulders and looking more than ready to fight. “It’s supposed to mean that I think you knew all along that Phil was going to get that promotion over you, even though he’s only been with the company a little more than a year.” 

“You don’t know shit, you little fuck—” 

“And I think it means you might have had something to do with Phil not making it back from the mountain—” 

“Get the fuck out of my way!” Mark said. 

He was coiled and ready to fight, but he checked himself, knowing that he had to back off. This wasn’t the way to handle something like this. 

“And I ain’t the only one around town who’s got half an idea that you might have even pushed Phil off that cliff ‘cause you were pissed about him getting that job over you.” 

“You’re full of shit, Jenkins.” 

Dan smiled a gap-toothed grin but still wouldn’t move out of the doorway. Over by the coffee machine, his friends had all stopped talking and were watching tensely. 

“So now that Phil’s dead, of course it makes sense that you’d get his job.” 

Mark’s fists were trembling as he squared off against the man in front of him. His pulse slammed heavily in his neck, and a loud roaring filled his ears. He could barely hear himself speak when he said, “Would you please excuse me?” He pushed past Dan and stepped out into the corridor. 

Only seconds ago, he had been thinking he’d go out to his car, drive home, and head straight to bed. But now, he didn’t hesitate as he strode down the corridor toward Sam’s office. He walked right past Sam’s secretary and opened the door, interrupting Sam, who was leaning back in his chair, talking on the telephone. 

Sam glanced up at Mark, a look of surprise on his face. 

“Hey, don’t bother to knock or anything,” he said as he hung up the phone. When he registered the anger in Mark’s expression, he frowned and asked, “What can I do for you?” 

“Is it true what I heard?” Mark snapped, fighting back the urge to shout. He walked up to Sam but checked himself from slamming both fists on the desk. 

“Is
what
true?” Sam asked, a slight tremor registering in his voice. 

“That Phil was going to get the supervisor’s job?” 

Sam’s face flushed. He looked down at his hands for a moment before speaking. Then, nailing Mark with a cold, steady stare, he said, “Yeah. It’s true.” 

Mark’s mouth dropped open, but the only sound that came out was a strangled gasp. 

“I know, I know you’ve been gunning for that slot for quite some time, Mark, but—well. .. you know, Phil had the college degree and the training from that last job he had at that mill in upstate New York. Looking at who was most qualified, I had to choose—” 

“Who’s most
qualified?
Jesus Christ, Sam! I’ve been with National Paper since high school—since
before
high school! I know this place inside and out, and I know every damned one of the people working in that division.” 

“I know all that,” Sam said mildly, “but when I have a slot to fill, I have to fill it with the best man I can find.” 

“And I was second choice—after Phil!” 

Running his teeth over his lower lip, Sam nodded silently. 

“Well then, I guess you can have it!” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean you can fill that goddamned position with your number
three
choice. Get it? I quit!” 

“Now hold on there a minute, Mark. Don’t go off half-cocked.” 

Sam rose from his chair but didn’t come around the desk after he read the level of Mark’s anger in his expression. 

“Hold on,
nothing!”
Mark yelled. “That’s it! I’ve had it! I quit!” 

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty?” Sam said. 

“Hasty? Jesus Christ! I’ll show you hasty!” 

He shook his clenched fists and again had to struggle not to slam Sam’s desk—or Sam. 

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. First thing tomorrow morning, I’m going back up there on Agiochook, and I’m going to stay up there until I find out
exactly
what happened to Phil. You got that?” 

“Yeah, sure. I got that,” Sam said. “Look, Mark, you know, it wasn’t like I was trying to do you any favors by giving you that promotion. I honestly felt that you were the most qualified person for the job.” 

“After Phil Sawyer! Look, Sam, I don’t need any favors from you, all right?” He turned and started to leave, but then turned back. “No, wait a minute. There is one last thing you can do for me.” 

“Sure. Anything.” 

“You can put the lie to any rumors you might hear about how I pushed Phil off the cliff because he was going to get that promotion over me, okay? Until this afternoon, I had no idea what was going on behind my back.” 

“Absolutely. Look, Mark, I think you should—” 

“That’s it! You can send my last paycheck to the house,” Mark said. Heaving a deep sigh, he hitched his thumb toward the view outside Sam’s office window. Across the mill yard, in the late afternoon haze, he could see the distant purple slopes of the White Mountains, almost lost in a cloudy haze. 

“I’m going up there,” he said, his voice low, not much more than a growl. “And I’m not coming down until I find Phil Sawyer!” 

Chapter Eleven
 

Heading Out 

“Do you really have to bring a gun?” Sandy asked. 

Mark glanced at his daughter as he grabbed his favorite deer hunting rifle, a Remington 30.06 700 BDL, from the gun rack in the Jeep’s rear window. 

“Well, you never know,” he said, smiling grimly as he stepped out of the Jeep and patted his jacket pocket to make sure the extra box of ammunition was still there. 

It was a little past six o’clock in the morning. Already the day was warm, a promising start to a beautiful Indian summer weekend. Sandy had gotten up before dawn to drive her father out to the base of the Round Top Trail. This was the longest of five major trails leading up to the summit of Mount Agiochook. Mark had decided to take it, rather than the Wheaton Trail or any of the other trails, because there was less of a chance that he would encounter any of the rangers who were still out searching for Phil. After all, hunting season was more than a month away, and he didn’t want to be seen carrying a rifle in the woods, especially the White Mountain National Forest. 

“I have no idea what I might be up against,” Mark said, looking suddenly serious. Other than the initial report to LaBrea, he hadn’t mentioned to anyone the creature’s attack on his campsite or seeing Phil carried off by—whatever that thing had been. “If I have to stay out here for a while, I may even end up having to hunt for my own food.” 

Sandy knew enough about hunting and hiking so her father didn’t need to mention some of the other dangers he might encounter. 

“But you won’t forget to meet me here in three days with more supplies, right?” he asked. 

“Sure thing,” Sandy said. She watched silently as her father dragged his carefully packed backpack out onto the ground and gave it a cursory inspection. 

“I’m sure I’ll need more food, clothes, and maybe bullets.” 

He glanced over his shoulder at the thin ribbon of brown trail that led up the gently rising slope and into the forest. From here, he couldn’t see the mountain peak that was his goal, but that didn’t matter. This wasn’t a hike to make it to the summit and then come back down. He might be up there for several days, maybe even a week or more, combing the area as thoroughly as he could. 

A shiver raced through him as he stared at the gloomy shadows still as thick as ink beneath the heavy pine boughs and thick brush. It was warm down here, but he knew that the closer he got to the summit, the colder it would get. Sucking in a deep breath, he hoisted his backpack and shrugged his arms into the shoulder straps. After adjusting the frame so it rode comfortably on his back, he turned to Sandy. 

“So what is it?” he asked. His voice was low and tempered as he held eye contact with her. 

“What’s
what?”
 

“You’re keeping something from me.” 

Sandy looked at him, surprised. 

“You don’t think I can tell? Come on, babe—tell me what’s the matter.” 

Sandy shrugged and rubbed her arms as though fighting off a rush of chills. “No . . . I . . . nothing’s the matter.” 

Liar!
she accused herself. 

She knew exactly what was wrong! 

Ever since last weekend, she had wanted to tell her father about the weekend visit Polly had with Dennis while he was away. She wasn’t any fool. She knew damned well what was going on between her stepmother and Dennis, but how was she supposed to tell her father? Blurt it right out? 

Uh, Dad . . . there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you . . . you know, last week, when you were off hiking, your wife was screwing the guy who works at the Mobil station . . . and I’m pretty sure this wasn’t the first time, either.
 

No, that wouldn’t do at all! 

She had waited all week, wanting to tell him, but the opportunity to broach the subject had just never presented itself. Either Polly was around, or he was off to work, or she was at school. Throughout the week, she had been gearing herself up to deal with it this weekend, and then yesterday afternoon, her father had come home from work early and announced that he had quit his job and was going up into the mountains until he found his missing friend. 

How could she lay something like this on him now, knowing the kind of pressure he was already under? 

Mark placed his hand lovingly on Sandy’s shoulder. “Well, if there is something bothering you, you know you can talk to me about it any time, right?” 

Sandy was silent for a moment, so Mark shook her shoulder. 

“I said
right?”
 

“Yeah ... sure!” 

Sandy squirmed out from under his grip. 

“And if it’s—you know, a woman thing or whatever, something you think you can’t talk about with a man—even your father—you should try to talk to Polly about it.” 

Oh, yeah! Sure!
Sandy thought, hoping to heaven her face didn’t reveal what she was thinking. 

“I—well, I guess I’m just—you know, I’m kinda worried about everything,” she finally managed to say. 

Mark bit his lower lip and nodded. “Yeah.” He sniffed with suppressed laughter that didn’t have a trace of humor. “It
does
seem like the shit’s been hitting the fan a lot lately, doesn’t it?” 

Over the years, her father had been on her case about using foul language, so Sandy was mildly surprised that he would say something like that to her. It made her feel sad for him and think all the more about the pressure he must be under right now. Inside her chest was nothing but a cold hollow. 

“Stop worrying, all right?” Mark said. 

Again, he gripped her shoulder and gave her a bracing shake. 

“I was practically born and raised in the woods. Hell, I know how to take care of myself out here better than I do in town.” 

“I know, I know, but I—” 

“But
nothing.
You’re going over to Karen Bishop’s for an overnight tonight, right? So just enjoy your weekend. Drink a lot of Diet Pepsi and stay up all night talking about boys and listening to music or whatever, okay? Just make sure you’re out here with that stuff I need on Monday afternoon as soon after school as you can get here.” 

“Don’t sweat it. I won’t let you down,” Sandy said. 

“I know you won’t.” 

But I already have!
Sandy thought bitterly. She felt herself close to tears and had to struggle not to start crying and blurt out what she really had to say. But she watched silently as her father turned and started up the trail. In his right hand, he held a long maple walking stick which he swung forward with every other step. His rifle was slung across his back, bouncing in time with his steps. Just before he disappeared into the foliage, he turned around and waved to her. Sandy’s heart skipped a beat when she saw a stray sunbeam glint off his rifle barrel, making it flash like cold fire. She cringed, waiting to hear the sharp report of the rifle, but no sound came. 

Seconds later, her father was gone, leaving her alone beside the Jeep with a silent emptiness as she wondered if she would ever see him alive again.