Dark Sky (Joe Pickett #21)(9)

“Good. I packed a sandwich.”

“Monday, tomorrow, is green/red day. Veggies and red meat.”

“Got it.”

“Tuesday is chicken paprikash and spaetzle,” Joannides said with a roll of his eyes. “Zsolt insisted on it and he claims he makes the best dish you can find outside of Budapest.”

“I bought all the ingredients,” Joe said.

“And Wednesday we fast.”

“You can fast all you want,” Joe said.

“Thursday I’ve written down ‘fresh elk.’ Will we have fresh elk meat by then?”

Joe shrugged. “It depends on our good fortune and Steve-2’s aim.”

“If not, you bought free-range chicken?”

“Either that or roasted pine grouse,” Joe said. “There’s a bunch of them up there where we’re going.”

Joannides made a pained expression at the deviation in his menu.

Joe said, “Look up and you’ll see a little bear.”

In fact, a small black bear, likely a yearling, was running up the middle of the road ahead of them. Its coat shone in the morning sun and the pads of its feet looked like pink slipper soles.

“A what?” Joannides said.

“A little bear.”

The assistant glanced up from his iPad just as the bear ducked into the timber to the left. “It didn’t look very scary,” he said.

“It isn’t a grizzly.”

Joannides shrugged and continued. “Friday is oily fish night.”

“There are a dozen cans of sardines in the panniers,” Joe said.

“Sardines? I asked for wild-caught oily fish.”

“I didn’t have a lot of options at the grocery store. We’re a long way from the ocean.”

Joe didn’t want to bring up the fact that all of the food he’d purchased for the ConFab group had been paid for out of his own pocket. Eventually, perhaps, the state would reimburse him. Marybeth had been concerned about it since it was the middle of the month and their budget was already stretched—they had a car repair bill due on her van and Lucy’s tuition payment. It was an issue that probably hadn’t even occurred to Joannides or Steve-2.

“Maybe we can have more fresh elk meat on Friday,” Joannides clucked while he updated the dinner schedule on his iPad. “Then we get to Saturday. We should be done and back on the jet by then, right?”

“If it all goes well,” Joe said. “No guarantees.”

“If it doesn’t, this whole trip will be a disaster,” Joannides warned.

“I’ll do my best,” Joe said.

“You’ll need to,” the assistant said. “Do you realize how much it costs Aloft to keep our CEO away for an entire week? We’re paying for pilots to sit around in your little town while we do this. The jet alone uses four hundred and fifty gallons of fuel per hour. Plus, every decision he isn’t there to make can mean millions of dollars to our shareholders.”

Joe took a deep breath and held it. Then he said, “I sent you a list as well. Did you get all the gear and equipment I wrote down?”

“We did our best,” Joannides said. “I’m sure you can imagine that some of the items aren’t easily found in downtown San Francisco.”

“Got it,” Joe said. “So let me know what you brought and what you didn’t. I’m sure I can fill in where you’re short.”

Joannides scrolled to another page on his device. He said, “We’ve got tents, sleeping bags and pads, headlamps, rain gear, camo clothing, optics, and personal items. Steve-2 has a knife.”

Joe mulled over the items for what was missing. “I’ll throw in a couple more knives, a meat saw, and some game bags.”

“Yes, we weren’t able to locate those. And we wondered about ‘alligators’?”

“Not alligators,” Joe said, stifling a smile. “Gaiters. You buckle them on over your boots and ankles for wet conditions or snow.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry—I’ve got a couple of extra pair.”

“Just make sure Steve-2 gets some.”

“Of course.”

“Anything else?”

“Where we’re going, mountain money is important.”

After a beat, Joannides said with mild panic, “Mountain money? What’s that?”

“Toilet paper,” Joe said. “It’s more valuable than cash. It wasn’t on either of our lists, but I brought plenty.”



* * *



—

The rough two-track began to level out a mile and a half away from the trailhead. The terrain on the top of the plateau was embedded with football-sized rocks and Joe slowed his truck as he drove over them. Battle Mountain loomed in the foreground and its timbered slopes rose and dissipated into the low-hanging clouds. Tendrils of fog and vapor reached down into the trees like bony fingers.

Joannides scrolled through his iPad with a hint of desperation, as if trying to recall things he’d missed.

Joe recalled tips and techniques he’d been studying—again—for loading the packhorses and panniers. He’d practiced tying diamond hitches for days with rope, and he’d reread both Horses, Hitches, and Rocky Trails by Joe Back and Packin’ in on Mules and Horses by Smoke Elser and Bill Brown to refresh his knowledge. He felt as comfortable as he could be before they set out and he was grateful Brock was accompanying them because of his familiarity with the horses.