The area, Dana said, was some sort of wildlife paradise. It was completely unmonitored by game wardens, there were almost no humans around at all to spoil the experience, and it was only about three hours’ drive from Bangor. The two of them had started talking about going up there together, but Pete knew how these things went; there would be a lot of talk and nothing would ever happen. That’s the way it was with work buddies, a bunch of back-slapping and tall tales and the occasional shared beer once or twice a month. So on a whim, he’d decided to go himself. Sure, it was winter, and hell, it would be cold as a witch’s tit, but he’d been in worse situations more than once. He prided himself on his wilderness skills, and his gear was rated to twenty below. One thing was for sure: there wouldn’t be anyone else up there to spoil the experience.

He killed off the Coors, tossed the empty bottle on the floor, and cracked open another. Foam ran over his hand and he sucked it off the neck of the bottle before it could wet his jeans. He had to be getting close to the logging trails now. Dana had said they were all over the place. He glanced at himself in the rearview mirror and thought again about hair plugs. He had a nice enough face, friendly, a little soft, but his hairline had receded enough that he’d just shaved it all off completely last year and gone with stubble. Now he looked older than his forty-two years. If he was going back on the market, he would have to make some changes. Nobody wanted to see a middle-aged man sitting alone in a bar, trying to pick up women.

He saw a break in the trees up ahead, and slowed the truck down to a crawl. Sure enough, a logging road wound off into the woods, and he pulled onto the shoulder for a better look. Not another car in sight, and the road looked to be in pretty good shape. He got out of the truck and walked a few paces through the foot-deep snow, testing the ground underneath. Frozen solid and flat enough. He got back in and drove the truck up into the woods, just out of sight of the road. Anyone passing by might see the tracks, but chances are they wouldn’t think anything of it.

Three hours later, he was sweating profusely in his heavy coat and gloves and wondering if this trip had been such a good idea after all. He had to admit he wasn’t in the same shape he had been as a younger man, and the beer buzz was wearing off, leaving him with a slight headache and a twinge in his right knee that was getting worse by the minute. In fact, now that he was sober, he realized that the wilderness skills he liked to brag about had not been used for over ten years now, and they were a damn sight rusty, to say the least.