I threw my backpack on the ground after rummaging through it and glared at him. “Are you always such a piece of work?” I asked. His face was emotionless. “And I suppose you’re gonna stand here like a Neanderthal until I find it?”
“You’d be correct.”
“Fucking asshole,” I grumbled, heading to the passenger-side door and the glove box inside.
He followed me around the car, probably making sure I didn’t have a gun in my car. “I’m sorry? What did you say?” he asked, in a tone that told me he knew precisely what I’d said.
I ignored him and opened the door, leaned in, and opened the glove box as well. The bright yellow paper was there like a shining beacon of fuck you, cadet. Is this what you want? I handed it to him and stepped back to the open hatch and removed a rolled-up sleeping bag, tossing it next to my backpack and a folded-up blue tarp.
Cadet Numbnuts, as I’d now nicknamed him, joined me at the back of the car. “Blake Jensen, huh?” he asked, reading the single sheet of paper. “I guess it checks out.”
“And who the fuck are you?” I asked, noticing he hadn’t handed me the permit back.
“Dirk.”
I laughed out loud. “Of course you are.”
CHAPTER FOUR: Dirk
“You’re a fairly unpleasant person,” I stated, staring at his small pile of gear.
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he admitted, nonplussed by my lack of admiration. “You need anything else or am I free to be on my way?” he asked, holding his hand out for the return of the permit.
“This says you’re overnighting for two nights. Is that your plan?”
“If you’re getting out of my hair it is,” he smart-mouthed, slamming the hatch closed and slinging his backpack over a shoulder.
“Where’s your tent?” I asked, doing a mental inventory of what was still on the ground, thinking a tent might be in the car. He motioned to the sleeping bag and a tarp underneath it, both bungee corded together. “You don’t have a tent?” He shook his head. “You do understand there’s snow coming, and the temps will be near the teens at this elevation?” This time he nodded and gave me a thumbs-up like a petulant teenager would his father. “Not wise,” I asserted.
“Thanks, Dad, but I’m good,” he said, lifting his tarp and sleeping bag, purposely dangling them toward me. “Got these.”
“What’s the temperature rating on your sleeping bag?” I inquired.
“It’s rated twenty-five bucks by Sears,” he quipped. “The tarp got a five-star on Yelp. Any other questions?”
He was a piece of work. A real smart-ass with an attitude. His personality was a shame, considering how damn cute he was. He was smaller in stature and lean, but I liked my men that size. What a waste. “You’re wearing two thousand dollars’ worth of designer outdoor gear, and you bought that shit?” I dared. “Hike and camp much?”
He glanced at his pricey clothing and then grinned at me like a punk. “It’s fifty five degrees out here. I’m quite sure the cheap bag will suffice,” he stated. Suffice was a big word for such a cheap person, and I wondered if he was on a death mission. “Why don’t you get back to your hut or whatever you’re staying in, and I’ll be on my way.”
“I can’t advise you to go into the forest with that deficient gear,” I began. “I’d be lax in my duty if I allowed that to happen.”
“Lax in your duty?” he scoffed, laughing at me. “You must be an Eagle Scout, right?” he joked.
“I will not be responsible for you, Mr. Jensen.”
My pronouncement amused him and he began giggling as he spun around and raised his arms. “Did you hear that, governor? Forest cop has announced that I am on my own,” he said loudly in an English accent. He stopped and glared at me. “No one cares, Dirk. Now I think we’re done here. I’ll be sure to inform my father of your valiant behavior as you sit out here in the woods diddling yourself.”
“Jesus, dude. You’re a complete asswipe,” I said, turning to leave but then I just couldn’t help myself. “Suit yourself, idiot. And I suppose you’re not packing any dry wood in either?” He stared at me with a blank look on his face, his brows furrowed as if he didn’t have the time of day for reasonable concerns. “Whatever, man,” I concluded, turning away and heading back to the trail.
CHAPTER FIVE: Blake
“You’re a dick, Jensen,” I muttered to myself, waiting for his back to disappear into the woods because I planned on following the same trail he came from earlier.
The ranger, or whatever the fuck he was, had been right. I was ill-prepared for a hike in late May at nearly a five-thousand-foot elevation with a sleeping bag from Sears. I wasn’t joking with him; I had paid twenty-five bucks for it from the camping section of a nearly bankrupt retailer.
I also had very little food or water. No pot to boil water or cook in either. Firewood? Yeah, right. I’d be in the goddamned forest surrounded by firewood. I went through a mental checklist of my food supply as I assessed the real risks. Six boiled eggs, a Ziplock bag of trail mix, two bags of beef jerky from the gas station, a thermos of coffee that would be cold before morning, and four bottles of water. Oh, and an unrated sleeping bag. Sleeping bags are sleeping bags, right? They’re all warm and cozy as long as you’re in them? Maybe I was desperate to join Mark in the afterlife.
* * *
