Authors: Warren Dalzell
The envelope contained an acknowledgement form to be returned with a postmark dated no later than April 1
st
. The deadline was still about a week away. “I’m going to do it,” she decided. She filled out the form and then got up and followed the savory aroma of egg rolls, fried rice and sweet-and-sour sauce wafting in from the kitchen.
“Eat your dinner, Rick,” said her father. He sounded exhausted. “I’ll call Mrs. Cespedes once you’ve cleaned your plate. If it’s okay with her we’ll get your sleeping bag and I’ll take you over there.”
Once the three had eaten, Jocelyn saw her opportunity. “Um, dad?” she began, “When mom comes home there’s something I’d like to discuss with you. It has to do with my plans for the summer.”
III.
Just outside the secure portion of New York’s La Guardia airport, Debbie Holloway waited for the young woman from Corpus Christi, Texas. Beside her stood a fit, wiry, broad-shouldered young man who had arrived earlier on an American Airlines flight from Cleveland, Ohio. The two had never met until today, although they’d corresponded extensively over the past several months. In the hour or so they’d been talking, Debbie had grown ever more impressed with Jacek Malinowski. He was easy going and friendly, and, most importantly, he harbored no romantic illusions about the project they were about to undertake. It would involve dirty, backbreaking work at times, but “Jack” seemed accepting of that fact and showed an eagerness to learn about the ancient settlement they were to unearth. While Debbie was sharing an amusing anecdote about the previous year’s progress on the dig, Jack nodded at a woman stumbling towards them along the corridor leading from the gates.
Rolling a large carry-on suitcase behind her while struggling to support a large rucksack, Jocelyn Delaney slowly approached. The suitcase had a broken wheel that caused it to flop from side to side, occasionally falling into the paths of other harried travelers. Once she had made it past the TSA guard at the entrance to the secure area, Jack rushed to her aid.
“You must be Jocelyn. Let me take your rucksack.
“Thanks. Yes, I’m Jocelyn Delaney. Who are you?”
“Jack Malinowski, I’m one of the other students. This is Debbie Holloway.”
Jocelyn shook hands with her new colleagues and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “I almost missed my connection in Dallas. The connecting flight was, like, twenty gates away and I had all this stuff. But, hey, here I am.”
“It looks like you were able to bring all your stuff as carry on,” Debbie remarked. “Jack did the same. We can go right to the curb and catch a cab to the hotel.”
“Oh, I have a couple of checked bags,” said Jocelyn. “The flight number is 703. They’ll be in bag claim ‘C’.”
The three gradually made their way down to baggage claim. Jack was loaded down with his and Jocelyn’s rucksacks as well as his other satchel, a backpack he'd lashed to the top of his rucksack. Joselyn continued to fight with the damaged roller case as they weaved through a large crowd that encircled the revolving baggage conveyor.
Jack stood to one side while Jocelyn reviewed the passing bags and chatted with Debbie. Until now, he hadn’t given much thought to what the other people might be like on this archeology project. It was the nature of the work, the science, the thrill of discovery that had prompted his interest, and that had been the gist of his application essay. Sure, he knew there would be other students on the trip, but until now he’d never considered the social situation he would face.
He watched Jocelyn. She was cute, no doubt about that. Long blond hair, expressive eyes, killer-nice curves, all of the signs indicated she had an active social life back home and probably a steady boyfriend. He suddenly became apprehensive. Here was someone who most certainly wasn’t like the studious types Jack hung out with. So, why the heck would she be interested in a field trip like this?
Something Debbie said made Jocelyn laugh and she abruptly turned her head in time to see Jack starring at her. He blushed and averted his gaze.
Soon, a large fabric suitcase emerged from the gullet of the baggage train and plopped onto the carousel. Jocelyn lunged for it and, with some difficulty, wrestled it onto the floor beside her. Jack sauntered over to see if he could be of assistance as Jocelyn grabbed a second nearly identical bag and dragged it alongside the other.
Debbie looked worried. “Jocelyn, I hope you don’t plan to take all of this on the trip; I don’t think there will be room. The information we sent out specified that each individual, Morgan and me included, can only take one rucksack full of clothing along with a backpack or other easily transportable carrier containing additional clothing and/or personal effects. We sent you your rucksack. All of them, by the way, are the same. They have an internal volume of over twenty-eight liters, which should be plenty of space for what you’ll need. I seriously doubt you’ll be able to take all of this.”
Jocelyn’s smile disappeared. Her reply was defiant. “Mrs. Holloway, we’re going to be gone for almost three
months
. And, your note said that laundry facilities would be ‘primitive.’ I’ve packed the absolute minimum amount of clothing that I need.”
“Jack has obviously complied with the rules.”
“Yeah? Well, guys are gross. He’s probably packed only one set of underwear. We won’t be able to get near him when he gets really ripe.”
“That’s part of my master plan,” Jack interjected, attempting to lighten the mood, “The smell should keep the polar bears away.” He received condescending looks from both women. “Hey, just kidding; I actually packed two pairs of briefs.” The deprecating stares continued. “…plus those I have on,” he added meekly.
“Okay, perhaps now isn’t the time to talk about gear,” Debbie said diplomatically. “We’ll discuss it with Morgan when we get to the hotel.”
Jack loaded up with his own belongings plus the heavier of Jocelyn’s bags—one that didn’t have wheels. Debbie towed Jocelyn’s other suitcase while Joselyn herself continued to deal with her carry-on items. Like heavily laden Sherpas headed for base camp, the three of them slowly slogged to the front of the terminal to a line of waiting taxi cabs.
* * *
Amtrak’s Empire Service train rolled into Penn Station at 2:30 PM. Gail Van Wormer marked her place in the mystery novel that had occupied her attention, off and on, during their three hour trip from the Albany-Rensselaer station. She nudged her sleeping husband and pointed across the aisle at her stepdaughter. Marcie was once again in her seat and flashed a rare smile at her folks. To say that she’d been looking forward to this day was an understatement. Her preparations had begun the moment her father had given his approval for her to go.
After school had let out she’d spent dozens of hours toiling under the hot summer sun, mowing lawns, weeding gardens, and performing miscellaneous chores throughout the neighborhood. In the evenings she took babysitting jobs. Marcie had plied every cent of her earnings into provisions for the trip. She and Gail had made critical trips to Crossgates Mall and Stuyvesant Plaza, hitting clothing and sporting goods stores, buying everything from water purification tablets to mini-binoculars to LED headlamps. Some of her enthusiasm had even rubbed off on her dad. He’d surprised her with a graduation gift of high-tech Gortex hiking boots and a rugged windbreaker with a detachable Polartech insert. He’d also purchased a quality backpack to accompany the expedition-supplied rucksack, and Marcie had packed and re-packed both bags so many times, she could now locate anything they contained, blindfolded, within fifteen seconds.
Her personal bag held her laptop, camera, writing materials and stamps, extra batteries, wallet, cell phone, GPS, one hundred feet of parachute cord, a poncho, emergency blanket, and a host of medical supplies including; antibiotic ointment, various analgesics, water purification tablets and compression bandages. The rucksack contained clothing, miscellaneous non-perishable food supplies, and a small multi-tool that wouldn't be allowed in her carry-on gear. All items were packed and stowed with military precision. Marcie Van Wormer was ready for a post-apocalyptic world.
“We’re pulling into platform eight,” she announced in a businesslike tone, “on track five.” She was standing in the aisle now, before the train had come to a full stop, pulling her rucksack from the overhead compartment. Neither parent was allowed to touch her bags. Marcie’s fiercely independent mindset demanded that she prove her self-reliance to everyone associated with this trip.
It was the first time Marcie had ever been in either Penn Central Station or Madison Square Garden, but she forged ahead through the crowds with singular purpose, heavily laden with gear and forcing her folks into a brisk power-walk. From the layout of the station posted on the internet she navigated according to landmarks committed to memory. “Hurry up, dad, Gail. I only see three cabs out front. They’ll be gone soon.”
“We were instructed to be at the hotel by 5:00,” said her father, “it’s not even 3:00 yet.”
Marcie rolled her eyes. “I know, dad, but I want to talk to the Holloways beforehand. There may be something we forgot. You never know.”
There wasn’t much Steven could say. He wasn’t in charge.
* * *
The Hotel Chelsea wasn’t exactly five star, Steven noted with a frown, but at least it didn’t look like the kind of place that rented rooms by the hour. Located on West 29
th
street, it was conveniently located to many landmarks in Manhattan, including the Empire State Building. The Van Wormers bundled inside and checked in. Marcie was given a key to a room she would share with another student on the trip, a girl named Jocelyn Delaney. Steven and Gail planned to spend the night there as well. They would see their daughter to the airport in the morning, hit a few museums, and then take an afternoon train back to Albany. Unbeknownst to his daughter, Steven had another, more compelling reason to remain in the city for the night. He wanted to speak with Morgan Holloway, the leader of the project, about trip logistics and safety concerns. Although he’d given tentative approval to allow Marcie to participate, he still commanded veto power if things didn’t appear to be on the up-and-up. He was proud of his daughter, proud of her drive, work ethic and the professional way she had prepared for this endeavor. But she had yet to turn fifteen. No matter how maturely she behaved, she was still a child—his child—and he was perfectly willing to withdraw his support and permission if he saw any indication that she would be exposed to undue risk.
Marcie led the way across the lobby’s parquet floor to a bank of elevators embedded in the far wall. She was anxious to stow her things in the room and then return to meet and mingle with her summer colleagues. The elevators were ornately trimmed with 1920’s style brass molding. Mounted above each one was an arrow that swung in a semi-circular arc to indicate the current floor location of the lift. One of them was dropping, preparing to disgorge its cargo to the lobby.
The door opened and a young man exited in a rush, but stopped short when he caught sight of Marcie. He had the appearance of a typical young urban professional, casually but neatly dressed in slacks and a short-sleeved button-down dress shirt. A pair of expensive soft-leather Italian shoes completed the carefully-styled attire. Slim and fit, he had an undistinguished, round face, and a receding hairline. Pale blue eyes resided behind trendy wire-rimmed spectacles. He stared momentarily at Marcie before breaking into a winning smile.
“I recognize the rucksack. You must be Marcie. Hi, I’m Dr. Morgan Holloway.” He then turned his attention to her parents. “Dr. Morgan Holloway,” he repeated. “You must be Marcie’s folks.
“I’m going to my room,” Marcie announced enthusiastically, “I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Her father grinned. “Steven Van Wormer. This is my wife, Gail. As you can see, Marcie is rather excited to be a part of your archeology project.”
“And we’re most happy to have her along,” Morgan replied. He looked at his watch. “I’m expecting the other students to show up any time now. We may as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait.” He beckoned them towards a cozy seating area away from the thoroughfare around the front desk. A large bay window gave a panoramic view of West 29
th
.
It was a beautiful summer afternoon in New York, and the city bustled. A shoe and leather goods store across the street advertised a 30% off sale to throngs of people who passed by, all of them in a hurry. Cars rolled along the one-way street, at least every other one a yellow cab, outpaced by pedestrians except for the intermittent spells when traffic lights were in their favor. A double-parked delivery van unloaded produce in front of a Korean grocery store, while just down the block the remains of a late lunch crowd conversed on the patio of an Italian eatery, oblivious to the exhaust and noise only yards away. Steven caught a whiff of garlic and pesto sauce every time the door to the hotel opened. His stomach growled. He was hungry; they had missed lunch on the train.
Steven’s thoughts were interrupted by Morgan, who swept an arm towards the scene outside. “It’s hard for me to believe that in just a few days I’ll have traded the chaos of one of the largest cities on earth for one of its most remote locations. It’s humbling to see how man has changed the face of the planet when you get to see our world from such vastly different perspectives in such a short time.” He paused for dramatic effect and continued, “I hope the young people, like Marcie, who are joining us on this year’s dig, will also appreciate the wild and rugged land that greeted the Norsemen who first ventured to Eviskar Island.”
“I know Marcie will,” Steven remarked, “She loves the outdoors. She’ll pull her weight without complaint and enjoy every minute of the trip despite the lack of creature comforts. And, I certainly agree that the island is remote. When I looked it up on Google Earth I immediately became concerned for my daughter’s safety.”