Free The Wildman by Rick Hautala

hell am I doing here? he kept asking himself.
    The sky was already pitch black when they went back out to the beach so Evan could secure the boat for the night. It was much colder, too, but Jeff stopped and looked around at the old campgrounds, lit only by the stars and the wandering beams of their flashlights.
    It seemed like a dream. He felt completely dissociated from himself, and he couldn’t help but question who he really was and reflect on everything he had been so stressed out about lately. Everything seemed so far away now. It was like his life up until this instant had happened to someone else, and—finally—he was back where he truly belonged.
    All in all, no matter how creeped out he might feel about being here with these people, this was definitely going to be one hell of an interesting weekend.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Hobomock
     
    Logs crackled, and firelight cast a warm orange glow that filled the dining hall all the way up to the shadowed rafters where thick, dark cobwebs hung down like splashes of black ink. The shadows shifted crazily, and as Jeff eased back on his sleeping bag with drink in hand, he couldn’t help but wonder how many bats or mice or something else were up there, scuttling around to avoid the light.
    There was no electrical service on the island yet. It had been cut off years ago and hadn’t been restored. Evan said he had to get the power back on in the spring, once construction started. Other than a handful of candles he had brought and the flashlights they all remembered to pack, the fire in the fireplace was their only source of light through the night. Evan promised, once the development got going, there would be cable TV and a microwave tower for cell phone service. It wouldn’t be long before Sheep’s Head Island and Camp Tapiola had all the amenities of civilization.
    “ Do we have a working toilet?” Jeff asked.
    “ A two-seater,” Evan said.
    There was a bathroom at the end of the short hallway, but it had obviously been out of order for decades. Jeff had poked his head in just long enough to determine that the room was off limits for the duration.
    “ There’s a Port-a-Potty just outside the side door,” Evan said. He sounded a bit defensive, as if he didn’t like Jeff or anyone criticizing his accommodations. “What more do you want?”
    “ How about a place to take a dump without freezing my goddamned ass off?” Jeff said. He and everyone else except Evan laughed at that. For now, though, the men would have to make do with the primitive resources they had.
    And make do they did.
    After Jeff was settled and everyone was plying a drink, the men cobbled together a more than passable supper of hot dogs, baked beans, brown bread, and fresh salad, which Fred had brought. The only refrigeration they had was the coolers they brought, but as long as there was beer and wine ... plenty of beer and wine … they’d be set. Mike had brought a box of twenty Cuban cigars just for the occasion, and everyone except Evan lit up after supper. Dense clouds of blue smoke rose into the darkness above them as they eased back and talked. After thirty-five years, there was plenty to catch up on.
    Jeff already knew that Evan was married, had two kids, and lived in Medford, Mass., but he didn’t learn a whole lot more about Evan’s real estate development business. Truth was, he was grateful Evan didn’t try any more hard sell on them, but he was sure the pitch to invest would come before the weekend was out. Evan had to be using this weekend as a tax write-off.
    Jeff learned that Fred had been married and divorced twice and was no longer looking for a woman to be a part of his life. After Jeff dropped his line about if he buying a woman he hated a house and car, he let Fred tell them about his job as manager of the water filtration plant in the small town in Vermont. Jeff noticed that Fred didn’t talk much about his personal life, but that was fine with him. He remembered Fred as