The Forest Service fire road left a lot to be desired. It was narrow and twisting, full of potholes, rocks and stray bushes, and Dan struggled to keep the wheels as level as possible. His gut whispered faster, but common sense told him to exercise caution. The truck was old, in dubious condition, and the road was a complete unknown. The tires kicked up an enormous amount of dust, despite the rain that had fallen the previous night, and even at his current estimate of less than thirty miles per hour, the winding road was giving the passengers in the back a serious shakedown.
Sparing a quick look at Denis and Brady, Dan noticed that they were hanging on to the tattered seat for dear life, trying to avoid being rattled right onto the floor. The transmission began to whine, and he backed off the accelerator. Shifting into third gear would have to wait until they hit the highway.
Maneuvering around a stand of scrub brush, Dan nearly jumped out of his skin when Brady sunk five grubby fingernails into his arm. “What?” he asked.
“Something is in the seat.” Brady’s eyes were wide. “It moved.”
“It’s just the engine vibration,” Dan assured him, turning his attention back to the road.
“AAAAACK!” Denis leaped up, banging his head on the metal roof as he screeched. Bedlam ensued, when a small brown mouse wriggled out of the seat and up Denis’ arm. Brady covered his face and ducked, his head hitting Dan’s elbow.
The truck jerked left, and the terrified mouse scurried across the top of the seat... and headed straight down Dan’s chest. “What the...?” Dan tried to keep the truck on the road and grab the mouse at the same time. Difficult to do, since the creature was zig-zagging down his body and heading towards territory best left untouched by rodents.
Dan grabbed. The mouse evaded. The truck swerved wildly. With a thud and a screech, the truck scraped bottom on a series of rocks. Dan yanked on the wheel, pulling the vehicle back on the road, and grabbed again for the mouse, while slamming on the brakes. The truck skidded to a stop. The engine sputtered and failed, and Dan watched as the mouse scampered on to the floor and disappeared through the hole under the clutch.
“You okay?” Dan asked the boys. Both Brady and Denis nodded, although they looked a little dazed.
Dan opened the door and stepped out into the swirling dust. “Did we lose anyone?” he called.
“What the heck happened?” Jim asked. His face was so white that Dan could have counted each individual freckle.
“Mouse.”
“What?” Jim vaulted over the side of the truck bed.
“A. Mouse.” Dan enunciated each word. With a sigh, he explained, “There was a mouse running loose in the cab. It took us by surprise. Sorry about the wild ride; is everyone all right back there?”
“A little rattled, a little bruised, but we’re okay. Ted slept through it.” Jim lowered his voice. “He’s unconscious--breathing, but unconscious.” He stepped closer to Dan, who was crouched down, peering at the undercarriage. “Is the truck...?”
“It looks okay; at least nothing is dangling. I think it just stalled when I hit the brakes. The mouse went under the clutch, so...” He rose, and popped the hood. “Give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll get it started again.”
While Dan worked on the truck, Jim handed out water bottles to each of the boys. He could hear Dan muttering under the hood, but he couldn’t make out the words. That’s probably for the best, Jim thought. A faint sound caught his attention, and he turned to Mark, who was sucking down the water, his face grimy with sweat and dust. “Mark, I’m going to check something. Keep them together, okay?”
“Okay, Ranger,” Mark replied, his eyes wary. “Is it...?”
“I don’t know that it’s anything,” Jim said. “That is why I’m going to check it out. Why don’t you get everyone back in the truck? I’m betting Cowboy will have the truck running in another minute.” Another muffled curse from under the hood made Jim pause. “Or two. I’ll be right back.”
“We won’t leave without you.” Mark turned to his new task, and Jim walked briskly up the road, listening carefully.
As he reached the top of the hill, the buzzing sound became louder. Looking back the way they had come, Jim could see a tiny figure shrouded in a cloud of dust, and headed his way. Billy. He was catching up. Turning, Jim sprinted back to the truck.
“Everybody in the truck!” he shouted, sliding to a stop near the right front bumper.
Dan looked up, startled. “What?”
“Billy.” Jim struggled for breath. “He’s still a ways away, but he’s moving, and we aren’t. Can you get it going again?”
“Do I have a choice? Let me try...this.” Dan reached in again. With a quick movement, he crossed his wires, and blew out a sigh of relief as the engine sputtered and caught. “Thank you, God!” he shouted. “Let’s get moving!” Within a minute, they were bouncing down the road, hell bent for leather, and still ahead of Bill.
White Plains, NY
4:13am EST
“Bob has the plane ready. Which one of you is going with me?” Matthew looked at Regan and Maypenny, as they stood before him in front of the door between the airport lounge and the tarmac
“That would be me.” Thomas Maypenny picked up his small plaid carpetbag. Turning to Regan, he spoke with confidence and assurance. “He’ll be fine, Bill. I’ll call as soon as we have him, I promise.”
“I’ll take care of things while you’re gone.” Bill Regan chewed on his lip, his eyes worried. “If...when you find Dan, tell him I...tell him... Just tell him, okay?”
“I will.” Maypenny laid his weathered hand on the young groom’s shoulder, and said with a small smile. “I’ll even tell him we had to flip a coin to see which one of us flew across the country to find him.”
“Yeah.” Regan forced a pained grin. “Tell him you lost.”
Maypenny shook his head. “I won’t lie to the boy, even in fun. I’ll tell him the truth: I won.” With those words, Maypenny followed Matthew Wheeler down the jet way and onto the Wheeler plane.
Washington State
Somewhere North of Deer Park
8:48 am PST
The highway. Hallelluiah! Dan breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of asphalt. Never had bare blacktop looked so good. “Denis, grab the map. I can see the highway, and I need to know which way to go.”
The two nine year olds struggled with the map, trying to pinpoint their location. “Which way do we want to go, Cowboy?” Brady asked.
“Whichever way is going to get us to a populated area the fastest.” Dan gritted his teeth as he swerved to miss yet another boulder that had decided to appear virtually out of nowhere. “Try toward Spokane. I know there must be a hospital there.”
Before they had left the house, the USFS road they were on had been circled by Jim with a red marker. His mouth moving silently, Denis traced it, searching. “Left.” He looked up at Dan. “Go left onto the highway. I think it’s number twenty. Then we should get to Highway 211. There’s a town there; the one called Deer Park.”
“Deer Park, it is. Thanks.” The highway was coming up quickly, and for the last one hundred yards, the dirt road smoothed out. Dan slowed slightly, checking for traffic, but there was nothing as far as he could see. He swung left onto relatively smooth blacktop, accelerated and shifted into third. The truck gained speed, and for the first time in hours, he began to feel a little hopeful. Looking out the back window, he saw Jim peering in, his face grim. Dan made a what? sign with his hand.
Jim shouted, “We’re leaking something!” and pointed behind them.
Dan cranked down his window and stuck out his head. Sure enough, a trail of dark liquid was appearing in splotches on the road behind them. Setting his teeth, Dan sped up. They’d get as far as they could go.
Washington State
Hwy 20
9:12 am
Bill Murdock had reached the end of his road. Not his rope, just his road, although his rope was feeling pretty frayed. The fire road met up with the highway, and there was no sign of his prey. Frustrated, he killed the quad engine and got off, searching the area. He stomped his booted foot in frustration, and wandered out onto the asphalt. This part of the highway didn’t get a lot of traffic, even in the best of times. With the fires raging to the east and west, it was even more deserted than usual.
A dark spot on the road caught his attention. Moving closer, he bent down to examine it. Oil of some kind, thick and still warm. Rising, he walked a few yards down the road. Sure enough, another splotch, and then another. Hansel and Gretel were leaving him a trail better than breadcrumbs. With a grin, Bill headed back to the quad. Starting the ATV, Bill checked the gas gauge. Half a tank. More than enough to catch a leaky truck. He grinned to himself, and pulled out onto the highway.
The gears were grinding. It had started a good six or eight miles before the turn-off to Highway 211, and the cacophony of noise was steadily getting worse. Dan winced with each increasingly loud grind. Great, he thought, Not only do I steal the poor guy’s truck, I’m killing it. The transmission wasn’t going to hold out much longer.
In the back, Jim split his time between keeping the boys calm, checking Ted, and trying to come up with a plan. He wasn’t able to speak with Dan, but he could tell from his friend’s tense posture, and the horrific shriek and grind coming from the truck, that the driving option was bound to end soon. He needed a plan B, and he needed it fast.
He looked over at Mark, sitting flat against the side of the truck, one arm around Sam’s shoulders. Luis had his head resting between his knees, and Kris sat next to him, staring vacantly into the sky. Ted lay unconscious on his pallet. Scooting toward him, Jim felt for a pulse, sighing with relief when he found it. Ted was burning with fever, but Jim used his bottle of water to wet the man’s lips, praying that some of the liquid trickling into his slack mouth would make it all the way down his throat. The truck shuddered, a clattering, rending noise echoing in the open air. Yup. A plan would be good.
Brady saw the sign first. It was a brown rectangle in the distance, with a white outline of a gas pump, and the words Gas Ahead written below. “Cowboy! Look!” he said excitedly, pointing at his find. “That means a gas station, right?”
“Good job, Brady,” Dan told him. “Good job.” No sooner had the words left his mouth, than the gearing gave up completely and the transmission just...stopped. Trying not to curse, Dan leaned forward, urging the truck to coast to the side of the road. It went a few hundred feet, coming to an ironic halt almost directly under Brady’s sign. Dan leaned his head on the steering wheel for half a second. Then he opened the door and stepped out onto the vacant highway.
“End of the trip,” he said to Jim, who was leaning anxiously over the side.
Jim nodded, and climbed out. “I figure we have two choices,” he said. “We can wait here and hope someone comes by, or we can hike out and hope there is a telephone at that gas station.”
“How many cars have you seen on this trip?” Dan asked grimly.
“Two,” Jim answered. “Both of them going the other way. We’ve left a trail of...something…that a blind bat could follow. Bill isn’t blind or stupid. I vote for walking.”
“Me, too.” Dan rubbed his face. “These signs are usually only a mile or two before the actual place, right?”
Jim shrugged. “I guess. Either way, we should try and get out of sight of the road...just in case.”
“There are plenty of trees.” Dan stretched his neck. “Let’s get moving.”
Within five minutes the two young counselors had their campers out of the truck and back off the side of the road. The trees provided adequate cover, yet were not so dense as to prevent passage. With Ted hammocked between them, Jim and Dan pushed the kids as hard as they could. The boys didn’t complain; all six understood the danger that followed on their heels. They moved quietly and quickly, occasionally looking to Jim or Dan for reassurance.
Jim made sure to keep an encouraging smile on his face for the boys, but inside he was a mess of anger and fear. He feared most for the safety of his little group, especially Ted, who was steadily getting worse. The anger was a more complex issue; part of it was directed at Bill, but most of it was aimed at the situation in general. This was supposed to be a fun and happy experience for at-risk kids. Instead, the trip had turned into a horror movie of epic proportions. Jim wanted to rail at fate for being so unkind to children who had already suffered so much. This was an unwanted and unwarranted trauma. He risked a look at Dan, and realized that his friend was thinking along the same lines. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his feelings down and concentrated on the task at hand.
The sound of an engine reached their ears, and the group stopped, listening. Setting Ted gently on the ground, Dan gathered the boys as Jim crept forward to peek out at the highway. Please be a car. Please be a car. Jim’s prayer went unanswered, as a familiar looking four-wheeler chugged on by, the driver’s head swiveling in all directions, searching. Jim waited until the quad was out of sight before returning to the group.
“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Jim told the others. “The bad news is that it’s Bill. The good news is that he drove past, and the better news is that he drove past the gas station off ramp--which is about a football field away from where we are right now.”
“He has to know we’re on foot,” Dan replied. “He’ll be back.” Grabbing hold of the litter, he said, “Let’s move.”
It was perhaps the slowest one hundred yard dash in the history of the world, but they made it--only to discover that the gas station was deserted. Leaving the others at the edge of the clearing, Dan crept cautiously up to the front door of the station. There was a note on the door that read,
We got called to the fire.
Texaco 2 mi down the road.
Sorry,
M. Claxton
Dan peered in through a small, grimy window. He could make out at least one garage bay, beyond what appeared to be an office area. An office area, with a telephone. Bingo! The front door was double dead bolted, and the bay door was padlocked, but he slipped around the back, and sure enough, there was an employee access door with a simple knob lock. It took Dan less than two minutes to force the lock and push open the door. It took another five to get everyone inside.
The bay was cleaner than most, freshly swept, with the tools neatly stowed in padlocked bins. An unlocked door led to a small lounging area that reeked of stale cigarettes, but had a microwave, small refrigerator, table, two broken down sofas, and a small television. A tiny bathroom was off to the right. There was no telephone.
While Dan went to seek out a phone, Jim made Ted a bed on one of the sofas, and checked the kitchenette for food. He found a six-pack of beer and several sodas in the refrigerator, and the mother load of junk food in the cupboard under the microwave. Cases of soda pop cans and boxes of individually wrapped crackers, chips, and candy bars were stacked in neat rows.
“Vending machine supplies,” Dan said, as he re-entered the little room. “There are a couple of snack machines next to the office.”
“Did the phone work?” Jim asked.
Dan cast a quick look at the boys, sprawled out on the floor and sofa--and watching intently. He shook his head. “I can’t get to it. The office has a fire door and two deadbolt locks. Even if I had the right tools, I don’t know if I could get in. But...”
Jim looked at the boys, too. “Mark,” he called softly. “How about you and Sam divvy up some of these snacks while Cowboy and I check out our situation? Make sure everyone gets something to drink, okay?”
Mark looked suspicious, but he moved to comply. “Sure, Ranger.”
Jim tried to smile reassuringly, as he followed Dan into the garage bay, but it felt false, even to him. He was sure Mark was not convinced. He pulled the door to nearly shut, as he faced Dan. “Now what?”
“One of us needs to keep going, and find help. Maybe at the Texaco. The note said it’s only a couple of miles away.” Dan chewed on his lower lip. “I checked, and there are two telephones in here, but neither of them has an outside line.”
“You’re sure you can’t get into the office?” Jim asked.
“Maybe if I had a sledgehammer or a bulldozer,” Dan’s voice rose in frustration, echoing off the metal framed walls. Lowering his volume, he continued, “Look, it’s not as if I was ever a cat burglar, Jim. Easy stuff, sure, but I’m sorry, I just don’t have the skill to get through those locks.”
“I know. I’m the one who is sorry.” Jim gave his friend a half grin. “I guess I just am used to you being able to get us where we need to go. So. Flip a coin?”
“Do you have one?”
“Uh...no. You?”
Dan shook his head, and Jim looked around the darkened bay. Concrete and metal, not even a bottle cap or gum wrapper on the cement floor. “I guess we could go back in there,” Jim pointed to the small lounge. “Maybe we can flip a package of Fig Newtons. Cookies, I go. Nutritional information, you go.”
“There’s a pay phone outside, between the restrooms. I saw it when we were coming in.” Mark’s voice startled both Jim and Dan, and they turned to find the boy standing in the doorway.
“Listening in again, I see.” Dan said to him.
Mark stiffened, his chin coming up defiantly. “How else am I supposed to find out anything, Cowboy?” His shoulders slumped as he wiped a grubby hand across his eyes, and when he spoke again, his voice wavered. “Look. You said we had to stick together. Nobody goes off alone, right? I saw that phone. It’s right outside. And Ted’s, like, dying. Can he wait while one of you hike all over the place? And what if Billy catches you? How would we know? You two go call--together, so one can talk and the other can watch for crazy Billy. Me, Sam and Kris can take care of things in here.”
Jim looked at Dan, who shrugged and said, “Mark’s right. It would be better to stick together. It would also be faster to use the phone outside. The kids have food and water, and if we lock both doors and move fast...”
“Let’s do it.” Jim turned to Mark, one strong hand squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “I want you to lock that door--there’s a chain at the top, and do not let anyone in, unless they show you a badge or...” Jim looked at Dan, who nodded, “...or they give you the secret sign.” Jim pursed his lips and gave the Bob White whistle, bob-white, bob-white. “That is our club whistle. If you hear that, you’ll know that it’s Cowboy or me, and it’s safe to open the door.”
“Okay.” Mark stepped back inside the room. “Be careful, okay?”
“You too,” Dan told him. “Keep them all quiet and down, and do not open the door for anyone except us.”
“I promise.” The gray-green eyes were fearful, but determined. “Just hurry, ‘kay?”
“We will.”
Mark nodded, and closed the door. Dan waited until he heard the chain bolt slide closed, before following Jim toward the outside door.
July 24, 1984
Somewhere above the Dakotas
12:12 pm PST
Thomas Maypenny looked out the window at nothing but blue and white. Much as he hated to admit it, flying in Matt Wheeler’s little plane wasn’t as awful as he had feared. The seats were wide and comfortable, and the jet flew smoothly and quietly. The coffee was strong and hot, and the sandwich and cookies stored in the galley had been tasty. Still, being thousands of miles above the ground was a little disconcerting--especially for a man who had made it a point to keep his feet stubbornly anchored to his own familiar ground.
The cabin telephone buzzed, and Matt Wheeler snatched up the receiver. “Any word, Bob?” he asked anxiously. Maypenny watched with concern as the color drained from Matt’s face. “Which ones? Do they know how badly? No, no, I understand. See what you can have Jenks find out. What is our ETA? Fine. No, that’s fine. Keep me updated. Thanks.” He hung the phone up slowly.
“What’s happened?” Maypenny asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
“According to our contact at the camp, Jim, Dan, and their group have been located. The police reported shots fired, and two wounded, but no one seems to know who or how badly. The entire group is being taken to a local hospital.” Matt pounded his fist against the arm of his seat. “We’re still almost two hours out! Bob is going to land us at whichever airfield is closest to the hospital, and I’ve got my man, Jenks, trying to get us better information, but...” His voice trailed off, and he rubbed his forehead with one large hand.
Maypenny nodded solemnly, his own stomach in knots. “They will be okay, our boys,” he said calmly.
“And if they aren’t?” Matt’s voice was hoarse.
“Well then,” Maypenny closed his eyes. “It just might put a damper on my relationship with God.” He opened his eyes and met Matt’s green gaze. “I lost my son and his mother some thirty-odd years ago; he was only four. Daniel might not legally be my son, yet, but I swear, I won’t take well to...“ He didn’t finish the thought. Instead, he turned his face back to the view from the window. “They’ll be fine. They’re strong boys.”
