Chapter Eight

The Great American Scavenger Hunt: Day 1

Storm stood on the stairs of the US Capitol Building, and the weight of his travel pack dug into his shoulders. Before sunrise, all the contestants were bussed seven miles over from their hotel in Arlington. A few other contestants started conversations, and his minimal replies made clear he wasn’t here to make friends. Colleen ignored him, which was good. Her mere presence provided enough distraction.

He had a good view of her down at the other end of the line. How could she stand upright underneath the weight of her pack? The thing looked as heavy as her. He’d bought his at the secondhand shop in Liberty Ridge. Colleen probably shopped at a high-end outdoor store that carried the latest gizmos and gadgets. Her pack and its contents might cost the equivalent of a small country’s GDP.

When he’d seen her yesterday at lunch, he almost didn’t recognize her. Her short hair looked amazingly sexy. This morning, she wore a tousled look, like she’d just rolled out of bed, which she likely had being that the clock just struck seven-thirty am.

The host of the show, Burt Blackstone, walked before the assembled group. He stood medium height, with a trim build, and a head of closely cropped, salt-and-pepper hair. Today, Burt wore khaki shorts and an orange button-up top. “I want to wish every one of you good luck. We’ll start filming shortly. I’ll go over the rules once more, mostly for the audience’s sake. Then, I’ll give the signal, and you’ll be off.”

A low murmur drifted over the group.

Storm shifted the weight of his travel pack and mentally walked through his plan. He held a red envelope, which was identical to the ones given to the other contestants. Let’s rock and roll.

A producer gave a shout, and the camera lights blazed.

Burt adjusted the small microphone clipped to the front of his shirt and plastered on a wide smile. “Welcome to The Great American Scavenger Hunt. My name is Burt Blackstone, and I am your host for this race across the country. Standing before me are twenty contestants, all playing for a chance to win the grand prize of one million dollars!” One arm swooped upward in dramatic flair.

The cameramen turned toward the assembly on the stairs, panned across, and then re-focused on the show host.

Burt stepped closer to one of the cameras. “The first one to reach the final destination will be declared the winner. Each clue will lead them to the next, zig-zagging our contestants across wilderness and deserts, as well as through city and country roads. Our rules are simple but will be enforced, so pay attention.” He turned his attention from the camera to the contestants. “Our group assembled here already has the first clue, one thousand dollars cash, a map, a credit card only for gas, and keys to a car. They may only travel from six am until eight pm. Anyone on the road after eight pm will receive a two-hour start time penalty the next morning plus the number of minutes past curfew. Safe Houses are marked along the route, and each contestant has a list of their locations. Sleeping and eating at a Safe House are free to contestants, but they are scattered, so plan accordingly. Otherwise, use your cash allowance to stay at a motel.”

Burt paused and moved toward another camera. “Every few days, the contestants will receive a Time-Out stop—a meeting spot where all contestants enjoy a twenty-four hour break. Time-Out stops are also elimination checkpoints. The number of contestants eliminated will be stated on the previous clue.”

Come on, let’s go. Storm’s new boots pinched his feet, and the rising sun burned his eyes. His fingers itched to open the first clue and get moving.

As they filmed, every so often a black luxury car pulled up to the side entrance of the Capitol. He assumed the backseat occupant was a power suit coming in for a day to make deals and accept bribes.

Burt Blackstone droned on. “By the final clue, only two contestants will remain. Play smart, be safe, and don’t forget to have fun. Are you ready?”

A cheer rose from the contestants lined up on the Capitol stairs.

Colleen leaned forward and peered around the crowd, smiling at Storm.

The expression wasn’t a wish of good luck. He recognized the glint in her eyes as a challenge. She resembled a little black bear, so cute and cuddly, until the animal decided to rip out your throat. He sent her an easy smile in return, attempting to convey his disregard.

“The hunt has begun. Open your first clue!” Burt yelled.

The sound of ripping paper drowned all other noise.

Storm pulled out a yellow piece of paper and read.

Gym, Tan, Laundry might have placed it in the national spotlight, but this shore has been a destination for close to two hundred years. Find Lucy the Elephant. Your car is waiting outside the Crystal City Metro Station.

Storm had already studied a map of DC and knew a Metro Station stood to the southeast. Along with the other nineteen contestants, he ran past the Library of Congress and down First Street until the small sign for the Capitol South station appeared. After a brief escalator trip underground, he found himself in a room full of ticket vending machines. He did a lap around, reading the color-coded list of stations and costs, and panic built in his chest. The signs could be in another language for all the good the names and prices did him.

He needed help navigating the confusing system. Where was a transit employee? Other contestants had arrived and bought their tickets, while he stayed stuck here like an idiot. A familiar voice sounded at his side. He turned toward Colleen.

“Buying Metro tickets is so confusing.” She pointed to the sign about the ticket vending machine. “You need a Metro Pass.”

She walked him through purchasing the pass, and then bought one for herself. “Follow me. We need to catch the next train.”

Like a pro, she navigated the station. Before he could complain, he stood beside her on the waiting platform.

“We’re taking the Blue Line to Franconia-Springfield. From what the sign says, the train looks to be three minutes out. Hold on to your card, because you’ll need it to get out of the Crystal City Station.” Colleen shrugged off her pack and set it at her feet.

If Colleen hadn’t helped him, he’d still be stuck upstairs. What kind of game was she playing? Was she pretending to be his friend then stab him in the back? Whatever her motives, he could at least thank her. “Thanks. You must have done this before.” With her dad’s money, she’d probably traveled a lot, both domestically and internationally.

Nodding, she smiled. “I visited DC every so often during college. The Metro is the easiest and cheapest way to get around.”

A rush of stale wind heralded the arrival of their train. The train doors swooshed open, and they stepped inside. He took a seat across the aisle from Colleen and gazed out the dark window. Every so often, he’d peer over at her, and then berate himself for his lack of willpower. As the train moved, he worked on deciphering the first clue. By the time the train arrived at the Crystal City stop, he hadn’t come any closer to an answer. He stood and grabbed his backpack then waited at the door, ready to go. “Try not to trip on your way out.” He looked over his shoulder at Colleen. “Doubt I’ll see you at the next stop.”

She gave him an easy shove on the back. “Don’t lose that overconfidence. See ya on the road, Stormy.”

The doors opened, and he darted toward the marked exit. Storm bounded up the escalators until finally reaching fresh air and sunshine. To his right sat a lineup of green cars parked on the street. Storm found the one with his name on the windshield. He tossed his backpack on the passenger seat and hopped inside.

Again, he read the first clue. What the heck was Gym, Tan, Laundry? Some contestants drove away. Don’t panic. Sit here until you figure out the clue.

With no cell phone and no internet, he’d work out the problem on his own. How would he win if he couldn’t even solve the first clue? He pounded the steering wheel. Storm focused on the word “shore.” His destination was somewhere along the Atlantic Ocean. He relaxed his mind and took deep breaths. A new calm evicted all earlier stress.

The image of tan and beefy teenage boys with greased spiky hair materialized in his mind. He remembered a reality show where the cast was known for their bad behavior. Bingo.

After starting the ignition, he opened his map. What was the fastest route to the New Jersey shore?

****

Colleen sat in her car, studying her map. She knew where to go, just not how to get there. First challenge—getting out of the metro DC urban knot. Next, she’d need the quickest route to New Jersey. Map reading proved a challenge. She’d been spoiled by the GPS on her cell phone.

Cars around her left, but she refused to panic. She’d stay put until she became confident in her directions. How many of those schmucks would end up lost because of their rush?

Storm, who was parked in front of her, pulled out onto the street and drove away. Would helping him navigate the Metro bite her in the rear? In the end, Storm was a good man and had once been her friend. She’d help him again, as long as helping didn’t hurt her chances of winning. Finally, she set a route. Colleen started her car and put it into Drive. A flood of nervous excitement filled her body. This moment marked the beginning of the biggest adventure of her life.

Her dad was back home, powerless to interfere. All her friends had written notes of encouragement. She decided to read one each night before bed. Storm Thompson, for better or worse, would be a partner in her journey. The road lay ahead like a silver ribbon, inviting her to explore the country’s wonders. And one million dollars waited at the finish line—a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

She still hadn’t figured out the exact location of Lucy the Elephant, so she’d ask someone once she got closer to the shore. Hopefully, the landmark was well-known. Personally, the only time she’d ever spent in New Jersey was inside the Newark International Airport.

As she entered Atlantic City, her first goal was to figure out where Lucy the Elephant called home. She stopped at a little, yellow shack whose weather-beaten sign listed it as a souvenir shop. Before going inside, she asked a few people mulling about on the sidewalk. A kind woman in a hibiscus floral top pointed to Margate City on the map. Then, she launched into the long history of the elephant statue. Not wanting to appear rude, Colleen listened for several minutes. Once the woman’s story reached the 1950s, Colleen politely excused herself.

The little beach town of Margate City was not far. Driving down Atlantic Avenue, she searched for the clue stop. Lucy the Elephant, standing six stories tall, was impossible to miss. She parked on the side and ran up to a red flag by the open gate.

Several other contestants were there, including Storm.

Darn! She reached in the basket to grab her next clue.

Side Trip—Let’s go fishing! A charter boat waits for you in the Cape May Harbor. Look for the marina with the red flags. Hire a boat to take you fishing. You must catch two ten-pound fish (or heavier) in order to receive the next clue. Make sure you get a picture with your fish.

Nothing she hated worse than fishing. Long stretches of staring into the water, praying for a bite. Maybe a professional charter boat would help?

Happy fishing. Yeah, right.

****

During the ride to New Jersey, Storm had done some serious strategizing. He’d sized up the rest of the contestants during their brief time together at the hotel in Washington DC—ten men and ten women. A few looked like Hollywood types, whom he dismissed on sight. A few groups had formed, and he assumed they’d stick together, at least in the beginning. He wasn’t interested in making friends or alliances.

He hadn’t figured out Colleen’s angle. Would he accept her help? Sure, he’d take any advantage. He refused to help anyone, especially Colleen.

Now, he grabbed the second clue from under the large frame of Lucy the Elephant and drove to the blue water of the Cape May Harbor. Getting out of his car, he breathed in the salty air. The scent of fish permeated the breeze, and white boats bobbed on the surface of the water, lined up like a flock of birds resting on a wire. Storm placed his baseball cap on his head and set off toward the dock. A red flag blew in the stiff breeze over the entrance to one of the piers.

Another contestant, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, arrived a minute before Storm. The man made arrangements with a charter captain while Storm looked around for another boat.

A salty-looking man wearing faded jeans and a tan canvas coat sat on an overturned bucket. The man waved him over.

Storm approached and after a quick exchange, the seadog motioned to board his boat.

Captain Hook—Storm had a hard time believing that was the man’s real name—gave a quick lesson on deep sea fishing, and then they were off. As the boat pulled away from the dock, he saw Colleen exit her car. She was right on his heels. With any luck, he’d catch his fish and be back before she left shore.

Two hours later, he was ready to throw his pole into the ocean. His line snagged a few bites but no real takers. The wind picked up, making the small fishing boat sway in a nausea-inducing dance. While he was stuck out in the water, four other competitors’ boats headed back to the harbor. Annoyance churned in his gut. Had Colleen caught her fish yet, or was she still drowning worms like him? Actually, he was drowning shrimp, not worms. Storm looked at his watch—three-ten pm. If he didn’t get a fish soon, he’d be stuck in Cape May all night.

Just as he was ready to fall down on his knees and beg Poseidon for a gift from the sea, his pole jerked once then twice.

Captain Hook yelled, using a unique blend of curse words.

Storm grabbed hold of the pole and pulled with every ounce of his strength. His muscles burned as he reeled in the line. Before long, a beautiful scaly fish was flopping away on the deck.

“Is it over ten pounds?” Storm crossed his fingers. If so, all he needed was one more good catch, and he could head to shore.

“Well.” Captain Hook held up the fish by the tail. “You caught a pretty Striped Bass. Let’s weigh the fish but if I had to guess, I’d say it’s at least fifteen.”

“Yeah!” He pumped his fist. Half-way there.

His luck improved. Within thirty minutes, he’d caught his second fish, and the boat headed back to the harbor. Storm posed for a Polaroid picture—proof he needed to submit at the Time-Out stop. Captain Hook wrote the fish species and weight on the bottom of the picture, shook Storm’s hand, and gave him the next clue.

The time was now five pm. Three more hours until he had to stop for the night. Not wanting to waste any more time, he ripped open the envelope.

This quiet farm field witnessed one of the bloodiest battles in Civil War history. There, a ‘little’ hill served as a Union Army stronghold and the location where Colonel Chamberlain called for a final charge on the advancing Southern troops. The Statue of Union chief engineer Governor K. Warren holds your next clue.

No time lost solving this riddle. He got back into his car and took out his map. What was the quickest route to Gettysburg?

****

For Colleen, fishing had gone better than expected. She hadn’t been out on the water for more than fifteen minutes before catching her first fish. The boat captain classified the type of fish she’d caught, but as long as the weight was over ten pounds, she was good. Fish number two was reeled in about thirty minutes later. Her goal was to get to Gettysburg by eight pm—their daily deadline. With any luck, she’d be one of the first at the park’s entrance tomorrow morning.

As she drove, she pressed her hand over her rumbling stomach, which reminded her she’d only eaten a protein bar for lunch. After a quick stop for a burger and fries, she was back on the road. The closest Safe House to Gettysburg was in Lancaster. Too far away from her destination. She’d spend the money for a cheap motel room in close proximity to the park. A wise investment.

After almost four hours on the road, she found a small, roadside motel and checked in. With her first day coming to a close, she let her road-weary body fall on the squeaky motel bed. She bounced up and down a few times, laughing at the possible reaction of the people in the next room. Sorry to disappoint, but no one’s getting lucky in this room tonight.

Colleen set the old-style alarm clock for five am and burrowed under the comforter. As her eyes drifted closed, the memory of Storm’s kiss on the California beach drifted through her mind. Could she fight her attraction while keeping focused on the competition? She had to or run the risk of failure. After tossing and turning for several minutes, she banished all thoughts of Storm and finally fell into a deep sleep.