The Wildman by Rick Hautala Page A

these years. They had talked about swapping photos on-line, but Evan had argued that it would be a lot more fun and surprising if they waited to see how everyone looked when they all met in person.
    Besides, who else would be out here in the willy-whacks this late in the year?
    Jeff was self-conscious about his receding hairline and the extra girth he carried around his middle, but he told himself not to worry. Chances were, Evan and the rest of the guys had all gained more weight and lost more hair than he had. All things considered, Jeff thought he’d held up fairly well over the years.
    Lost in thought as he was, he missed the turn to the landing and drove past it when it came up faster than he had been expecting. The road that had seemed so long when he was a kid now struck him as short and actually rather pathetic.
    Embarrassed by his mistake, even though there was no one there to see it, he drove a short way down the road, turned around quickly, and drove back to the turnoff. It was another half-mile or so to the landing.
    When he pulled into the parking area, there were already four cars parked there—a green Volvo, a black Prius, a rusted Chevy pickup truck, and a small blue Toyota, which was obviously a rental. As he pulled to a stop beside the Volvo, Jeff tried to guess whose was whose. The only one he was sure of was the rental, which had to be Tyler’s.
    Down by the lake, a person was standing on the dock next to the boat launch where a small motorboat was tied up. The sun reflected off the water behind him, so it was hard for Jeff to see the person’s face.
    That’s got to be Evan, Jeff thought.
    The person silhouetted against the lake looked up and raised one hand. He waved it wildly as he started walking up the slope to where Jeff had parked.
    “ Christ on a cross,” Evan called out, his voice light and tinged with merriment as Jeff killed the engine and got out of his car. He was parked on the crest where the steep road led down to the water.
    “ I swear to Christ … Who’d a thunk it?”
    “ Evan?” Jeff said tentatively as he pocketed his car keys and walked down the hill to meet his friend. They shook hands vigorously and then just stood there for a long moment, staring at each other. Neither one of them seemed to know what to say or do next until Evan slapped Jeff on the shoulder and asked, “So how was the drive out? You find the place all right?”
    “ Oh, yeah. Only a couple of wrong turns,” Jeff said. He smiled as he stroked his chin and took a deep breath while looking out over the lake. The powerful scent of pine resin—just like he remembered when he was a kid—filled him with a powerful surge of nostalgia. A stiff breeze was blowing in off the lake, churning the blue-gray water and making the waves sparkle like diamonds in the slanting sunlight. The chill in the air made Jeff shiver, and he hugged himself. Off in the distance, already darkened by shadows because of the mountains to the west, he could discern the outlines of Sheep’s Head Island and the camp, about a mile out on the water.
    But as nice as this initial impression was, once again—as he had so many times right up until this moment—Jeff wondered why he had agreed to come out here. The prospect of being essentially stranded on an island for the whole weekend with people he hardly knew and hadn’t seen in so long they might just as well be strangers didn’t seem all that appealing.
    “ So … everyone else seems to have made it already.” Jeff nodded at the line of parked cars.
    “ We’re getting settled in just fine,” Evan said with a wide smile. He chuckled and shook his head as though privately amused at something. The slanting sunlight illuminated his face, deepening the thin, dark wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. “I’ve been out here for a couple of days, getting things set up for you, but I gotta tell you, man, the place has really gone to shit.”
    “ After thirty-five years, what d’you