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?”
Nobody answered.
Derrick waited. “Isn’t she?”
“Yes,” said his friend. “She’s hot. Can you please just keep an eye on the road?”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Derrick said. “I was asking him.”
“Me?” said Hank.
“Yeah, you.”
“Then yes,” he said. “She’s my wife.”
“Your wife?” Derrick said. “You and her? You must be really rich.”
“Jesus, Derrick,” said his friend.
“Jesus, Kyle,” said Derrick.
Kyle’s voice was tense now, high and whiny. “Just cut it out.”
“We’re just talking to pass the time. It’s a long, long way down that dark, freezing road before we get to San Bernardino, and talking helps keep me awake. My bro back there probably goes to sleep early every night, given his age, so I’m helping him out too.”
“Stop it,” Kyle said. “This isn’t funny.”
Derrick persisted. “So bro. I know this doesn’t bother you because you’re a good sport. Is your wife a good sport too?”
“Not particularly,” Marcia answered.
“That’s okay,” Derrick said. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way. You’re married to an older man. He can’t possibly keep you happy. Not by himself, anyway.”
Hank said, “Your friend Kyle is right. This stuff isn’t funny, and it’s offensive. So stop.”
Derrick shrugged and laughed. He drove on in silence for the next half hour. From time to time he would look to his right at Kyle. Then Derrick’s eyes would flick up to the rearview mirror, verify that Hank was still watching him, and then settle on the road ahead.
They continued down the dark highway. There was steady traffic going down out of the mountains at this hour, but fewer cars coming up. It was mildly reassuring to Hank, because if Derrick abruptly became unable to control the car, they would be less likely to have a head-on crash. Each minute was taking them another mile away from the squad that was hunting for them and closer to a warm, safe place somewhere. He dreaded what might happen soon, hoping to put it off as long as he could.
“I should apologize,” said Derrick. “I didn’t mean to offend anybody.”
“Fine,” said Hank.
“I was just trying to be friendly. I’ve heard that a lot of guys your age have trouble, you know, performing. That’s the term. And the little woman cries herself to sleep every night. A lot of them would love to be with a younger guy. Or even two of them.”
“Please stop this,” said Marcia.
“Are you sure, though?” said Derrick. “There are three of us and only one of you. Maybe your husband would like to watch you get really satisfied.”
“No.”
“Well, keep it in mind while we drive. There’s plenty of time to think. It’s a long way to San Berdoo.”
“That’s enough,” said Hank.
“If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to leave. You can get out and walk.”
“You’re right. Pull over and let us out.”
The two men in the front seats leaned closer and exchanged a few words, and then Derrick began to slow down. When he reached a wide shoulder, he stopped. Kyle got out to remove the skis from the roof. “Okay,” Derrick said. “Last stop. Don’t forget to tip the driver.”
Hank opened his door. When Marcia tried to do the same, Derrick hit the lock button and her door locked. Kyle gave Hank a push, intending to push him to the ground so they could drive off with Marcia. But Hank had been prepared, and he shrugged off the push. He brought his Colt Commander out of the backpack and swung it across Kyle’s head. It hit his forehead and blood instantly began to flow down his face into his eyes.
Marcia dived across the backseat and scrambled out Hank’s door.
Derrick was paralyzed for a moment, not sure what to do. He wanted to drive off, but Kyle was outside the vehicle, apparently hurt.
Hank aimed the gun through the open door at Derrick’s face. He said, “If you try to move that car you’re dead. Get out.”
Derrick got out, but kept the big vehicle between him and Hank. “Hey, dude,” Derrick said. “What’s that for? We didn’t mean anything. We weren’t really going to take her. It was just to scare you a little.”
“Come around to join your friend Kyle.”
“Now, just think about what you’re doing,” Derrick said.
“Or I’ll kill you where you stand,” Hank added.
When Derrick and Kyle were together by the side of the road, Hank said, “Now toss me your cell phones.”
Kyle tossed his, which landed at Hank’s feet. Derrick said, “I don’t have mine.”
“Then I’ll shoot Kyle first, then you.”
Kyle scrambled to his feet, reached into Derrick’s pocket, and threw a phone that landed at Hank’s feet beside his. Marcia picked them both up and put them in her jacket pocket.
Derrick sounded more angry than frightened. “Look, we didn’t do anything. We were just joking.”
Hank said, “You found two strangers you thought were helpless, and decided to do us harm. You’re going to die for it. Take a second to say your prayers or whatever you do.” He aimed the Colt Commander at Derrick’s head and moved his finger onto the trigger.
Derrick’s eyes widened. He went to his knees in the cold, salt slush, and ice. “Please!” he said. “Please don’t do this to me. I’ll do anything, give you anything if you’ll just let me live.”
Beside him, Kyle began to vomit. Some of the liquid splashed in front of Derrick. He put his head in his hands and began to sob.
Hank nodded to Marcia and she climbed into the front passenger seat and closed the door. Hank said, “Get up. Start walking this way, into the woods.”
“Please,” said Derrick. “Don’t.”
“Go!” Hank shouted. The two men stood up and began to walk into the woods. As they went on, they seemed to go slightly faster, moving a bit more quickly than when they began. Once they had put a few trees between them and Hank, they seemed to hope they could get far enough so Hank couldn’t see them and fire the shot. In a moment Hank heard what sounded like running.
Hank got into the driver’s seat beside Marcia, eased the vehicle into the traffic, and drove down Route 38. “Take the batteries out of the phones. Wait five miles before you throw the pieces of the phones away.”