Into the Storm (22 page)

Jenk had slowed to a jog and his smile faded as he realized Lindsey was standing next to Tom. But okay. He had five full days of this. He was going to come face-to-face with her many times throughout the op, that was a given. It might as well happen for the first time right here and now.

Tommy, as usual, didn’t wait for him to
yes, sir
or otherwise say hello. He just jumped in. He knew Jenk could keep up.

“It’s colder than we thought,” Tom said, “and we’ve got weather moving in. I’m thinking about setting up a camp, just outside the perimeter of the area where we’ll be running tomorrow night’s training op. We’ve gotten permission to use an old hunting lodge—well the property, anyway. The lodge burned years ago, but there’re still a number of other structures on-site. I have no idea their condition or suitability. I want you to go check the place out.”

And yes, that had been a plural
you,
aimed also at Lindsey, who was clutching a map. She silently passed it to Jenk, who pretended to look at it in the wan midday light that was streaming in through the restaurant windows, all the while thinking,
shit.

“Ideal location is close to the top of a hillside,” Tom continued. “I’m going to want a homing beacon broadcast to as large an area as possible, in case visibility becomes an issue.”

“Wait,” Lindsey said. Even though they were inside, and the heaters were groaning and hissing, it was cold enough for her to keep her hat and gloves on, her arms wrapped around herself as she tried to retain body heat. “You lost me, boss. Visibility? Are we expecting fog?”

That’s right—she was a Southern California girl.

“Snow. Blizzard conditions can create total whiteouts,” Jenk explained. “The homing beacon will allow us to find this base camp if we get into trouble during the exercise. It’s a safety precaution.” He turned back to Tom. “Sir, we should probably check with your team, see who else may not have had extensive winter survival experience—make sure they’re teamed up with someone who has.”

“Good idea,” Tom nodded. “I’ll get Tracy working on that.”

And so much for Jenk’s next suggestion, which was that Lindsey stay behind, here where the windchill wasn’t a factor, and handle it.

“There used to be a road all the way in to the lodge,” Tom told them. “I want a report on its condition. I want to know where it becomes impassable—which is how the property owner described it—as well as exactly how impassable it really is. I want recommendations on the best way to get a generator and supplies in there. And I’m assuming we’ll have to set up some temporary sat towers, too, but check out cell reception while you’re out there.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Johnny O. ran up. “If you’ve got a sec, Commander Koehl would like to talk to you. He’s in the kitchen.”

“I’m on my way,” Tommy said, but he wasn’t quite done giving orders to Lindsey and Jenk. “Take one of the rental vehicles. And make sure you grab some MREs. There’re no Mickey-Ds where you’re heading.”

“You mean to hell?” Jenk may actually have said that aloud. Lindsey didn’t look offended, though. She, too, did not look happy at the prospect of this little road trip. “Okay,” he told her. “I’ll get the food, you get more layers on, because we’re going to be hiking.”

She nodded. “Thanks for trying. You know, to make it so I could stay here where it’s slightly less freezing.”

“That wasn’t entirely for you,” Jenk admitted. “Meet you by the rental cars.”

Lindsey had shown up with Dave and Sophia in tow, both of whom were apparently willing to spend their precious downtime playing chaperone. Jenk had been trying to do something similar—to talk Izzy, Lopez, and Gillman into riding along. They’d resisted his efforts—this was, after all, supposed to be one of their few breaks—until they saw that Sophia was going. Then they pretty much begged him for a seat in that SUV.

He should have charged them each fifty bucks.

“Is this really a road?” Dave now asked. He and Sophia were sitting in a rear-facing seat, but he’d twisted around to face front.

“It was, back when the lodge was in its heyday,” Jenk reported. He’d stopped to gather as much info as possible from Izzy’s married fiancée, Stella, after he’d packed up a delightful assortment of MREs. That was her word.
Heyday.
“It was originally a trail—a trapper’s route from Canada to Boston. Apparently it got a lot of use during the French and Indian War, too.”

“Marky-Mark, you are better than a Fodor’s travel guide,” Izzy said. “How do you know this shit? Okay, let’s see if he can answer this one. For twenty thousand points: How did the hunting lodge burn down, and…drumroll please! Is it haunted?”

“Generator malfunction plus a very dry summer and fall,” Jenk answered. “And no, despite rumors, it is
not
haunted.”

“Nuh-nuh na-net, na-net,” Izzy sang the opening bars to the
Ghost-busters’
theme. “
I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.
Okay, so for those who weren’t aware, Jenkins has this unswerving lack of belief in the supernatural. There’s no such thing as ghosts; therefore, it can’t be haunted. Just out of curiosity, M, what exactly are these rumors?”

“Typical boogeyman stuff,” Jenk said as the SUV lurched and bounced along the pitted trail. He slowed even more as the underbrush scratched against the side of the vehicle like hundreds of bony fingers.

Gillman leaned forward. “Such as?”

“The gardener-gets-unjustly-arrested-and-comes-back-to-wreak-vengeance story,” Jenk said.

“Give me back my leg!”
Izzy intoned in a quavering voice. “I love that shit.”

“Yeah,” Lopez said. “I want to hear this.”

“Come on, Unca Jenk, tell us kids a scary-ass story.”

Jesus, he shouldn’t have brought Izzy along. Jenk glanced in the rearview—shit, why did he keep doing that?—and saw that Lindsey was smiling. Fuck, that was worse than when she’d been sitting there, obviously wishing she were anywhere else on the planet. Because she was smiling at Izzy.

“I don’t know if you should tell it,” she said. “Izzy might have nightmares.”

Oh, good. Don’t just sit next to him. Flirt with him, too. Of course, some might interpret her words merely as friendly banter. Still, it pissed Jenk off.

But telling them all to shut the fuck up would clearly raise some eyebrows. Not to mention that it would reveal to Lindsey just how badly he’d let her burn him.

He was gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white.

“I’m sharing a room with Jenk,” Izzy told Lindsey. “If I get scared I’ll just climb in with him. I’ve heard he’s good in bed. Gentle yet strong. Can anyone here verify that?”

Okay, now Lindsey was back to looking like she’d rather be wrestling alligators.

Izzy, of course, wasn’t done. “Fishboy, you’ve shared close quarters with the Markster. Is he as talented as they all say?”

“Homophobic jokes are
so
funny,” Dave remarked from the back, in his mild voice. “Oh, wait. No, they’re not funny at all.”

“Dave, why do you always get to sit next to Sophia?” Izzy turned his attention to the back of the SUV, but then added, “No offense, Lindsey. You’re hot, too.”

“Jenkins, will you please just tell the ghost story?” Dave implored.

“All right,” Jenk said. “Okay. Jesus.” The road was so overgrown, they were moving just slightly faster than they could’ve done on a brisk hike. At this pace, they weren’t going to get back until after dark. Which, at this time of year, this far north, would probably happen at 1500 hours. “It all starts in the 1940s, right after the Second World War. The gardener’s some local kid, home from the fighting in France. He’s working at the lodge, he’s got a beautiful fiancée–”

“There’s always a beautiful fiancée,” Lopez said. “She works there, too, right?”

“As a maid,” Jenk said. “Life is good. But then this rich family comes to the lodge. They’ve got this son who served by taking some cushy desk job in DC during the war, totally entitled. He points at what he wants, and he gets it. But this time, he points at the maid, and he gets nothing. And he’s pissed, because he’s seen her with the gardener.”

“Doing the deed with the war hero, in the arbor, au naturel,” Izzy chimed in. “She’s exotic in her beauty. He’s strong, yet gentle…”

“A hunting lodge doesn’t have an arbor,” Gillman scoffed, saving Jenk from having to drive into a tree to shut Izzy up.

Not that Gillman managed to do more than change the subject, but it was enough.

“Yeah, well, in the movies they’re always gettin’ it on in the arbor. Or in the gazebo. There was probably a gazebo,” Izzy decided.

“It’s a hunting lodge,” Gillman said as if that would explain everything, the
Stupid
silent but intensely implied.

“Yeah, well, my name’s not Daniel Peckerfart Gillman the Third,” Izzy said. “Mumsy and Pop-Pop never took me to a hunting lodge.”

“I’ve never been to a hunting lodge either,” Gillman said, “but I do read.”

“You do?” Izzy was incredulous, and Lindsey was laughing again. “Marky-Mark, did you know that Fishboy knows how to read? Maybe he’ll teach the rest of us kids someday.”

“Let Jenk finish the story,” Lindsey said.

Jenk. He was back to being Jenk. Apparently she only called him Mark when they were having sex. Which they were never going to do again.

“Was there a stable, oh great expert on hunting lodges?” Izzy leaned across Lindsey to ask Gillman.

Jenk went over a fallen branch a little too fast, which bounced everyone around and pushed Izzy back into his seat.

“There could’ve been a stable.” Gillman gave him that but only grudgingly.

“Stable works for me,” Izzy said. “Okay. I’m picturing it. I’m good. He sees her with the gardener in the stable. Go on, M.”

Jenk sighed. “Aren’t we tired of this yet?”

“No,” was chorused back to him.

“Right. A piece of jewelry—a necklace—goes missing from this rich family’s suite, and the gardener’s accused of taking it. He swears he’s innocent, that the son set him up, but no one believes him and they haul him off to jail.”

“Time-out,” Izzy proclaimed. “Can we not give these people names? The rich family is Horace and Prudence Peckerfart and their son Dick. No relation to Gillman—or is there? Say this for us, Daniel:
Zounds! That scoundrel stole Mumsy’s necklace!
”

Lindsey laughed again, and Jenk glanced in the rearview to see Gillman covering her eyes while he silently mouthed a completely different and far more concise collection of words to Zanella.

“Not going to say it?” Izzy said. “Understandable. You don’t want to incriminate yourself. But we still need a name for the gardener. How about Bill Jones, all-American boy, former GI, nephew to his Uncle Sam. And his fiancée, Lydia McDoomed. You’d think she’d change her name. So okay, Bill is in jail for stealing Dick’s mumsy’s necklace, which creates anxiety for fair Lydia. Take it away, Marky-Mark.”

Jenk rolled his eyes. “
Dick
goes to see
Lydia,
and promises her he’ll ‘look for’ the necklace if she sleeps with him, so she does. Why? Who knows. She’s an idiot to trust him.”

“She’s a McDoomed,” Izzy pointed out. “Bad choices run in the family.”

“Of course, when the gardener—Bill—goes to trial, Dick never steps forward to clear him. Bill’s about to be sentenced to twenty years in prison, so Lydia goes all the way to Boston to see this son of a bitch, who just laughs at her. He looked for the necklace, but he didn’t find it. What can he do?

“Several months later, Lydia dies, pregnant and alone in the snow.”

“Man, I hate when that happens,” Izzy said.

“No one hears from the gardener again,” Jenk continued, “except twenty years later, the same family—”

“The Peckerfarts,” Izzy interjected.

Right. “They come back to the lodge—”

“Except for Horace, whose heart exploded years ago,” Izzy said.

Jenk didn’t stop the SUV, pull Izzy out into the cold, and beat him senseless. Instead, he very calmly asked, “Do you want me to tell the story, or do you want to?”

“Well, I would, but I don’t know it. It amazes me how you always seem to know everything,” Izzy said. “Isn’t Mark amazing, Linds?”

Jenk focused on the road, forcing himself not to glance into the mirror and see her embarrassment. “Dick’s got his own family now—a whole pack of daughters,” he said loudly, just plowing over any hemming and hawing she might have started. “I think Stella said there were five of them.”

“My Stella?” Izzy was delighted, completely clueless to the fact that even if he survived this day, he was going to be murdered in his sleep. And not by the ghost of the hunting lodge, either.

“Her kids used to camp up here.”

“They probably came on a dare,” Gillman said. “We used to do that—me and my brothers. Up by Bloody Creek. Scared ourselves to death. My mom was always, like,
It’s two
A
.
M
., what are you doing back home? Is it raining?
And we were like,
Yeah, Mom, uh, yeah, it’s, uh, raining, yeah.
”

“My older brothers once ditched me in a graveyard,” Izzy contributed to the discussion. “I got the last laugh—when they came back, looking for me, I pretended I turned into a zombie. I scared the bejeezus out of them. Of course they retaliated by beating the living Christ out of me. Broke my collarbone and two ribs.”

There was silence for a moment, which Lindsey broke by saying, “Suddenly being an only child doesn’t seem so bad.”

Lopez turned to look back at her. “You too, huh?”

And now she was bonding with freaking Lopez, smiling into his eyes. Jenk smacked the map. “I need you looking at this.”

Lopez faced forward. “Sorry, man. I’m on it—we’re moving pretty slowly.” He must’ve noticed the steam coming out of Jenk’s ears, and he lowered his voice to ask, “You okay?”

But he didn’t have to answer because Gillman spoke over him. “Dick and his daughters are at the lodge. Come on, Jenkins. Don’t leave us hanging.”

“Not just his daughters, but his wife and mother are there, too,” Jenk continued the story. “The men all go out hunting, and it’s the first cold day of the season, so the women stay inside. They’re all in the lodge when the generator explodes. Everything’s so dry, the place goes up like a torch.