females spending more time and money on their hair than those from any other area of the U.S.A.
'That's why we should buy this magical mousse that ' I hit the seek button.
There was someone else explaining the reason why the weather was all screwed up: El Nino.
'We're lucky here in North Carolina, unlike the main areas hit, like Alabama; they had twisters.' I hit the switch and landed on a Christian station. This one was telling me that it was God, not El Nino, who was responsible for climate changes. Apparently the good Lord was not best pleased with all our sinning and was sending us a warning.
However, the first step toward salvation might be to buy one of the channel's leather bound Holy Bibles, available for only $98.99. All major credit cards accepted.
I was back in the woods. It was just past seven o'clock and nearing last light, especially under the canopy of high trees. That was absolutely fine by me; I wanted the maximum amount of dark to get on target and sort myself out before first light, then find out whether or not she was in the house. I hoped she was, otherwise it was back to D.C. and a great big empty drawing board.
I hadn't had time to think about a good drop-off point for the car, but maybe the lake attracted families in the evenings, and the car park had looked a very likely lovers' lane. Either way it meant other vehicles and my car would blend in.
I was about half a K. short of the car park when I finally had to turn my lights on. I had a quick spin around; there were a few lights in the tent area, but only one other car, which presumably belonged to the young couple I could see having a romantic interlude under the canopy. Well, they were until my headlights hit them and they had to hold their hands up to shield their eyes.
I parked as near as possible to the barbecue area, but not so close to the young couple that I was going to have to go 'Hi' when I got out. Not that they would have noticed me; from what I could see he seemed totally engrossed in trying to get his hand up her skirt, though unfortunately for him she appeared to be more interested in the food they were cooking.
Looking across the lake, I could see lights on in both houses. I was still gagging for a shit, so I decided to walk over to the toilets with my new boots and ring-lace them while I relieved myself. The weather was still warmish, and the crickets were really going for it, drowning the noise of my footsteps on the mud and wet gravel. The stars were trying to break though the clouds, and the surface of the lake was as flat as a mirror. I I' hoped it stayed that way and didn't rain.
^ The toilets were molded, all-in-one, stainless steel units, with just a handle sticking out of the wall, so nothing could be vandalized. It was hot, dark and muggy in the cubicle, the only light coming from outside the main door. Swarms of buzzing things had been waiting on the ceiling for some poor unsuspecting ass to show up on the radar. As the first two or three dived in I heard a laugh from the girl by the barbecue. Maybe he'd found his target as well.
I pulled out a few sheets of toilet paper from the container and its hard texture gave me a flashback to twenty-odd years ago, and the juvenile detention center: 'Three squares only,' the staff had barked.
'One up, one down, one shine.'
That reminded me, I needed to bung myself up; I'd better take some Imodium. With my Timberlands in my hand and my shiny new boots on my feet, I trogged back to the car. The lovers were nowhere to be seen, but their car was still there and the barbecue was glowing. He must have scored and they'd moved somewhere more secluded; it's amazing what you can get away with if you make a woman laugh.
I opened the trunk and got out the bergen and bow, checking that I hadn't left anything I'd be needing for the job or that would compromise what was going on if the car got nicked. In went the Timberlands; I wasn't going to fuck them up, I'd only just broken them in. I opened a foil pack of Imodium and swallowed four capsules. The instructions said two, but that was a problem I'd had all my life: I never listened to advice.
Slinging the bergen, which now had the bow strapped onto it, over my right shoulder, I had a last study of the lake and the target houses to get my bearings, and set off. My plan was to follow the shore, cross the creek, then follow the shoreline again to the target that way I avoided the track.
There was too much risk of transport going up and down it, and I didn't know how aware anyone in the buildings would be. I might compromise myself before I'd even reached the target. Do it properly and then you don't have to worry about those sorts of things.
I passed the lovers' car. The windows were very steamed up, but I could see some strange movement going on inside.
A few paces farther on, nailed to the barbecue canopy, was a large sign with 'warning' stamped on the top. I stopped to read it; the more information, the better.
'Caution Hikers,' it said, 'Hunting activities involving the use of firearms and other legal weapons may take place on the Wildlife Resources Commission Gamelands immediately adjacent to the park during hunting season.' It further warned, 'Please stay on the marked trail during hunting season to avoid the danger of possible serious injury or death. Wearing an item of bright-orange clothing is strongly suggested.'
That was all well and good, but when was the hunting season?
I carried on and got level with the tented area, encountering a two meter-high wooden fence that seemed to surround the site. I followed it until I got to the grandly named Recycling Center, which, in fact, was three galvanized dustbins for plastic bottles, glass and aluminium cans, and clambered over. A swathe about ten yards wide had been cut into the forest from the water's edge. Tree stumps an inch or two high jutted from the sandy ground, and I kept stubbing the toe of my boots as I took the beach route.
After five minutes or so, when my night vision kicked in, the going got easier. It takes a long time to adjust to darkness. The cones in your eyes enable you to see in the daytime, giving color and perception, but they're no good at night. What takes over then are the rods on the edge of your irises. They are angled at forty-five degrees, because of the convex shape of the eye, so if you look straight at something at night you don't really see it, it's a haze. You have to look above it or around it so you can line up the rods, which will then give you a picture. It takes forty minutes or so for them to become fully effective, but you can start to see better after five.
Every now and then I could hear the clinking and clanking of people in tents doing their evening stuff; I couldn't really make out what they were saying, but I was sure it would be something along the lines of 'Whose idea was it to come camping anyway?' I also heard a portable TV being tuned in, and the sound of jingles.
I was hardly behind enemy lines here, but all the time I was thinking, What if? What if I bump into someone? Answer, I'm on holiday, I'm hiking. I'd play the dickhead Brit abroad on holiday thinking he's having fun, and try to turn it to my advantage and learn as much as possible about the houses. You've always got to have a reason for being somewhere, so that if you're challenged, you won't be fumbling around trying to come up with boneheaded excuses. It also gives you a mind-set, and you can then do whatever you're doing with more confidence.
I moved off the lake shore as it petered out, and into the wood between the water and the fence. It was hardly secondary jungle; the larger trees were five or six feet apart, with smaller saplings scattered in between. It was wet and muddy, but being flat it was easy enough to negotiate.
I was just coming level with the end of the tented area when, from very close quarters, I heard a young woman's voice.
'Jimmy! Jimmy!' Before I knew it I'd stumbled on the couple from the barbecue, and from the way their clothing was rearranged, she'd forgotten what was on the barbecue entirely. It confused me; I'd thought they were in the car.
This sort of thing can go one of two ways--either they're embarrassed, so they make their excuses and move on, or if you're unlucky, the guy decides he's got to demonstrate what a big man he is.
I checked my stride and moved to the right to go around them. I tried to make it look as if I was concentrating on my footing as I passed, but without losing him from vision. He shouted, 'Who the fuck are you, man?'
and it was obvious which way this one was going to go. He stopped me in my tracks with his hand on my shoulder and held me there. I had my head down in order to look confused and unthreatening, but also to protect my face in case this kicked off.
I stuttered, 'I'm sorry to disturb you.'
He went, 'What? You some kind of sicko stalker, or what?'
'Jimmy!' The girl was trying to look as if she were brushing sand off her skirt. I couldn't see her face in the darkness, but it was obvious from her tone that she was embarrassed and wanted to get away. He had managed to
