Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) by Dale B. Mattheis Page A

could do to
help.” Carl unfolded a map. “So, where do you think?”
    “Ordinarily
one mountain would be as good as another,” Jeff replied, looking up from the
small camp stove he was inspecting, “but this early in the season I think I’ll
stay low in case a storm moves in. I’m going to head for Black Pine Lake and
see if I can work my way over Sawtooth Ridge into the wilderness area.”
    Carl
let out a surprised whistle. “That’s low? Little ambitious, isn’t it? The
Sawtooth area is rugged, even in high summer. Shoot, it’s a three-day hike from
the lake just to get there. Something goes wrong and you’re dog meat. How about
something closer and lower down?”
    Bent
over the stove fiddling with the pressure pump, Jeff gave no evidence he had
heard a word. Carl watched him for a period and was reminded of someone in a
trance.
    “Where
you at, man? Space city, it seems to me. You going to be okay for this hike?”
    “I’ll
be fine once I get into the woods.” Jeff put the stove aside. “I checked with
forest service HQ earlier today. They reported an unusually small snowpack.” He
kneeled by his sleeping bag and unrolled it. “Funny how the Sawtooths popped
into my mind while I was looking at the maps. I really want to go there.”
    The
tone of Jeff’s voice and memories of their earlier conversation in the diner
sent a prickling sensation along Carl’s spine. This was not the Jeff he was
familiar with.
    “Where
do you really want to go?”
    Jeff
looked up with a confused expression on his face. “To the Sawtooths. Why? What
did I say?”
    “It
isn’t what you said, it’s how you said it. Jeff, I am truly worried about you wandering
around in the woods.”
    “I’m
not going to do anything stupid. The Sawtooths just feel right.”
    “Like
walking home?”
    It
was a shrewd comment, and meant to be. Jeff winced and studied the deep concern
on Carl’s face.
    “I
won’t take that kind of chance again. If it looks bad, I won’t attempt the
ridge.” Jeff noted Carl was opening the duffel bag. “Goodies?”
    “Sort
of. I figured you would decide on some harebrained plan, so I brought a few
things from my gear that might come in handy.” While speaking, Carl laid pieces
of equipment on the table.
    “Whoa.
Crampons and an ice ax. Snowshoes? I don’t think things will get that tense!”
    “I
don’t think so either, but this time of year, as you pointed out I might add, a
few precautions are justified.”
    “You’re
right, and thanks.”
    Carl
placed the items with other equipment Jeff was assembling. Sitting on top of
the pile was a revolver and two boxes of ammunition. Carl picked the weapon up
to examine it.
    “I’ve
seen that little .38 special you keep by your bed, but I’ve never been
introduced to this baby. For as old as it seems to be, it’s in great condition.
.357 magnum?”
    “Yeah.
Colt Trooper. Bought it at a private estate sale I lucked into. The stainless
steel tooling was so good I couldn’t pass it up. I figure it dates from the
late sixties or early seventies.”
    “Pretty
heavy, isn’t it?” Carl observed, hefting the pistol several times. “The .38 and
a few extra rounds ought to do the job.”
    “It
isn’t the dirtbags I’m worried about. Bears are coming out of hibernation about
now. Introducing grizzlies may have been a good idea, but they’re taking the
place over. If I have to tangle with one of those mothers, that .38 would be
worthless.”
    “Okay,
you need the Colt. Now answer me this: why two boxes of ammunition? Those
babies weigh a ton. How many bears do you expect to meet?”
    “What
do you mean?”
    Carl
handed him the boxes.
    “Where
were they?”
    “On
top of the pile next to the Colt, Jeff.”
    “I
have no idea how they got there. You’re right—I don’t need more than ten or
twelve extra rounds.”
    Carl
watched in silent amazement as Jeff walked over to the stack of camping gear
and set both boxes down on top.
    “Jeff,
what are