“I’ve spent days in them. They fit well, never blister.”
Those seem to be the magic words. “Fine. They’ll do.”
We move on to the contents of Josh’s enormous pack. Attached to the outside is a rolled foam pad secured with bungee cords, then a long nylon drawstring bag with the mouth pulled tight. I feel the contents with my fingers, identifying the shape of thin rods and squishy fabric.
“Tent,” I declare triumphantly.
“Do you want a prize?”
“Maybe.”
I check out the water bottles and a dangling red emergency whistle—something I carry in urban environments. Moving on to the front zippered pocket, I discover a first aid kit, plus a separate blister kit with sheets of moleskin. Snacks—protein bars, granola, mini peanut butter cups. At least Josh has taste. Then comes a whole host of miscellaneous supplies—waterproof matches, Bic lighter, utility knife, headlamp, flashlight, water filtration system. Finally, I pull out a sandwich bag with what appear to be greasy cotton balls.
“Cotton balls dipped in Vaseline,” Nemeth says. “Preferred fire starter for most.”
I nod as if I knew that. Now I am nervous. Have I bitten off more than I can chew? It’s hard to know. I’m always out of my league. Always someplace new where I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing. All these years later, I’m comfortable with being uncomfortable.
I don’t want to interfere with Martin’s final effort to bring home his son, however. Nemeth may be a hard-ass, but he’s also correct. If I’m going to join this search, I need to pull my own weight.
I switch gears as I open up the hooded cover of the giant bright yellow pack to reveal a treasure trove of clothes.
“What do you think of Martin?” I ask Nemeth as I pull out pair after pair of heavy wool socks. These, combined with my own boots, will get the job done. Next, I pull out two jackets, one thin and windproof, one lined and waterproof. They’ll be big on me, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Watching me from his perch on the other bed, Nemeth shrugs. “What do you care?”
“Because I do. Because I head off into the woods with complete strangers to retrieve their loved ones.”
“Obsessively butt into other people’s business, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
“What do you want?” Nemeth pushes, his tone skeptical. I’m used to it. I stop digging around in the bright yellow pack to look him in the eye.
“Same thing you and Martin want. To bring Tim home. To bring a family closure. To . . .” I hesitate slightly, then add with a small shrug, “To heal someone else’s wounds because I don’t know how to heal my own.”
“How many times have you done this before?”
“Sixteen.”
“But not search and rescue?”
“Cold cases. All over the country. Tribal lands, inner cities, small towns. You have no idea the number of people who’ve gone missing that no one is even looking for.”
“How do you hear about them?”
“The news, which is what brought me here. Or online forums, such as the one where I met Bob. There are entire websites dedicated to bringing attention to such cases.”
“You don’t know any of these victims? Have any personal connection to the families?”
“You never met Timothy O’Day. You’re volunteering your time.”
Nemeth frowns, studies the brown carpet.
“I led that operation,” he says at last. “I didn’t bring Tim home. His fate is still my responsibility.”
“What about the other missing people?”
He glances at me in surprise. “You already gossiping with the locals?”
“It’s a gift.”
“Do you know how big the Popo Agie Wilderness is?”
“I’m going with large.”
“Try fucking huge.”
“I like you more and more.”
“We have woods, mountains, streams, lakes, gullies, cliff faces, wild animals, not to mention some man-eating carnivores—”
“Bigfoot?”
“This is nature,” he says. “Raw. Powerful. Vast. Over a hundred thousand acres. Simple matter of statistics, not all will make it out alive.”
“How very Hunger Games of you.”
“Practical. Man can progress as much as we want. Mother Nature still owns our ass.”
“What are your thoughts on chocolate? I feel like you could use more decadence in your life.”