The Kaleidoscope (15 page)

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The crowds were large and the lines were long, so they didn’t do much more than walk around the common areas before deciding to break camp and try somewhere else.

“It’s too much like a theme park this weekend,” Pepper sighed when they were back on the road. She braked to avoid ramming the travel trailer ahead of them. “I for one was expecting something a little more far from the madding crowd. Let’s go, grandpa!” She tooted the horn, but it was no use as the line snaked in front and behind for miles.

Lids heavy from staying up late, then trying to sleep on the hard ground, Harold dozed as they crawled along. When he opened his eyes, Pepper was pulling off into a small gas station. “Coming in with me, Morrie? I need to eat something. My body chemistry’s whack if I don’t eat something every few hours. Your turn to pump, Harry. Come on, Glenda!”

She let the dog sniff and squat around a small grassy area, then breezed inside the station, Morrie behind her. Harold slid his debit card to start the gas pump.

In a few minutes, Pepper came out with a bag of chips, sodas, and a paper map, one of the colorful cartoony ones for tourists. Lots of ads, few details. “We told the kid at the counter we were looking for a place where the locals might party.” She spread the map on the hood, and pointed to an area north of them. “He said to ask around this cabin rental place, the guy who owns it rides a quad all over and may know of something.”

“If he’ll talk,” Morrie added.

This was too unreal. Harold wondered if she was serious. “If there really is a secret party place, they wouldn’t just tell a stranger the location, would they? Unless we know a secret code or something.”

“You’ve been watching too many spy movies, Harry. All we need to do is poke around a bit, ask the right questions.” She chuckled, and Harold knew he’d advertised his naiveté.

Morrie sniggered.

“You straight up asked him where to score?”

“Not really.” Her confession didn’t confirm or deny anything. “He told us there are dozens of places where people gather for shelter.” Pepper and Morrie leaned over the map. “He says there’s a town further up the mountain. Closer to the trail is where we should look.”

Harold thought they’d both lost their minds. “I agree we should go somewhere less crowded and do some hiking or something. But I’m not interested in poking around all over the backwoods.”

“We came this far already. Says as long as we’re not threatening, people will be friendly.” She tipped her soda back and hiccupped.

“Tell him about the idea he had,” Morrie urged her.

“He said there is one place he’d heard of lately. Where people stop off when they are thru-hiking the PCT. They all need to go into town to pick up their mail and buy stuff once in a while. And they don’t have a lot of money so they find these flop houses when there aren’t shelters. When it rains and stuff.”

“It’s a place that burned and the owner abandoned it. A squatter lives there now,” Morrie explained.

“Sounds dangerous,” Harold argued. “We’re going to poke around creation hoping to find a burned-out meth house on the off chance a squatter might help us find one guy, even though we don’t really know what he looks like or if he’s even been around here lately?”

“What do you think, Morrie?” Pepper turned to him. “It’s up to you. We have the rest of today and tomorrow.”

“I do not want to inconvenience you any further.” Morrie watched cars passing each other on the two-lane road. “Harry is right, it’s a long shot, and we don’t even know exactly where this place is.”

“I hate to give up. We’ve come this far and camping was a bust.” Pepper pointed at the map. She spread her fingers apart. “How far is that?”

“About three miles, but with the traffic—”

“We’re going to be in traffic everywhere, so we might as well finish what we came for. What’s the worst that can happen?”

They got back into the car and pulled out into the stream of steady traffic. Morrie called out turns while Pepper negotiated through the small town, past a post office, general market, a Laundromat and a small RV park.

“There’s the check-in cabin, just like he described.” Pepper slowed and the car crunched up the drive. “The kid told us we should talk to the manager of this campground. He watches for poachers and hotspots on his off-roader. Says there’s a web of logging roads he patrols on his quad. I’ll bet he knows if someone’s squatting, or maybe he’s even seen Joseph.”

She turned off the car, and opened the door. “Come on, Morrie, let’s go in, and you can describe your cousin to him.”

They left Harold and Glenda in the back seat. The dog’s mouth lolled over his khaki shorts, a dark spot blooming from the slobber running off her tongue. “Let’s go walk around, girl.”

Glenda pulled him toward a pine grove, the treescape rising around them, enveloping them in the cool canopy. Harold breathed deeply. The tang of pine in the thin air was clean and cool. A light wind fluttered against his cheeks, and he scratched his day-old stubble. His glasses could use a good cleaning, and he worked the leash loop over his hand so he could rub them with his shirttail. Nostrils itching from the assault of unfamiliar pollens, burning wood, and leaf decomposition in the squishy loam under his feet, Harold sneezed, startling the dog’s snuffling exploration of the leafy floor.

A hiker approached, his backpack a high-rise of stained canvas above his greasy head, shoulder-length hair brushing his flannel-clad shoulders. “Morning.” Blistered lips moved apart a thick Van Dyke beard. “That’s a fine dog you have there. Looks well fed.”

Harold shoved his tissue back in his pocket. “Thanks.”

“I’m off the PCT.” He flicked a thumb over his shoulder. “You have room in your car for a lift down the mountain?”

Harold regarded his load, and a waft of his aroma assaulted his nostrils until he worked up to another sneeze. “Sorry, we’re full up.” He sniffed, and indicated the car, its hatch jammed to the glass with camping gear.

Shifting his pack, the guy nodded. “Fair enough, thanks anyway.”

They watched Glenda dig at a chipmunk hole, and Harold jumped aside to avoid getting sprayed with dirt. “Where you headed?”

“Got a message my mom’s taken a bad turn. I’m not sure I’ll even make it back in time. The message was weeks old.” The hiker backed up to a tree and unbuckled, stepped away, and let the pack slide to the ground. Harold was surprised at the man’s thin frame. His clothes bunched up under his belt buckle. “She has diabetes. It’s why I’m doing this.”

Harold considered the comment. If he couldn’t face his mom’s illness, then why was he going back now? “You don’t want to go back there?”

“I don’t want her to die, of course not. But both my parents, they’re overweight. Sit around, doing nothing. My dad lost his job a couple years ago, and now they feed off each other’s bad habits. I was caught up in it.” He patted his flat stomach. “Lost thirty pounds since I started.”

Harold nodded a good-for-you nod. In silence, they admired the pine trees, the log built cabins, and the ribbon of highway shimmering in spots from a pop-up rainstorm that passed earlier. A big rig whooshed past. “I can give you some money. If that will help.”

“I’m okay. It’s just that I’m afraid when I go back, they’ll want me to stay. I’ve come so far, and now I’m, you know. My own person.” He sloshed a canteen to his lips and inhaled long swallows, his nostrils flaring in between gulps. He wiped his chin on his sleeve, and tipped the nozzle toward Harold, who shook his head. “I’m Popcorn.”

Harold squinted.

“Trail name.”

“You eat a lot of it?”

He shook his head and chuckled. “When I first got up here, I was known for being pretty antsy. Most times you’re sleeping in a shelter with other hikers. Every time I heard a new noise, I’d jump out of my sleeping bag, so the others started calling me—”

“Popcorn,” Harold finished, thinking of their fitful sleep last night at the campground. “Funny. You ever get used to all the strange sounds of the woods?”

“Pretty quickly. You get pretty tired after a long day on the trail. But the name stuck. Real name’s Vince.”

“I’m Harold, and this is Glenda.” The dog stopped her seek and destroy mission when she heard her name. She watched Harold, her tongue out the side, jaws in a wide, panting smile. “Sit!” he tried, but instead she pulled him toward a bag of trash someone had thrown out.

“Watch out for bears. She could lure out a hungry mama from hiding. I’ve heard of a couple sightings recently.”

Harold tightened his grip on the leash, and kicked a pile of moldy French fries from her reach. “You know a lot about this mountain.”

“You could say that. You learn fast when you’re faced with the elements. Life or death. I’m planning to flip the trail. Unless I have to stay back home.”

Harold blinked in confusion.

“After I hike in one direction, I want to go the other way,” Vince explained. Glenda’s tail thumped the ground, her gaze lasered on a protein bar he was unwrapping. “What about you?”

“Just here for the weekend. We stopped to ask directions.” A rabbit skittered across the clearing, and the dog strained at the leash, rearing up on her own hind legs. “We’re looking for someone. Glenda, sit!”

“Cottontail!” Vince pointed. They watched it disappear uphill.

“Ever hear of a party cabin near here? Maybe someone off the grid?”

Vince cut him a look. “Describes a lot of folks up here.” He drew himself up and then studied Glenda. She’d given up watching the rabbit and circled Harold’s legs until he was wound up in the leash. Vince focused on Harold’s pressed slacks, conservative shirt.

Harold realized what just happened. “I’m not a NARC or anything if that’s what you’re thinking,” Harold rushed to explain, unwinding. “We just heard my friend’s cousin may have been up here.”

Vince eyed him. “I suppose if you’re looking for where the parties are, you’d have to ask someone who’s into that scene. Not me.”

“I understand.” Harold watched him chew. “You know, it’s possible to be your own person. Not go back to how you were before. I’m pretty sure you’re going to be fine.”

Your coworkers will appreciate words of encouragement more than they will admit.

“It’s true you might slip into your old ways a little. But don’t give up. I don’t think you’re going to,” Harold continued. “In fact, I’ll bet the changes you’ve made will encourage your mom and dad.”

Vince swallowed another gulp of water. “I appreciate that, dude.” He pointed with the last bite of granola before tossing it in his mouth. “Be careful if you go anywhere near some of them folks. Back there is a whole ’nother world of people that don’t want to be found. Livin’ in shacks and shelters you wouldn’t think could support human life.” A forestry truck rumbled past. “What’s the guy’s name you’re looking for?”

Harold only recalled hearing a first name. “Joseph something.” But he knew Morrie’s last name. “Joseph Moore maybe.”

Vince squinted. “Never heard of him. There’s a register, though. Everyone signs in when they take the trail. Even if he used an alias, your friend might recognize his handwriting.” He brushed crumbs off his shirt.

Harold watched a covey of hikers single-filing along the shoulder, their packs bobbing like quails’ top-feathers.

“A lot of people go off the grid out here.” Vince palmed the crackling wrapper, shoving it in a pocket. “Last night I slept in a place where you could ask.” He pointed. “See that mile marker? Go past that about three quarters of a mile. There’s a logging road on the left, sign says ‘Private Property.’ Go for about ten minutes if you’re walking, and take a right at the Y, then go past a boulder that looks like a giant snail. You’ll come up on a clearing where there’s a little house surrounded by a bunch of buildings in various stages of falling down. The house, more like a shanty, has burned a couple of times. People build it back with shit they find. There’s a guy who stays there now, and if anyone like your friend’s cousin has been there lately, he might know. Has a shotgun, so approach cautiously.”

Now Harold knew there was no wisdom in approaching a probable meth lab guarded by an armed off-the-gridder. “Thanks. You’ve been very helpful. I wish I could do something for you.”

Vince was studying him closer now. “You know what I could use…if you’ve got any spares.”

“What?”

“Socks.” Vince lifted a boot. “They’re a luxury out here, man. No matter how many you pack, they get wet, thin, holes wear in ’em seems like overnight. I still have a lot of walking to do to get home to Mom and I didn’t have time to let mine dry last night.” He pointed to Harold’s thick, white gym socks peeking out from his new hiking boots. “Couple nights ago I lost one after I washed them in a stream and hung them to dry in a tree branch. I’m down to one pair and half a spare.”

“I’ve only got these, I didn’t pack many clothes.”

Vince seemed resigned. “No worries, just a thought.” He pulled off a boot and showed Harold his mangled socks stained gray, flexed his big toe sporting an angry blister. “This is my good pair.”

Gray skin wound around his heel, but upon closer inspection, Harold saw it was duct tape.

Vince noticed him staring. “Hiker’s trick.”

“I see what you mean.” Harold found a fairly clean bit of log, sat on it and pulled off his shoes. He peeled off his own socks, and handed them over.

Thinking it was playtime, Glenda barreled into him, knocking him backward with a whomp. “Sit!” he commanded her as she chomped down. The momentum had knocked the Kaleidoscope from his pocket when he fell backward. He managed to dislodge the sock from her jaw. “She’s pretty playful.” He examined it first to make sure she hadn’t torn any holes, and handed the pair to Vince.

Pleasure spread over Vince’s face. “This is better than Christmas, even with dog spit on them. Thanks, dude. Unless you ever hike a long haul, you won’t know what it’s like.” He pulled them on and quickly retied his boots, then sprang up. “Like walking on clouds.”

Harold searched for the ’scope, which had disappeared.

Vince paced, testing his stride, and stopped to watch Harold scoop aside leaves. “Lose something?”