Blunt Darts

Two. I could drive to a decoy site, mess around for a while, then return in disappointment to my car and drive dejectedly back to Boston. The problem with Option Three was that as soon as he saw me heading back to Boston, he might still check in with the store clerk.
    Enter Option Four. I could try to lose Blakey without allowing him to realize that I was trying. If I lost him, he’d go to the clerk. If he realized that I was trying to lose him, he’d come after me. I was willing to bet that he had the biggest engine allowed in his car, and could catch my four-cylinder Monarch in de-pressingly short order. There would follow a very unpleasant variation of Option One.
    Option Five, the final one. I might be able to lead him close enough to the station without tipping him that I knew he was behind me. If I could keep the trail warm enough for him, I might (1) discourage his following me on foot and (2) delay his visit to the clerk. Option Five looked like the only choice.
    I drove toward the ranger station but swung onto the perimeter road at the base of the mountain. The perimeter road was dirt and some gravel, and I threw a high rooster-tail of dry dust as I bounced along at a bone-crunching twenty or so. Blakey would realize that although my dust would hide him, I might see his dust if he drove too close. Since my slowly falling dust was a perfect trail of crumbs for him to follow, I figured he’d back way off and stay there.
    I went by two long-abandoned camps and a house in ruins and executed a three-point turn so the car headed back the way it had come. I pulled it onto the shoulder and raised the hood. I then left my pack in the back seat with the windows open and lit out across the road and into the forest at the base of the mountain. I headed up as far as I could as fast as I could until I heard the sound of another car. Then I ducked down.
    I couldn’t see the road, but I could hear Blakey throttle down and then continue up the road at a low speed. I heard him fading in the distance for maybe a half mile; then he came back. He stopped near the car and turned off his engine. He probably checked my car and, seeing my gear still in it, figured I wasn’t intending to be gone for long. He’d know that I hadn’t had car trouble because I was facing back out the way I’d come in, a difficult maneuver if your car isn’t working. He’d also figure, I hoped, that I’d intended it to look like car trouble so that if anyone did pass by, they wouldn’t think a parked car was suspicious. I heard him reenter his car, start up, and move back down the road. I was willing to bet he’d angle in and hide it at the old house to wait for me to come down the road with Stephen. I then heard what sounded like a short spurt of reverse. Then his engine stopped long before it would have faded in the other direction. Good work, Option Five.
    I continued up the mountain, approaching the ranger station from the back, blindside. With luck, Blakey would wait me out for a few hours. By that time, I’d have Stephen and we’d have arrived back in Granville after cutting across country the same way Stephen must have hiked in.
    Withluck.
     
     
     

     
     
    About an hour later, I knew why the clerk had advised me to take the front road up to the ranger station. The grade on this side of the mountain was steep, the brambles sharp, and the bugs fierce. From the topo map, the ranger station was just over the crest. From the climb, I was still a good hour away.
    When I reached and crossed the crest, I spotted the I station. It was nearly sundown, but even in the fading light the box on stilts looked derelict. I waited and watched for half an hour. I then moved slowly to the base of the ladder of steps that connected the ground to the box sixty feet above. It was made of wood, and a couple of crossbars were missing. It would have been a hairy climb for a fourteen-year-old. I wasn’t too enthusiastic myself.
    I climbed the ladder, pulling myself by the arms rather than pushing myself by the legs. My hands I kept at the intersection points of the rungs with the vertical posts. A few groaned, but none gave way.
    The ladder topped at a hatchway with a clasp long ago broken off. I raised the hatch and gingerly pulled myself up into the station.
    It was a box perhaps thirty feet square, windows all around, but all broken. Bugs buzzed the hot air. An old desk, some debris from its official use, and sorae condoms and beer cans from its