The instructor, p.2
The Instructor, page 2
When Gil is within a few feet, he starts speaking in his slow drawl. “I just wanted to apologize for slowin’ you down back there.”
Derek flashes him a smile and waves him off. “No worries, Gil. We didn’t get back too late. It happens. Take care now.”
“No, no. I mean it. I feel terrible that you didn’t get to do your final class on account of me.”
Behind Gil, the last car drives out of the clearing. The bachelor party honks and waves as they speed away. Derek waves back, smiling at the thought of whatever strip club they’re about to frequent. They had privately shared the plans for their anticipated “stink and drink” with him over the weekend, bringing back memories of him and his buddies spending their paychecks as young, single, and stupid Marines.
Gil watches the car as it goes farther down the gravel path, still talking but eyes fixated on the vehicle. “You see, I ain’t never had to do something like this before. Heck, I guess you can say I was a little in over my head. That damn Bear Grylls makes it look so easy and all, and I…” The car disappears from sight as he trails off. “All right. Enough horseshit.”
Derek snaps his head back to Gil. The last four words came out as if spoken by a completely different person. The drawl vanished. The statement was sharp and exacting. Even as he looks the man over, Derek can see Gil change. His posture goes from stooped to standing erect. His gangly frame now seems to ripple with wiry strength. The man’s features tighten from a slack-jawed idiot to someone with a hardened disposition. Gil’s eyes alight with a fiery intelligence that hadn’t been present the last three days.
It’s enough to set off internal alarms.
2
Derek takes the smallest of side steps, a nonchalant move in perception that accomplishes getting him away from the open cab of his truck, lest Gil should try to rush him. At the same time, he squares to the man and sets his feet. Derek thinks of the StatGear survival knife on his belt and the Sig Sauer .40 caliber he keeps in the glove box. “I’m sorry? What was that, Gil?”
“I said we can stop playing around now.” The voice is the same, clear of any country drawl and lethargy.
“Playing? Gil … what…”
The man shakes his head and waves a hand. “Don’t get all worried, D. There’s no cause for panic. Let me cut to the chase.”
Derek squints and inclines his head. “Umm, all right, I guess.”
Gil’s lip twitches upward in the slightest of smirks. “I represent a certain … group. One that wishes to remain anonymous and is in the market for some advanced training. I came here to check you out, and after this weekend, I think you’re the right man for the job.”
Derek regards the man a moment. “What kind of advanced training are we talking about?”
“Nothing outside of what you did here, but we don’t want the broad strokes. We need someone that can get into the details. Teach us true survival. Natural medicine. Wild edibles. Trapping. Primitive tools. Real off-the-grid skill sets, you know? And I need someone who can stick around and teach it until we’ve gotten it down pat. You game?”
Another pause. Derek eyes the man. It’s not the first time he’s been asked for specialized training from groups looking to remain hidden. Between all the TV shows about prepping and the zombie apocalypse, the way the country seemed ready to tear itself apart—hell, the state of the world in general—there was no shortage of survival extremists out there. Mostly, they were harmless. People who believed that the next civil war or world-ending event was right around the corner and they wanted to get a leg up on the competition for the ensuing aftermath. At the same time, they could barely run their normal day-to-day lives, much less have hope for defeating the undead in an atomic aftermath. Even with that reality, they were paying customers …
“I mean … I can teach all that, sure. That and some stuff you didn’t mention. How long of a time frame are we talking here?”
“Two weeks minimum with the possibility for longer.”
Derek sighs. “It’ll be tough to schedule, but I might be able to arrange that with enough notice. When are you looking to do this?”
“We leave right now.”
Derek laughs, shaking his head. “No way. I gotta get home, Gil. I’ve got other classes scheduled that I need to prep for. I’d have to cancel them. Issue refunds. Not to mention my other commitments.” He turns and starts to get into the cab.
“Not even going to entertain the idea?” Gil asks.
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” Derek replies, turning the truck over. He goes to pull his door shut.
Gil grabs the frame and leans in. “Will ten grand change your mind?”
Derek freezes. The two men stare at each other. Derek searches his eyes for dishonesty and finds no trace of it. That doesn’t mean he has to clue Gil in to that fact. “Horseshit. I don’t know what kind of a charade you’re trying to pull here, but if you think I’m gonna believe you’ve got ten grand to spend, you’re crazy.”
Gil frowns and takes a step back from the door. He digs into a cargo pocket and produces a plastic bag with a stack of bills in it. The man takes out the stack, pulls off a rubber band, and fans out the money. Benjamins. Every last one.
Derek looks at the money. Looks at the man. Looks back at the money. Even if he could guarantee a class every weekend, which he couldn’t, it would take two and a half months to make that much money. Times were tough, and Derek had to keep lowering his rates just to attract customers. He cuts off the truck. “Other than the time frame, what’s the catch?”
“No catch, D. Just what I told you. You come. You teach. You get paid. You go home. Simple.”
Derek slides out of the cab. “This group I’d be teaching? Your group. You’re not mixed up in something that’s gonna get me thrown in jail, are you? Because I’m telling you right now, I sense even the slightest bit of impropriety, I’m gone. Not only am I gone, I’ll expect to be paid full freight for my trouble.”
Gil’s smirk returns, a little wider than before. “No impropriety, D. Just a bunch of concerned citizens looking to safeguard their future. That’s all. But we’ve got conditions too. The pay isn’t just for the training, it’s for your discretion as well. I wasn’t kidding before about our anonymity. We’re expecting that our identities and anything else you learn about us will remain confidential. Indefinitely.”
“I can keep a secret.”
“Yeah. Something about you tells me that you can. That’s why I made the offer. You in?”
Derek rubs his beard. “Two weeks?”
Gil nods. “Starting tomorrow. It’ll take us most of today to travel up.”
A long pause passes between them. After a few moments, Gil smiles.
Derek gives in. “Let me make a call.”
Gil steps back and gestures to the clearing. “Of course.”
Derek walks out and thumbs open his home screen.
She picks up on the third ring. Her voice is stressed, like she’s been running late for most of the day. It’s also tinged with sadness. Nothing deep or even alarming. Just a sliver of it underneath the surface. A perpetual drip coming from a leaky faucet. “Hey. You on the road yet?”
“Hey. No. Not yet.”
The rustling of grocery bags comes through the other end of the phone. “You’d better get a move on. The game is in two hours. You don’t want to be late. He’s the starting pitcher today.”
A twinge tightens the muscles in his stomach. Derek searches for the words, but they don’t come. The rustling stops on the other end.
“Derek?”
“Yeah, I’m here, Kim. Listen, about today…” Dead silence greets his lead-in. He knows that she’s steeling herself. Bracing for yet another disappointment. “I’ve got an opportunity developing here. Something pretty substantial, otherwise I wouldn’t even entertain the idea, but it means taking the job now.”
The silence lingers on. She sniffles into the receiver before speaking again. “Derek, he’s been talking about having you there all week. You know how much this is going to hurt?”
Looking back over his shoulder, he sees Gil leaning against the tailgate of his truck, that same devious smirk locked on his face. Derek turns back and walks farther into the clearing, lowering his voice at the same time. “You know that’s the last thing I would ever want to cause, but you also know how far back I am with the support payments. I’m trying to do the right thing here. This job will let me square things away.”
“I told you that we’re doing okay. I’m making it work.”
“And I appreciate that, but I still need to be able to support my family. Whether we’re together or not. Please. I’m asking you not to take that away from me or make this any harder than it already is.”
More sniffles. “All right. Okay,” Kim replies. “How long will you be gone?”
“Two weeks.”
“Okay. I can rearrange things for next weekend. Could you at least take him for a little bit the Sunday that you get back? He has a game then too. Four o’clock.”
Derek swallows. His legs suddenly feel shaky. “Yes. I’ll make sure to be back in time.”
“Do you have a few minutes? Could you at least talk to him quickly?”
“Would that be all right? I’d like to explain it to him myself if I could,” Derek says, looking up into the trees. A pair of squirrels scurry after each other, their tails twitching.
“Sure. Hang on.” The phone jumbles as Kim walks across the house.
A thought jumps into the forefront of Derek’s mind while he waits. He was out grabbing beers with some of the guys after work, back when he was trying to make a post-military career sitting behind a desk. It wasn’t anything crazy, two or three beers each, and then they all split off to go their separate ways. He stopped in a KFC drive-through to pick up dinner.
Right at that instant, Michael, barely two years old at the time, was choking on a penny he’d ingested and turning blue. To this day, he’ll never forget the panicked hysterics in Kim’s voice as he walked in the door with a sack of fried chicken and sides. She’d gotten the coin out and calmed Michael down, but was still reeling from the adrenaline and shock from seeing their son that way.
Derek hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been there because he was out drinking with the guys. Beers and fried chicken, and he’d almost lost his son as a result. How many more of those instances would come up that he wouldn’t be there for?
How many more beyond not being there today?
“Michael, your father is on the phone,” Kim calls.
Derek can hear the pounding of feet down the stairs. The phone jostles a little before his son’s voice comes over the line.
“Daddy?”
His own voice immediately softens. “Hey, buddy! How’s everything going?”
“Good. Why are you calling? Will I see you before the game?”
“Well…”
Disappointment seeps through the line. “You’re not coming, are you?”
The pit in Derek’s stomach grows. He swallows before going on. “No, buddy, I’m not. I have to work. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I understand.” His son tries to be resilient despite the heartache Derek knows he just caused.
“There’s my good boy. And listen, Mike, I’m going to make this up to you. I promise. How about we finally go to that Yankee game together?”
The voice on the other end brightens. “Really? We can go?”
“Sure can, bud. Once I finish this job, I can get us tickets.”
“And hot dogs? And ice cream too?”
Derek chuckles a little. “Sure, bud. Whatever you want.”
“Can the seats be behind home plate?”
“Almost anything you want. But I have to work first before I can buy them. Is that okay with you?”
Michael’s exuberance can hardly be contained. “Sure, Dad. No problem.”
“There’s a good boy. Good luck today. Use that split-finger grip I showed you, and don’t forget to choke up on your bat.”
“I know, Dad,” Michael returns in an exaggerated voice.
Derek laughs. “All right, champ. Now put your mom back on for me. Okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
“Love you, buddy.”
“Love you too, Dad.” And then a second later, “Mom! Dad wants to talk to you again!”
The phone jostles, and Kim’s voice returns. “So, I guess I’ll see you in two weeks, then. You need me to call the VA for you and change your appointment?”
Derek resists going down that road with her and pivots the conversation. “Listen, Kim. I also need a favor.”
She hesitates, seemingly reading his mind. “Derek, I don’t know. It’s hard enough getting everything accomplished between Michael and work.”
“I know it is, and I’m sorry to even have to ask, but he’ll just be sitting in the apartment the whole time without me there. Just look in on him. Two or three times tops, if only to make sure he’s eating and showering.”
A deep sigh comes through the phone. “What happened to that nurse’s aide you were going to hire?”
“I did. Three of them so far. He hated two of them, and I found out the third was stealing his shit.” He moves into a tried-and-true methodology. “Come on. You know he still adores you. He blames me every day for our splitting up. And you know you love your talks with him. No one else gets him to respond like that. Stock the fridge. Have a cup of coffee with him. I’ll reimburse you whatever you spend and throw a hundred on top of it.”
“Yeah, okay,” she says, resignation intertwined in her voice. There’s a brief hesitation, almost as if Kim didn’t want to ask but couldn’t help herself. “Are you okay? I don’t like that you’ll be going so long between appointments.”
The issue of his counseling, or lack thereof, had long been contested in the house before their divorce. It was always a sore subject for him, one that he felt she leveraged in every argument as a force multiplier. The resistance to talking to someone undoubtedly contributed to their eventual parting. It wasn’t until the anger got to be so bad that he was being triggered by his son that Derek finally started going to counseling. Even with having accepted the need, it still rubbed him the wrong way acknowledging it.
“I’ll be all right. I’m going to be outdoors the whole time. You know that’s sanctuary to me. I’ll go when I get back.”
A final pause. A final sniffle. “Okay, then. Safe driving. See you in two weeks.”
“Yeah. Two weeks. Thanks, Kim. I mean it.”
“Goodbye, Derek.”
“Bye.”
He takes a moment to gather himself before stuffing his phone in his pocket and spinning around. As he crosses back to his pickup, Gil stands up from his lean.
“So, we good?”
“I’ll do it,” Derek says, “on one condition.”
“That being?”
“Ten grand for the two weeks, but that’s it. I won’t do it with the whole extension parameter tacked on to the end. We go tomorrow through next Saturday. If at the end of that time you think you need more training, we’ll make a new arrangement, but Sunday morning, I drive back.”
Gil considers the man for a moment. “That it?”
“The money you just showed me. I hold on to that starting now. Consider it a security deposit. Just in case.”
The man’s eyebrows furrow. Gil stares at Derek as he runs his tongue over his front teeth, the motion ending in a click. “I suppose I can live with that too,” Gil says as he hands over the bundle. “It’s only half, anyhow. The rest I’ll get you after we’re done. Anything else?”
“That’s it.”
The man breaks into a wide smile. “Well, let’s get movin’, then. Got a long drive ahead. Follow me.”
Gil crosses over to his Suburban, and Derek climbs into his truck. Twenty minutes later, they pull onto Interstate 87 and head north. Derek sags into his seat, wrestling with fatigue and wondering if he’s made the right decision. The miles and hours tick by. Derek cranks the radio to help stay awake. Gil’s Suburban ambles on, not driving slowly but not exactly opening it up either. They maintain a steady sixty-five to seventy-five the entire ride. Most cars whip past them on their left. They stop quickly along the way to fuel up, use the bathroom, and grab some snacks, but then they’re back on the road.
It’s another several hours before they pull off onto Route 73 and then later connect to Route 86 heading northwest past Lake Placid. Exiting onto roads less and less traveled, large stretches of open farmland and dense woods greet them. Even the towns they pass through barely qualify as such. Maybe a post office. A few traffic lights. A VFW. That’s about it. Derek soaks it all in. People don’t realize, but there’s just as much country life going on in upstate New York as there is in rural Oklahoma.
He zones out, following through the twisting roads until he realizes a lot of time is drifting by. Sitting up, Derek starts taking closer stock of their movements. It only takes a few minutes to notice they are winding around in circles. The lead vehicle doubles back in the direction they just came and overlaps routes with no discernable rhyme or reason.
Too late, he realizes that Gil is purposely trying to disorient him. Derek curses himself for not paying closer attention. His anger boils to the surface as new reservations put him on guard. What reason could the man have for taking such a deliberate action? Derek remembers the emphasis Gil had placed on the group remaining anonymous, but was that it, or something more?
He focuses on getting his bearings and searches for a terrain feature that he can fixate on. The vehicle ahead of him pulls off into thick woods and drives down a gravel path deep into the forest. Derek has no choice but to follow. As they ascend higher and higher into the hills, the roads diminish even further, from packed gravel to dirt trails, some barely wide enough for the vehicles to fit through. His side-view mirrors scrape against branches and bushes.
Gil weaves them through a network of changing directions, which, when combined with the dense forest and the setting sun, compounds Derek’s confusion. Even if he wanted to bail, he would be hard-pressed to find his way out of the woods on his own. Taking stock of everything, Derek decides to press on, the needs of the job outweighing his concerns for the moment. For the second time that day, his mind drifts to the pistol in his glove compartment.
