"But Bodine-"
"It's my men. I mean my men have disappeared. The chopper flew up where they'd camped, but they were gone, and they're not answering the radio. I don't like what I'm feeling. If you'd called five minutes later, I'd have been up in the chopper."
"Maybe they're behind a ridge that's muting signals to the radio."
"The chopper flew up anywhere they could have gone to. No, they're missing, and I can't waste time. I've got to look for them." More noises in the background. "I said wait until I'm ready. Yeah, we'll need that medical kit as well. Just take them to the chopper. Slaughter, there's no way for me to help you. I'll call you back when I have a chance."
"But-"
There were other noises in the background. Then the line was disconnected.
Slaughter put the phone down, staring at it. Sure, another escalation. By now, he'd grown accustomed to the burning in his stomach, but he hadn't yet adjusted to the way his mind was nagging at him. Everything was moving too fast. There was hardly any time to think. His talk with Parsons. Five policemen missing. Things weren't bad enough, he had to worry about Parsons.
He hurried from the phone booth, moving toward the hotel desk. He knew that he had planned this since he'd said good-bye to Parsons, although he wouldn't have admitted it. But why else would he have come directly here? He could have used the phone back at the station.
"Gordon Dunlap," he told the desk clerk.
"What about him?"
"Damn it, tell me where to find him."
The clerk was fumbling through cards to find the number.
Slaughter started up the stairs as he heard the number. He ran to the balcony and scanned the arrows showing which rooms were on which side, darting to the left and down a hallway, studying the arrows once again. The halls were twisting, turning. He came around a corner, and he saw the door along a dead-end corridor and raced past the pictures on the wall. He knocked, but no one answered.
"Dunlap. Wake up. This is Slaughter."
No answer.
"Dunlap." Slaughter knocked again. He tried the doorknob. It wouldn't move. But as he leaned against the door, the catch gave way. The door swung open.
Dunlap hadn't even shut the door completely. He was sprawled across the bed, his clothes wrinkled, soaked with something. On the floor there was an empty whisky bottle, papers, cigarette butts, a broken ashtray, a toppled chair.
What the hell had happened here? He smelled the sickness, stepping back, then going forward. Dunlap didn't seem to breathe. He wasn't moving. Slaughter grabbed him. "Dunlap, wake up. It's important."
Dunlap didn't move, though. Slaughter shook him. "Come on, you bastard. Wake up." Slaughter felt to find a heartbeat. Then he had it, and at least he didn't have to worry about that. "For Christ sake, Dunlap." He shook him again. Dunlap groaned and tried to turn, but Slaughter wouldn't let him. 'This is Slaughter! Wake up! We've got problems!"
Dunlap moaned. His breath was putrid. Too rushed to mind that, Slaughter hefted him across his shoulder and stumbled down the hallway toward the bathroom. When he set him on the toilet, he started to unbutton Dunlap's shirt, but that was taking too much time, so he just ripped the shirt off. Dunlap tilted, almost falling, and Slaughter eased him onto the floor, then got his pants off, his shoes and socks and underwear. The underwear was soiled. Nostrils flaring, Slaughter threw it into a corner. He slid Dunlap into the bathtub and turned the shower on to cold. Dunlap woke up, screaming.
"Take it easy."
Dunlap wouldn't stop screaming.
Slaughter slapped his cheeks. "Hey, it's me. It's Slaughter."
Dunlap blinked at him. His eyes were red. The vomit that had caked around his lips and chin was rinsing off, and he was frowning, his head to one side. He looked as if he might begin to cry, and then his body heaved.
"It's all right. I'm with you," Slaughter told him. "Get it out of you."
He studied Dunlap, water spraying onto the both of them, as spasm followed spasm, and then Dunlap sighed and leaned back, coughing in the bathtub. He was crying.
"What's the matter? Nightmares?"
Dunlap nodded.
"Well, I've got work for you. I need you sober. While you're stunned like this, I need some answers. And I think right now that you won't lie to me. I need to know if I can trust you."
Dunlap closed his eyes and shivered as the cold water sprayed at him. "You know already what you want to hear. You don't need me to answer."
"Listen, buddy." Slaughter dug his fingers into Dunlap's shoulder. "You're not quite so drunk as you pretend. I want to hear the answer."
"Sure, all right, I'll say that you can trust me."
"If you screw up, you'll wish you'd never met me."
"You can trust me. Hey. My shoulder."
Slaughter noticed the way the skin was turning purple and eased his fingers off. He leaned back, sitting on the toilet seat. "I need a man to cover me," he said at last. "A man from outside who has no involvement in this. I want you to watch me every second, check out everything I do and keep a record. There'll soon be trouble, major trouble, and I want to know that I'm protected."
Dunlap had his eyes shut as he shivered in the cold spray of water.
"Do you hear me?" Slaughter asked.
"Is it that bad?"
"It's that bad."
"Hell, I'd be crazy not to go along with you."
"You'll be crazy if you do. There's just one stipulation. All I ask is that you wait until I say that you can publish the story."
"Now I-"
"I don't want to have to worry about you. I have lots to watch for without that."
The water kept spraying. Slaughter felt his wet shirt clinging to his skin.
"All right, so long as no one else is in on this," Dunlap said.
"It's you and me."
"A deal then."
Slaughter sat back on the toilet seat. He didn't know exactly where to start. "You said you wanted a story. Here's the damnedest thing you ever heard."
THREE
Altick scanned the trees and ridges as the helicopter swooped over them. He watched for some flash of movement, some odd color, anything, but there was nothing to attract him, just an endless sweep of forest rising sharply, boulders, deadfalls, streams and canyons, farther ridges, everything but what he wanted, and he rubbed his eyes to clear them, staring harder. There were three of them in the chopper, the pilot, Altick, and a state policeman wedged in back. They had rifles, binoculars, a portable two-way radio, and several knapsacks filled with food, water, and medical supplies. The helicopter was outmoded, small, ideal for two persons, suitable for three if absolutely necessary. With the added weight of their gear, it was unsteady, slow, and hard to keep above the trees. It burned fuel too rapidly. As they swung up the contour of these rising ridges, there were moments when they held their breath, and Altick wished that there had been another way to get up here as soon as he required.
On the ground the other team would have already started, five men as before but this time primed for trouble, clutching their rifles, watching all around them as they used their maps to find the best way to the lake up in the mountains. There were no dogs, no way to get any soon enough, but this search team had a specific destination, and it didn't need any dogs for guidance. Altick thought about them somewhere down below him, thought about the hard job they would have to push up through the forest toward the rendezvous up here. But he had made several phone calls, and there hadn't been any other helicopters he could commandeer. He was thinking that he might wish he had more than just two men with him. There was no predicting what he might find when the helicopter touched down.
He kept staring. Then he saw some movement, but as he pointed at it, he realized that what he'd seen were elk below him among the trees. He saw one bound across an open space, and normally he would have taken pleasure, but he had to keep his mind on his objective. More than that, he now was bothered that he hadn't seen more elk before this, deer, other signs of life down there. He should have, this high in the mountains, but the forest seemed deserted, and he wished the helicopter could go faster.