Free The Mountain King by Rick Hautala Page B

rose from his chair but didn’t come around the desk after he read the level of Mark’s anger in his expression. 
    “Hold on, nothing!” Mark yelled. “That’s it! I’ve had it! I quit!” 
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty?” Sam said. 
“Hasty? Jesus Christ! I’ll show you hasty!” 
He shook his clenched fists and again had to struggle not to slam Sam’s desk—or Sam. 
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. First thing tomorrow morning, I’m going back up there on Agiochook, and I’m going to stay up there until I find out exactly what happened to Phil. You got that?” 
“Yeah, sure. I got that,” Sam said. “Look, Mark, you know, it wasn’t like I was trying to do you any favors by giving you that promotion. I honestly felt that you were the most qualified person for the job.” 
“After Phil Sawyer! Look, Sam, I don’t need any favors from you, all right?” He turned and started to leave, but then turned back. “No, wait a minute. There is one last thing you can do for me.” 
“Sure. Anything.” 
“You can put the lie to any rumors you might hear about how I pushed Phil off the cliff because he was going to get that promotion over me, okay? Until this afternoon, I had no idea what was going on behind my back.” 
“Absolutely. Look, Mark, I think you should—” 
“That’s it! You can send my last paycheck to the house,” Mark said. Heaving a deep sigh, he hitched his thumb toward the view outside Sam’s office window. Across the mill yard, in the late afternoon haze, he could see the distant purple slopes of the White Mountains, almost lost in a cloudy haze. 
“I’m going up there,” he said, his voice low, not much more than a growl. “And I’m not coming down until I find Phil Sawyer!” 
     

 
    Chapter Eleven  
    Heading Out 
     
     
“Do you really have to bring a gun?” Sandy asked. 
    Mark glanced at his daughter as he grabbed his favorite deer hunting rifle, a Remington 30.06 700 BDL, from the gun rack in the Jeep’s rear window. 
“Well, you never know,” he said, smiling grimly as he stepped out of the Jeep and patted his jacket pocket to make sure the extra box of ammunition was still there. 
It was a little past six o’clock in the morning. Already the day was warm, a promising start to a beautiful Indian summer weekend. Sandy had gotten up before dawn to drive her father out to the base of the Round Top Trail. This was the longest of five major trails leading up to the summit of Mount Agiochook. Mark had decided to take it, rather than the Wheaton Trail or any of the other trails, because there was less of a chance that he would encounter any of the rangers who were still out searching for Phil. After all, hunting season was more than a month away, and he didn’t want to be seen carrying a rifle in the woods, especially the White Mountain National Forest. 
“I have no idea what I might be up against,” Mark said, looking suddenly serious. Other than the initial report to LaBrea, he hadn’t mentioned to anyone the creature’s attack on his campsite or seeing Phil carried off by—whatever that thing had been. “If I have to stay out here for a while, I may even end up having to hunt for my own food.” 
Sandy knew enough about hunting and hiking so her father didn’t need to mention some of the other dangers he might encounter. 
“But you won’t forget to meet me here in three days with more supplies, right?” he asked. 
“Sure thing,” Sandy said. She watched silently as her father dragged his carefully packed backpack out onto the ground and gave it a cursory inspection. 
“I’m sure I’ll need more food, clothes, and maybe bullets.” 
He glanced over his shoulder at the thin ribbon of brown trail that led up the gently rising slope and into the forest. From here, he couldn’t see the mountain peak that was his goal, but that didn’t matter. This wasn’t a hike to make it to the summit and then come back