Wildside Read online

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is strictly coincidental.

  Wildside

  Copyright © 1996 by Steven Gould. All rights reserved.

  Cover typography generated using wordle.net and the text from a chapter of this book.

  Additional artwork © 2010 by Steven Gould

  This novel was first published in hardback by Tor Books (Tom Doherty and Associates) in April of 1996, followed by paperback editions beginning in January of 1997 and continuing to the present. For Print Editions, see the many fine retailers of Tor Books.

  First Electronic Edition August 2010

  ISBN

  978-0-9829119-3-8

  digitalNoir publishing

  PO Box 40493

  Albuquerque, NM 87196-0493

  http://digitalNoir.com/publishing

  In the event you discover errors in the text of this edition, we’d love to fix them. Please email us at [email protected] and not only will we fix them, we’ll send you back a corrected edition in the format you previously purchased. Please send the title, chapter number, and surrounding context as page numbers vary depending on platform and font size.

  Books by Steven Gould

  The Jumper Series

  Jumper

  Reflex

  Jumper: Griffin's Story

  Impulse (forthcoming)

  Standalone Novels

  Wildside

  Helm

  Blind Waves

  7th Sigma (May 2011)

  Dedication

  For Rory

  Acknowledgements

  John Jackson and Rusty Allen for flying info. Martha Wells, Rory Harper, Geary Rachel, Tom Knowles, and Laura J. Mixon for helpful abuse and critique. Beth Meacham for saintly patience and finishing touches. And, again, Bob Stahl for asking that first question.

  Acknowledgements for the eBook Edition

  I no longer had the original digital files for Wildside when I decided to publish this eBook edition so I had to work with scanned pages and the consequent errors introduced by Optical Character Recognition software. Thanks are due to a host of volunteers who not only helped me stomp out these unwanted OCR artifacts, but also helped me fix errors that had long persisted in the print editions of the book. These include things that I hadn't realized were mistakes. So, I am incredibly grateful (in no particular order) to Lisa Spangenberg, Rob Holm, Matthew Willson, Mike Giroux, Douglas Cootey, Sarah Goslee, Rob Schutt, Curtis C. Chen, Tim Fredenburg, Brian Schoneberg, Jonathan Mulcahy, and George Allen Papapetrou.

  Thanks, guys. You made it far, far easier than it would have been.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Copyright

  Books by Steven Gould

  Dedication

  Prologue

  PART ONE: PREPARATIONS

  Chapter 1: “THEY’RE EXTINCT.”

  Chapter 2: “IT’S LOADED SO BE CAREFUL.”

  Chapter 3: “SO, YOU THINK HE WENT THROUGH AND GOT MUNCHED?”

  Chapter 4: “WE WANT TO BE ABLE TO SEE ANY PREDATORS.”

  Chapter 5: “GET OUT OF MY LIFE!”

  Chapter 6: “HE’S GONNA STALL.”

  Chapter 7: “DO YOU HAVE THE MOSSBERG STAINLESS STEEL TWELVE-GAUGE PUMP WITH THE OPTIONAL PISTOL GRIP?”

  PART TWO: EXPLORATIONS

  Chapter 8: “THERE ARE WOLVES.”

  Chapter 9: “FACED WITH JAIL, IT’S REALLY NO CHOICE, RIGHT?”

  Chapter 10: “YOU WALK QUIET, BUT YOUR FACE—WELL YOUR FACE STOMPS AROUND LIKE AN ELEPHANT.”

  Chapter 11: “WE’VE LOST THE TUNNEL.”

  PART THREE: DESTINATIONS

  Chapter 12: “HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO CLIMB THAT?”

  Chapter 13: “I SAY PUSH IT.”

  PART FOUR: COMPLICATIONS

  Chapter 14: “GO, GO, GO!”

  Chapter 15: “I’M SCARED OF THINGS I DON’T UNDERSTAND.”

  Chapter 16: “HURT HIM AND YOU DIE!”

  Chapter 17: “THERE ARE BONES, CHARLIE—HUMAN BONES.”

  Chapter 18: “WE DON’T WANT TO CUT ANYBODY IN HALF.”

  Chapter 19: “IF I’D HAD MY SHOTGUN IN MY HANDS, I WOULD’VE FIRED.”

  Chapter 20: “TRY AND STOP THEM.”

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Masha,

  Sorry, I’m dead.

  Less than two kilometers from gate. Compound fracture left tibia and fibula. Like extra knee. Damn old brittle bones. Bleeding stopped but smell attracting company.

  Tried to straighten break—passed out. Woken by wild dog sniffing leg. Ran when I shouted. Don’t want to pass out again.

  Have .45 and extra clip. Killed one dog. Others on it before it finished dying.

  Will save last bullet.

  Built tiny fire with deadwood and grass in reach. Out of water. Will put note in canteen.

  Should protect.

  Great pain. Pitiful fire but makes me feel better.

  Dogs left when sabertooth came—back after I killed it. Small smilodon, immature, I guess. Canines less than four inches. Seen bigger stalking bison. Dogs like it. Dogs may get to like me if I keep killing things.

  Time to put note in canteen. Dogs left again.

  Dire wolves.

  PART ONE

  PREPARATIONS

  CHAPTER ONE

  “THEY’RE EXTINCT.”

  Clara drove a motorcycle. Rick’s junker was down for the count and his mom wouldn’t let him use her car. Marie, despite her pilot’s license, didn’t drive, and Joey, the idiot, had his license suspended for DWI. So I drove. I didn’t even want to go, but there you have it, Charlie to the rescue, one more time.

  That week Dad was flying the DFW-DC-Boston route, so Mom said I could take the big Lincoln Town Car. I dressed like a chauffeur, in a black suit and billed hat.

  Rick was sitting on the porch steps when I pulled up. He was wearing a tux, a plastic florist’s box in his big hands. I jumped out of the car and held the rear door open. He laughed, but stopped almost immediately with a nervous look over his shoulder.

  “Come off it,” he said. “I’ll ride in front.”

  “Nope.”

  He shrugged. “Okay. Let’s get out of here, before my mom starts up again.” He folded himself into the backseat. The Town Car was huge, but Rick, though thin, was over six feet four. With him in it, the seat looked only adequate instead of luxurious.

  When we were moving I asked, “You want to talk about it?”

  He met my eyes for a moment in the rearview mirror, then looked away. “No,” he said. “I don’t.”

  I dropped him at Clara’s, so he could do the P.P.P.O., the pre-prom-parental-ordeal, and drove on.

  I had to go up to the house to get Joey. His father let me in.

  “Nice outfit, Charlie.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Maloney. Where’s Joey?”

  Someone said, “Ow!” from the back of the house. Mr. Maloney pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “They’re in the kitchen, but be warned, it’s not a pretty sight.”

  Tiny Mrs. Maloney, standing on a step stool, was pinning a white rose boutonniere on Joey’s tux jacket while Joey’s older sister, Lisa, was putting on the silver-and-ebony cufflinks. “Why didn’t you do this before you put on the jacket, you idiot?”

  Joey wiggled. “Well, excuuuuuuuuse me. I don’t wear a tux every day, you know.” He saw me.

  “Ah, thank God. Help me Charlie Ben Kenobi, you’re my only hope.”

  “Hold still!” said his mother.

  Mr. Maloney went to the refrigerator. “You want a beer, Charlie?” Mrs. Maloney started to say something, but clamped her mouth shut.

  “No tha
nks, Mr. Maloney. I’m driving.”

  Mr. Maloney blinked. “Ah, good point.” He looked at Joey. “Very good point.”

  Joey blushed.

  Mr. Maloney took a beer for himself, then, with the refrigerator still open, said, “Coke? Sugared, I’m afraid. Er, we don’t have any diet Coke.”

  It was my turn to blush. “No thanks, Mr. Maloney. Gives me zits.” Not to mention adding to my already hefty waistline.

  Joey’s torturers released him and we fled. Good-natured injunctions about “having a good time” floated after us. In the car, Joey said, “Sorry about Dad. He means well.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Marie lived only two blocks from Joey. “I’ll wait,” I said. He nodded, swallowing nervously.

  Marie’s father knew about Joey’s DWI incident. I got out and leaned against the car, visible from the house, proof to Marie’s father that Joey wasn’t driving.

  They didn’t stay inside long, but Marie’s father escorted them to the car and shook my hand.

  “Hello, Charles.” He always called me Charles. He and Marie left Vietnam in ‘75 and his English, though quite good, never lost the accent.

  “Hello, Mr. Nguyen. How are you?”

  “I am fine, Charles. I’ve let Joseph know that if you weren’t driving, he would not be taking Marie to the prom. I depend on you to bring her home safely.” He paused. “To bring all of them home safely.”

  “Daddy!” Marie exhaled sharply. She looked gorgeous. She was wearing something low-cut and tight in white, with a black silk shawl. In flat shoes she was my height, exactly, but tonight she was taller. “Show some tact.”

  Joey stared at the ground.

  I held the back door open and winked at Marie. “Certainly, Mr. Nguyen. You can count on me.”

  On the way to Clara’s, Joey ragged me, his voice pitched in a nasal whine, “Certainly, Mr. Nguyen. You can count on me.”

  “Shut up, Joey,” Marie said. “It’s not Charlie’s fault, now is it?”

  I looked into Marie’s eyes in the rearview mirror. She looked back, worried.

  “ ‘s okay,” I said.

  Joey shrugged and looked out the window for a moment, then said, “Sorry, Charlie. And thanks for driving us.”

  Marie kissed him and I felt knives in my gut. “You’re welcome.”

  At Clara’s house we had to go in for pictures. I held my hat to my chest and wore sunglasses and my black leather flying gloves.

  Clara, tall and blonde, was wearing a strapless black gown with ruffles, and her mother kept tugging it up even though it really didn’t seem to be slipping. “Mom, enough all ready!” She usually wore unisex clothes—men’s shirts, jeans.

  “Leave her be, Margaret,” said Mr. Prentice. “How can I take the picture if you’re in the way?”

  We stood still and faced the lightning in groups and pairs. Then I took a shot of the two couples with Mr. and Mrs. Prentice.

  In the car Clara said, “What took you so long, Charlie? I thought I’d die!”

  I was surprised and pleased when Joey said, “My fault. Trouble with the tux.” He didn’t mention Mr. Nguyen.

  Next stop was the Texan, perhaps the best restaurant in town. I dropped them and went home to wait for their call. They’d offered to treat me, collectively, as payment, but I’d said I’d take payment another way.

  I also didn’t want to see Joey and Marie together any more than I could help it.

  I’d eaten earlier though I wouldn’t have minded something more. Mom and I were on a diet together and it seemed my stomach never stopped rumbling.

  I spent the time reviewing the FAA Instrument Flight Rules. Mom was watching another nature documentary on TV, so I read in my room, as far from the refrigerator as possible. The phone call came after an hour and forty minutes.

  “We just asked for the check,” Marie said.

  “What did you have?”

  “Lobster. Heart-of-palm salad. Raspberry mousse for dessert.”

  “Aaaaaggghh. Okay, okay. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “You should’ve been here, Charlie. It wasn’t as fun without you.”

  “Um. See you in a few.”

  In the living room, Mom was looking at the screen with the perpetually surprised and intent expression with which she watched all things. “I’m going now—I’ll be back late, so don’t wait up.”

  She put down her notepad on a stack of wildlife journals and walked across to me. “Drive carefully. Mrs. Paige tells me that prom night is a time of increased consumption of alcoholic beverages by underage drivers.” She reached out and adjusted my tie. “Don’t let one of them crash into you.”

  “Okay, Mom.” I kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t fry your brains on too much TV.”

  She laughed, then sobered. “After this, it’s a Nova on extinctions.”

  “Oh, goody.”

  I picked the guys up two at a time, so I could walk around, open the door, and hand them out in front of the Hilton, where the prom was. Marie protested, but I said, “Let’s do it right.” Most of the kids had driven themselves and were walking in from the parking lot, so both couples had a decent audience when I did the act.

  Joey made a big show of tipping me with a twenty, but I’d promised ahead of time to give it back later. Marie squeezed my hand as I helped her out. Nobody seemed to recognize me, which was good, I guess.

  This time I parked the car and waited in the lobby. The tuxedos and gowns drifted by, like some musical. There was a chair in the corner, screened by a potted palm. I settled there, my FAA regs for company, but I didn’t read. Instead I watched them flow by, like I watched them in the hallways at school. In-groups and out-groups, nervous singles, girls in stag groups, and popular jocks with beautiful girls. Most of them tried to act older, to fit the clothes. Some of them tried being pompous. A few of them were even natural, acting no differently than they did in jeans.

  But, as usual, I watched from outside.

  The music drifted from the ballroom, a slow number. I thought of Joey’s arms around Marie and I got up, went into the hotel restaurant, and had a second supper.

  Someone shared their flask of whiskey with Joey during the prom and he was a little loud, a little clumsy. He wasn’t obnoxious, though—he just smiled a lot. Marie, Rick, and I consulted and decided coffee was in order. Besides, none of them wanted to go home yet. What was the point in being home before midnight? I had my own agenda.

  “Come on,” I said. “We’ll get coffee from Jack in the Box and go out to my place.”

  “Your place?” said Clara. “What about your mom?” I shook my head. “Not my parents’. My place.” Only Marie knew what I was talking about. We’d done touch-and-go practice landings on the grass strip there, but we’d never stopped. “He means the ranch—the ranch his uncle left him.”

  “Where is it?” asked Rick.

  “West,” I said. “Over by the Brazos. Twenty minutes.”

  Joey spoke. “We could go dancing instead. Over to Parrot’s.”

  All four of them were in the back. Clara, plastered to Rick’s side, said, “My feet hurt enough. I’m not used to heels. What’s out there?”

  I tried to control my breathing, to keep my voice calm, to make it seem as if I didn’t care. “A house. A barn. A hangar. An airstrip. A lot of trees.”

  “Anybody live there?”

  “Me,” I said. “After graduation.”

  “Whoa. Really? Your parents are okay about that?”

  “Pretty much. My dad would like to hangar his plane there, that’s why we put in the hangar. Better than Easterwood, cause it would save the hangar fees, but he’s not willing unless somebody lives out there. Too much chance of vandalism.”

  “So, like he’ll pay you instead? Since it’s your land?”

  “Ha. He’ll continue to let me fly the plane. That’s payment enough.”

  We reached Crack-in-the-Jack and I ordered four coffees and one hot tea to go. “Try not to spill it,
guys. Or I’ll hear about it.”

  I paused at the end of the driveway. “So, my place?”

  “Sounds boring,” said Joey.

  Rick shrugged. Clara whispered something in Rick’s ear, and he crossed his legs, then said, “Let’s do it.”

  Marie looked from me to Joey. “Sure. I’ve wanted to see what the place looks like from the ground.”

  Joey looked stubborn and I said, “Come on, Joey. I’ve got a surprise for you out there. I’ve got a surprise for all of you.”

  He relented. “Oh? Sure, why not. If there’s a surprise.”

  “Let’s just say it’ll be worth your while.”

  Joey threw up halfway there, but gave us enough warning that Marie got the electric window open. He got it all outside, thank God.

  “I don’t feel so good,” he said.

  Marie was frosty. “Imagine my surprise.”

  I handed him my tea, untasted. “Here—rinse your mouth out with this.”

  There was a combination padlock on the gate. I closed it behind us—there weren’t any cattle on the place, but I didn’t want anybody to wander in. We drove on a gravel road through the live oaks, down a hill, then came to the cluster of house, barn, and hangar. I stopped the car before the barn in the light from a mercury vapor light mounted on the barn that lit the grass and dirt patch between the buildings. I killed the car and we piled out.

  “How you feel, Joey?” Marie asked.

  “Okay. Thirsty.”

  I unlocked the house and turned on the living room light. Then went into the kitchen and bathroom, before returning to the living room with a big plastic glass.

  “It’ll taste a little funny. It’s well water. Here’s some aspirin, too.”

  He took three aspirin and drained most of the glass.

  Clara and Rick were on the couch. They stopped necking when I spoke to Joey. “Nice place,” said Clara. “Was this your uncle’s stuff?”

  It was old furniture, not quite old enough to be antique, but old enough to be “vintage.” Some of the chairs were patched. It was neat and uncluttered, like Uncle Max left it. I tried to keep it that way. “Yeah. I like it.”