Psych: The Call Of The Mild Part 15

"I'm afraid that meeting will have to wait until you have actual proof," Rushton said. "I need you to accompany my employees on this retreat. After all, if one of them is a killer, I'm depending on you to protect the rest."

"The best way to protect them is to bring them down in the helicopter," Shawn said.

"Apparently we disagree," Rushton said. "If only there were some way to come to an amicable resolution of our differences. Oh, wait, there is. You agreed to serve as my in-house investigative department, which means you belong to me. And if you don't take part in this retreat, I will sue your firm out of existence."

Rushton hit a b.u.t.ton on his desk, and the screen went blank.

Gus risked another glance at his friend and this time he found exactly what he most feared: Shawn was giving him a look filled with sympathy.

"We don't have to do this," Shawn said.

"You heard what he said."

"So he sues us," Shawn said. "What's the worst thing that happens? He wins a judgment for gazillions of dollars against Psych. The firm goes out of business, and he gets nothing."

"But we are Psych," Gus said.

"We'll start a new firm," Shawn said. "If we can't call it Psych, we'll call it something else. Ic, maybe. Or Out. There are lots of things that come after 'Psych.' "

Gus felt a rush of warmth for Shawn. That his best friend was willing to sacrifice the only career he'd ever loved just to spare him some misery was overwhelming. So much so that it was even able to overwhelm his fear.

"Not a chance." Gus peeled his hands off the armrest, then used one of them to unbuckle and fling off his seat belt. "Let's get out there and kick some mountain b.u.t.t."

Chapter Thirty-One.

Now it starts, Gus thought. Any second now my heart rate is going to jump up, my breathing will turn into a series of harsh gasps, my pulse will become ragged and thready-and I don't even know what that means except they always say it on TV before the really bad stuff starts to happen. Then the panic will take over completely, and I'll start to run blindly. The last thing I'll feel is the empty air under my left foot as I step off that cliff . . .

There was certainly plenty of reason for Gus to panic. They were stranded in the wilderness. And this wasn't the parklike forest of his recurring dream. This was the top of a granite mountain hundreds of feet above the tree line. Wherever he looked, he saw a vast sea of wild country spread out below him, broken only by the jagged peaks of the rest of the mountain range. It would take a day of hiking just to get to the kind of green wasteland he was used to.

And Gus' rescue-his only hope for rescue-the glorious, luxurious helicopter that had brought them to this high-alt.i.tude h.e.l.l, was nothing but a tiny speck disappearing in the distance. It was already indistinguishable from the enormous birds of prey that circled over the mountain-no doubt vultures waiting to pick the flesh off his broken carca.s.s.

Gus took a breath, expecting his throat to close up and choke off his airway. To his surprise, clear, clean mountain air flowed down easily into his lungs. It flooded his bloodstream as his heart pounded slowly and steadily. It took him a moment to realize exactly what was going on here: He wasn't panicking.

Not only was he not panicking, but he actually felt better here at the top of this mountain than he had in days. The hiking shoes Hector had given him were so firm and springy that Gus had to force his legs not to start walking. His new outfit was even better. He had bright blue tees in long and short sleeves, both made of some miracle material that was supposed to wick all moisture, body odor, and, according to the label, bad karma away from his body. His shorts looked like generic cargos, but they were breathable, water- and wind-resistant, and also spent their spare time wicking bad things away. Best of all were the zippers that ran around the bottom of each leg; in his pack were extensions that would turn the shorts into long pants in case it got cold. Even the socks seemed to have been woven by wizards. His feet had never felt so snug.

And he'd taken a moment to glance through the backpack that had his name on it. There were several changes of those wonderful socks and underwear, a Swiss Army knife, a full first-aid kit, two one-liter bottles of water, and a sleeping bag and pad strapped to the pack's bottom. A fat, yellow plastic cylinder hung off a clip on the pack's frame; Gus realized this must be the emergency beacon. And then there was the food. Lots and lots of freeze-dried food. Gus had tried freeze-dried food before-his parents had hidden a stash of powdered eggs, pemmican bars, and Tang in their bas.e.m.e.nt during the Cuban missile crisis, and Gus had sampled it all when he and Shawn found the stash decades later-but what he had in his pack was nothing like that. He had kung pao chicken and beef Stroganoff and shrimp Newburg and huevos rancheros. For side dishes he had peas and corn and bacon-infused mashed potatoes; desserts included fudge brownies and banana cream pie and blackberry cobbler. In their current state they all weighed just a little bit less than nothing, but once Gus added water, it would be like he had the entire buffet from a high-end Indian casino.

Gus was feeling so good it took him a moment to realize why Shawn looked so grim as he walked over to him. It wasn't just the hazard-warning red of his high-tech T-shirt; he was seriously troubled.

"You sure you're okay?" Shawn said.

"I'm not going to let something stupid like a recurring dream get me down."

Shawn studied him carefully. "You be sure to tell me if you begin to hallucinate. Because I know how disturbing a recurring nightmare can be."

"That's the second time you've said that," Gus said. "But you never told me what your dream is."

"Let's just a.s.sume it has something to do with pudding, and leave it there," Shawn said. "Anyway, if you're really okay, the others are ready to start walking. The only thing stopping them is that they're still fighting over which of six different paths they should take."

"Six?" Gus glanced over to see the lawyers in heated debate. Even though they had all changed out of their suits and into the same kind of comfortable sportswear that Gus had on, but in varying colors, they still looked like they were arguing in front of a judge. Except, of course, for Jade, whose short, formfitting emerald dress made her look like Rima the Jungle Girl arguing with the rest of the Super Friends. "There are only five of them."

"Balowsky was fighting for the southern route, but when it looked like Mathis was going to agree with him, he changed to an eastern path just to keep the fight going for a little longer."

Shawn moved closer to Gus to make sure they could talk without being overheard. "I checked my pack," he said, "and it looks like we've got enough food for six days, just like Rushton said. Unfortunately it's going to be two weeks before these people can agree which way to go. Then it will merely be a matter of which side of the mountain to roll our bones down."

"Maybe we should just choose one and go," Gus said. "See who follows us."

"That would be a good idea if either of us had the map," Shawn said. "I have an alternative plan."

"What's that?"

Shawn fingered the emergency beacon hanging off Gus' pack. "ET phone home."

"And then ET get sued out of existence," Gus said.

"Not if we unmask Mathis as the killer first," Shawn said. "He'll run, we won't be able to catch him, and the exercise is ruined."

"Along with our agency," Gus said. "I have a better idea. We figure out which way to go, and we use the day's hike to confirm that Mathis is our killer. Then, once we've got incontrovertible proof, we use the beacon."

"You sure about this?" Shawn asked, studying Gus' face for any sign of panic, despair, or hallucination.

"I'm really fine," Gus said. "I guess being out in the wilderness is like going to the dentist. The antic.i.p.ation is much worse than the reality."

"Funny, I've always found that having people jam razor-sharp pokers into my gums a lot worse than thinking about it," Shawn said. "But if you're really okay with this, then I guess it's time to start moving."

Chapter Thirty-Two.

Gus slipped his arms through the straps of his backpack and shrugged it tight against his shoulderblades. Once he'd fastened the chest and waist straps, the pack balanced so well it seemed weightless, and when he stood up, it felt like it was being lifted by a skyhook. "Let's go."

They walked over to the clutch of lawyers bickering across the clearing.

"Why can't you understand this?" Mathis was saying, beads of sweat dripping down from his artificially tan hairline. "The only thing to our east is the desert. If we go down that way, we're going to die in the wilderness."

"If we don't stop before we hit Nevada," Savage said, not bothering to hide the contempt in his voice. "We're hiking down the mountain, and when we reach our destination, Rushton will be waiting for us. He knows we're not skilled mountaineers, so he's going to want us to take the safest and easiest path down. If you look, you'll see that's the eastern route."

Gus looked in the direction Savage was pointing. There was a faint trail that threaded its way through a lunar landscape of enormous boulders before disappearing into a pine forest a long way below. In other words, it looked exactly like the paths leading off in every other direction from the summit.

"What makes you think the eastern route is the easiest?" Gwendolyn demanded. "If you have the map, you have a moral obligation to share that information with us."

"And then you'll have a moral obligation to share that information with Rushton," Balowsky said. "You're not fooling anyone."

Jade looked like she was about to burst into tears. Gus wondered if they would have a green tint, too. "Guys, we need to make a decision," she whined. "We should just strike out. If there was a wrong way, Rushton would have told us. So let's go west. Or north. No, let's split the difference and go northwest."

"It's a simple fact of natural law," Savage said, ignoring Jade as if she were a bright green mosquito. "The eastern side of this mountain gets far less rain than the western side. Less rain means less runoff, which means less erosion, which means an easier hike down."

"Hike down to nowhere," Mathis said. "When we were flying up here, I saw buildings on the southern approach. That must have been the park entrance, and that's going to be where we can expect to find other people."

"And you know this because you're such an expert on California, Mr. Detroit?" Gwendolyn said. "You do a lot of mountaineering in Motown?"

"I've got eyes and a strong desire to survive," Mathis said. "And unlike some of the people here, I'd rather be alive than see someone else die."

"Guys," Jade said again. "We don't have that many hours before it gets dark. We've got to start moving."

Again, her voice seemed to have the same effect on the others as a mosquito's whine. Shawn stepped up to the pack. "Do any of you have any balloons?" he said. "Because as long as you're putting out all this hot air we could use it to float down the mountain."

Even with that friendly opening, the a.s.sembled lawyers did not seem pleased to have Shawn join them.

"You're the psychic," Gwendolyn said. "Why don't you just beam us off the mountain."

"You know, that's a common misconception about my powers," Shawn said. "Believe it or not, I can't actually teleport anyone."

"That's the one thing I would believe about you," Balowsky said. "Oh, and that even in this vast, trackless wilderness you're a waste of s.p.a.ce that should be used for something more beneficial to society. Like another rock."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Shawn said. "If I could only be useful. Like the person who's got the map."

"We don't know who that is," Gwendolyn snapped. "If we did, we could be halfway down the mountain by now."

"And you'd be two-thirds of the way down, running to tell Rushton before anyone else could," Savage said.

"Let's not bicker," Shawn said. "Or maybe I should say let's not bicker anymore."

"We are having a serious intellectual argument about the proper route to take," Balowsky said. "We are adressing the issues one at a time, searching for answers to the problems they present, and coming up with a solution. We do not bicker."

"He's right," Gus said, stepping up next to Shawn. "Once you charge more than two hundreds bucks an hour, it's not bickering anymore. It's deliberation."

"Two-hundred-dollar deliberation is fine if you're suing over who is responsible for a traffic accident," Shawn said. "But when it comes to climbing down a mountain, I prefer a two-dollar map. And one of us has it."

"What good does that do us?" Gwendolyn said. "Whoever has the map can't reveal that fact. And as long as that person can't prove he or she is arguing from real knowledge and not from some half-a.s.sed Boy Scout training, there's no reason to value anyone's word over anyone else's."

"Rushton said it was so you'd learn to trust each other," Shawn said. "But I've known you all for less than a day and I know that's never going to happen. So he must have had something else in mind. Maybe we should reexamine exactly what he said."

"I believe his actual words were to the effect that if the map bearer revealed the map to the rest of us, we'd all be fired," Gus said.

"Yes," Shawn said. "If the map bearer reveals that he or she has the map, that's it. But he didn't say that anything bad would happen if someone else revealed who had the map."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Mathis said. "Tear through each other's packs?"

Gus slapped his forehead. "If only we had a psychic here who could tell us who was carrying the map."

"Why, that would be a fine thing," Shawn said. "But where would we look for such a psychic?"

"We wouldn't have to," Gus said, "if Mr. Rushton hired a psychic detective and sent him along on this trip."

"Wait a minute," Shawn said. "Didn't he do something just like that? If only we could remember who that psychic was, maybe he could help us out."

"Maybe he could help us by shutting up and letting us determine the right trail," Savage said. "Which happens to be the eastern one."

Before the arguments could start again, Shawn pressed his fingertips to his temple and squeezed his eyes shut. "I need you all to blank your minds," he said. "Don't think of anything. Let the vibrations flow."

"There's something flowing, all right, and it isn't vibrations," Balowsky said. "And my brain is never blank."

Shawn squinted one eye open and took a quick glance at Balowsky. Took a quick glance and saw. Saw the way his hands trembled slightly and sweat beaded the palms. Saw the pallor in his cheeks. Saw the tiniest difference in the size of his pupils.

"What's that I hear?" Shawn said to the sky. "There's something talking to me. It's a ghost. No, a sprite. No, wait, it's a spirit."

"If it isn't carrying a map," Mathis said, "tell it our smallest billing increment is ten minutes, so unless it wants to be on the hook for a sixth of our combined hourly charges, it should go away."

"No, wait," Shawn said. "Not one spirit. Spirits. Gla.s.ses of spirits. Quarts of spirits. Gallons of spirits. They're calling to one of us here. Join us, join our party. No one has to know."

Shawn opened his eyes and leveled his gaze directly at Balowsky. "I think that message was for you. You wouldn't happen to be in the habit of cavorting with spirits, would you? Because they really want to meet up with you as soon as possible, and they say that will happen much faster if you all stop arguing for one minute and let me do this."

Gwendolyn let out a snort of derision. Shawn looked over the group of lawyers. Balowsky was staring at the ground, his hands twitching more than before. Savage was gazing eastward, as if still figuring out their route. Mathis fumbled in his pack, pulled out a bandanna, and wiped the sweat that was still trickling down from his hairline. Gwendolyn was the only one who was looking back at Shawn. She met his gaze with an intensity Gus had seen only once, at the reptile cage at Santa Barbara's zoo.

And then there was Jade. Rushton had provided her with hiking clothes and boots in her trademark color, and it occurred to Gus that once they were in the woods, it would be extremely difficult to see her. But right now she stuck out like a bowl of lime Jell-O at a rock convention. She fidgeted nervously, her hands sliding in and out of the pockets of her dress, glancing furtively between ground and sky, and doing everything to proclaim her innocence short of whistling a jaunty tune.

"I'm seeing a trail," Shawn said. "It's long and it's hard. It's mysterious and confusing. But most of all, it's green."

The other lawyers turned as one to face Jade. She took a step back. "Why are you looking at me?" she said. "I don't have the map."

"Sure, you don't," Gwendolyn said. "Now, are you going to hand it over, or do we toss you over the side of the mountain and just follow the way you fall?"

"I can't," Jade said. "Even if I had the map, and you will all notice I'm not saying that I do, I couldn't possibly show it to you without our all being fired. We've got to work together to figure out the right way to get off this mountain."

"I agree with her," Savage said. "We don't need a map, anyway. We just need to work together to reach a consensus. And I vote that we all go whichever way Jade says. Who else?"

There was a moment of hesitation; then Mathis raised his hand. Balowsky nodded.

"Fine, we'll follow the green freak," Gwendolyn said. "But if she doesn't have the map, or if she does but she's so stupid she gets us lost anyway, I guarantee I will not be the first to die out here."

"Isn't it nice when we can all work together like this?" Shawn said. "Mr. Rushton would be so proud."

"Let's get out of here," Mathis said. "Which way?"

Jade looked around nervously. She glanced up at the sun, then down at the various trails that led away from them.

"Not that I have the map or anything like that," she said.