Gus cleared his throat loudly. “A zombie in an old George Romero movie,” he said. “The ones that stagger along slowly. Because the zombies in newer movies go so fast they might run right off a cliff.”
Shawn slowed down immediately, sneaking a quick peek through squinted eyelids to make sure he wasn’t about to plummet to his doom. He wasn’t, although he was close to a fatal impaling on the daggers Gwendolyn was shooting out of her eyes.
Shawn corrected his course and staggered towards the packs. His body jerked left and right, then fell forwards onto the one bright green pack in the line. He shoved his hand under the top flap, dug around in the freeze-dried food and the clothes, and came out clutching a fan-folded piece of paper.
“Thank you, spirit of the mountains,” Shawn said to the sky, then looked at the topographical map he was holding. “As I said, I have a vision of the way to get out of here.”
“That’s mine!” Jade squealed. “Oliver Rushton entrusted it to me. No one else is supposed to look at it, or even know I have it.”
“I stopped caring about what Rushton wants a while back,” Balowsky said. “Something about seeing my life about to end gave me a new perspective on things.”
“Give me the map,” Mathis commanded.
“So you can destroy it?” Gwendolyn said. “We haven’t forgotten you were the one who didn’t want us to use the beacons.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Mathis said. “You can use them all you want. But I need that map.”
“We all need the map,” Savage said. “Don’t you understand? We’re all in this together. There’s no reason to bicker here. We are stronger together than we are divided. We’ll all go down the mountain together, and we’ll live as a group. If we bicker, we’ll all die.”
“That sounds familiar,” Gwendolyn said. “Oh, wait, it’s the same crap Rushton was spewing when he sent us up here. Makes me wonder whose side you’re on.”
“I’m on my side,” Savage said. “Which means I’m on all our sides. Because we have only one side. What other agenda could there possibly be?”
The lawyers all cast furtive looks at one another, as if trying to ascertain their colleagues’ motives. Until Shawn let out another moan.
“O, spirit of the mountain,” he cried, waving the map up at the sky. “Do not tell me about these other agendas. Don’t say that one of us refused to use the safe word to free us from the terrorizing acting troupe, proving that his or her loyalty remains with Rushton. Don’t insist another one of us wants us to stay here until he’s caught his suspect. And please, please don’t whisper in my ear that there are people among us who would be happy to let the majority get lost in the mountains if they thought it would advance their own position to arrive far in advance of the others.”
Shawn pressed the map to his forehead, then dropped his hands to his sides and called out to Helstrom, who was inventorying food supplies with his acting troupe. “You guys got a menu figured out yet? Because I’m good with anything that doesn’t require ketchup.”
He turned back to see the lawyers all staring at him. “What’s up?” he said to them.
“What did he say?” Gus said.
“Who?”
“The spirit of the mountains.”
“Oh, nothing,” Shawn said. “Apparently I didn’t leave him anything to talk about.”
The lawyers looked away, disgusted, and went back to arguing among themselves. Except for Mathis, who marched up to Shawn.
“I am ordering you to surrender that map,” Mathis said.
“Just as soon as we’re done with it,” Shawn said.
“You are going to let a murderer escape,” Mathis said. “And I will see that you are charged as an accessory after the fact.”
“My mother always said don’t be afraid to accessorize,” Shawn said.
“I think that was Tim Gunn,” Gus said.
“Really?” Shawn said. “I keep getting those two confused.”
Mathis’ face, already red with sunburn, crimsoned even more. “You’d better know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t see why,” Shawn said. “I never have before, and it’s worked for me so far.”
Across the camp, a bell rang. Bron Helstrom was summoning them to the table. The smell of charbroiled steaks hit them right after the clang of the bell.
“I think that concludes the conversation part of this evening’s entertainment,” Shawn said. “It’s time for food.”
Chapter Forty-Five
“Of course,” Shawn said once he and Gus were back in their tent, safely nestled among the down pillows and feather beds, “when you’re with a bunch of lawyers, the conversation portion of the entertainment is never truly over.”
Gus couldn’t argue with that-except maybe over the part about entertainment. He hadn’t found anything amusing about the conversation that had taken place at the dinner table. Well, maybe the beginning, when the lawyers were so intent on cramming as much food as possible into their mouths that their cogent legal arguments, witty retorts, and dire personal insults were all reduced to a mess of indecipherable consonants and the occasional projectile of beef lingually launched across the table.
But once the appetites had been partially sated and etiquette had been restored to the group, the conversation quickly spiraled down into paranoid accusations and angry threats.
For the most part, Shawn and Gus stayed out of the table talk. For one thing, this meal, although much more quickly put together than last night’s, was even better than the one from the night before. Neither of them felt compelled to use their mouths for anything less pleasurable than eating.
And of course Shawn and Gus didn’t have to contribute to a discussion of who would hold on to the map. They would, and there didn’t seem to be any compelling reason to change that situation.
Even now that everyone had retired to their tents, Shawn and Gus could still hear isolated pockets of bickering coming from across the camp as a killer argument occurred to one of the lawyers just before they all fell asleep.
Gus waited until several minutes had passed since the last triumphant exclamation, and then he whispered to Shawn, “So what is our plan?”
“Sleep,” Shawn muttered.
“Yes, we’ll go to sleep in a minute,” Gus said. He was exhausted, too, but he knew he’d spend a much more pleasant night if he had an idea what to expect in the morning. “But first, what’s our plan?”
“Sleep is our plan,” Shawn said.
“How can sleep be a plan?” Gus said.
“It can’t, if you keep talking,” Shawn said, pulling his pillow around his ears. Within seconds he’d started to snore.
Gus lay awake trying to work out options for the next day. But even before he could form bullet points in his head, he was snoring, too.
When he woke up, the sun was streaming through the light nylon of the tent. And he discovered that Shawn’s plan was not bad at all. He felt infinitely better than he had the night before. He rolled over to see that Shawn was already up and dressed.
“I can’t believe I’ve been using a regular bedroom,” he said, pulling on his shoes. “A tent in the mountains is so much better. In fact, I’m going to have one installed in my own place as soon as we get back home.”
Gus felt all his good feelings swirling away. It took him a moment to figure out why. And then it hit him. It was that last phrase: as soon as we get back home.
“That brings up an important question,” he said. “About the whole ‘as soon as we get back home’ thing. And that is: how?”
“Well, once we’re off the mountain, it shouldn’t be a problem at all,” Shawn said. “We left your car at Rushton’s office, but I’m sure we can get someone to give us a ride over there. Worst-case scenario, we can get a cab from the police station, if Lassiter won’t arrange for a squad car to drive us. Do I smell pancakes?”