The Old Man(73)

24


A few hundred yards away, Hank Dixon crouched in the woods and watched the helicopter reappear from the west, complete a circle over a stand of trees, and hover over a spot near where it had first appeared. Why would a search helicopter fly over the same spot twice? He guessed that the pilot must be flying over the rifle squad, a kind of informal good-bye as it flew back to the east.

He said, “Okay. Time to get out of here. We’ll go this way.”

“Ready,” said Marcia. She pushed off with her ski poles and followed Hank. “Where are we going?”

“Away from the people who are chasing us. I think they must be waiting for us back there, where the chopper was just now.” He skied to the south for a mile or more, and then resumed his progress toward the east.

They came to a hill, glided partway up, and then walked on, pointing their skis to the side, leaving a herringbone pattern in the snow. When they reached the top they looked at the drop on the other side. There was a long line of automobile headlights creeping along a road like a glowing river. Hank stopped and Marcia pulled up beside him. “Cars!” she said.

Hank said, “We’ve made it to Route 38.”

Hank led the way, skiing cautiously down at an angle, slowing their progress as they moved toward the road.

Marcia was laughing. “I can’t believe it. I thought we were lost in the wilderness. I thought they’d catch us. Then I thought we’d freeze to death tonight.”

“We still might,” he said. “Let’s get our ski gear packed away and get down to the road.”

They stowed the ski boots in their backpacks and put on their snow boots. Hank rebundled the skis and poles and carried them on his back. They reached the shoulder of the road after a few minutes of walking.

Hank stood at the side of the road, stretched out his arm, raised his thumb, and leaned just far enough into the road to be in the glare of the oncoming headlights. Several cars went by, but the drivers ignored him. The next three seemed to speed up at the sight of him.

He stepped out of the glare and put his hands on Marcia’s shoulders. “You give it a try.”

One more car passed, but the driver of the next SUV switched on his turn signal and coasted to a stop. They could see through the rear window that there were two heads in the front. Two men in their twenties jumped down from the big SUV.

The driver called, “Are you okay?”

Hank said,

“We weren’t quite sure. We got turned around on a cross-country trail. We were lucky to find the road.”

“Where’s your car?” the other man said.

“We got a ride up to Big Bear with some friends. Now I’m afraid we both have a touch of hypothermia. Where are you headed?”

“Down to San Bernardino,” the driver said. His eyes were on Marcia every time he spoke. “If you want to come too, we’ll take you.”

“Thanks so much,” Marcia said. “We’re really cold and tired.”

The two young men took the skis and poles from Hank and slid them under the tie-down straps over the ski rack on the roof, then pulled the straps tight. Then they climbed into the front seats.

Hank swung the back door open so Marcia could slide in on the backseat. She leaned forward to shrug off her backpack. Hank saw the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He saw them focus on him, and then saw the driver’s right shoulder dip downward. He seemed to be reaching for the shifter.

As the car lurched forward, Hank pushed off with his legs to launch himself toward the seat. He grasped the back of the front passenger seat with his right hand, and strained to drag himself aboard the accelerating vehicle. Marcia shrieked, “Hold it! He’s not in!” She clutched one of Hank’s backpack straps, and set her feet against the doorframe.

Hank hoisted himself in as the car accelerated and the door slammed.

He saw the driver’s eyes meet his in the mirror. “Oh, I’m sorry,” the driver said. “I thought you were already in.”

“That’s okay,” said Hank. “I’m in now.” He settled into his seat and swung the backpack into his lap. His hand slipped inside the backpack pocket and grasped the Colt Commander pistol.

The car moved along Route 38, hugging the curves as it went, the grade adding to its speed.

“You know,” the driver said to Hank, “I didn’t really notice you at first. What I saw was a pretty woman along the road.”

“That’s all?” said Hank.

“Yep,” the driver said. “I was moving fast, it was dark, and there was a lot of glare from headlights. So I stopped.”

The driver was a big guy. Those were the words Hank knew the driver would have used. He was a big guy. He was about six feet three, and he weighed about 250 or 260. He had a round head with a cap of very curly brown hair. The baby face—with fat cheeks and a rosy complexion—must have caused him some embarrassment, and certainly so did the fact that his muscles were obscured by a layer of fat. He went on. “What I saw was your lady friend back there. She’s hot.”

“Derrick,” said his friend. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“What for?” said Derrick. “We’re all friends here. Bros. We’re giving them a free ride in a remote area of the mountains. She is hot. Isn’t she?”