The ball arced toward him and clipped his ear. He cried out and dropped the gun.
Brynn ignored the pain in her body and leapt forward.
She wasn't a deputy now. Not a wife or mother.
She was the wolf, a primitive creature, survival its only thought. Running, running, toes of her boots digging into the hard earth, in her hands the spear, now gleaming bright in the cold light, and aimed directly for him. She managed to resist a fierce urge to let go a mad howl.
NOW THEY WERE GONE.
Hell. For ten minutes Hart had closed the distance between himself and the women, heading straight toward the clearing--the shooting zone, he thought of it--while he'd kept tabs on Lewis.
The other man had seen or heard something to the right, the east, and hurried down the hill to the flatter ground. He'd looked around but apparently it had been a false alarm. He'd returned to the woody ridge on Hart's left. Both men had continued forward, scanning the landscape for the prey that had disappeared.
Where were they?
Had they spotted him or Lewis?
And if they had, what were their options for escape? The clearing was in front--to the north--and they obviously weren't there. Lewis was now on a ridge to the west and Hart himself was facing due south. There was a band of trees around the clearing, which the women might be hiding in. Or they might've fled down a steep drop-off to the right and were making their way east into the thick of the park. That direction would take them back eventually to the Joliet but according to the GPS, the trail was a long way off now, and they'd have to cover miles of dense woods to get there.
What would Brynn do?
He decided she'd gone down the incline that led to the streambed and then continued north toward the Snake River--only avoiding the exposure of the clearing. A longer route and harder, but safer.
She was like an animal with finely tuned instincts of survival, anticipating him.
He glanced toward the ridge, where Lewis had now paused and was looking around. Then he turned to him and lifted his arms. Meaning: They've vanished.
Hart pointed to himself and then to Lewis, who nodded. Hart began the climb to the high ground to join his partner.
WHERE?
Where was Michelle?
Carrying the Savage rifle in one hand, the spear in the other, Brynn McKenzie paused and looked around her. She was disoriented. She'd been so focused on Hart's partner that she hadn't paid enough attention to her route after she'd left the other woman to hide under the blanket of leaves.
Had she gone to the rallying point?
Brynn hoped not. The lake was farther than she'd thought and she didn't want to have to make any detours. She was flagging as it was.
Then she spotted a configuration of trees that looked familiar. She paused, glancing around for the pursuers. None in sight. She jogged down a short hill.
Turning the corner behind a large rock, Brynn stopped suddenly.
Startled, Michelle was reaching into her pocket to grab her knife. Her eyes were fierce, feral. Brynn stopped and blinked. The young woman sighed in relief. "Jesus, Brynn. You scared me."
"Shhh. They're still around here someplace."
"What happened?" the young woman whispered. "Where'd you get that?" Looking at the rifle.
"Come on. Quick. I hurt somebody."
"One of them?" Michelle's eyes glowed.
Brynn grimaced. "No."
"What?"
"Somebody else. This way."
They climbed the hill back to the blackberry tangle, where the bearded man was sitting on the ground, head low between his legs, nursing his torn ear. He looked up at Michelle, blinked. Then nodded, wincing.
Brynn explained that she'd beaned him with the billiard ball and was charging forward to spear him when he'd glanced back, having heard her footsteps.
She'd stopped just before she stabbed him, seeing his bearded face, realizing her mistake. Not expecting to find anyone else out here, armed and stoked by adrenaline, Brynn had missed that he was carrying a deer rifle, not a shotgun, and that his build seemed different from Hart's partner's.
Brynn had apologized profusely. Still, she was a law officer and, after showing her ID and badge, took control of the weapon and asked to see his driver's license.
His name was Charles Gandy, he, and his wife and some friends were camping in a Winnebago not far away.
"Are you okay to walk?" she asked him. Brynn wanted to get to the camper as soon as they could.
"Sure. It's not bad." He was holding the sock, from the bolo, against his injured ear. It seemed most of the bleeding had stopped.
Which didn't mean he wasn't going to sue the department. But that was fine with Brynn. She'd insist that the county pay whatever he wanted. She couldn't describe the reassurance she felt having found a way to escape from the park--and with a rifle in her hands.
Control...
While Brynn kept guard, Michelle helped Gandy up.
"You're hurt too?" he asked, nodding at the pool cue.
"It's okay," Michelle said absently, looking warily over the overwhelming tangle of branches, brush and trees.
"We should get moving," Brynn said. "Lead the way."
Charles Gandy knew the woods well, it seemed. He directed them past the dry streambed and along paths that Brynn hadn't even seen. This was good, since they avoided entirely the noisy leaves and branches that could have given them away. They moved up an incline then he led them around a clearing, going steadily higher. The general direction was north. Michelle limped along as quickly as she could, now using the spear as her walking stick.
Brynn, gripping the rifle, followed, looking behind more often than she looked forward.
They paused, hiding behind a seven-or eight-foot outcropping of granite. Gandy touched Brynn's arm and pointed.
Her heart jumped.
Across a long ravine was a bare ridge. Hart and his partner, holding the shotgun, stood there, scanning the ground. Frustration seemed evident in their posture.
"Is that the ones you were telling me about?" Gandy asked softly.
She nodded.
It was then that Michelle whispered, "Shoot them."
Brynn turned toward her.
Wide-eyed, the young woman said, "Go ahead and shoot them."
Brynn looked down at the rifle in her hands. She said nothing, didn't move.
Michelle's head turned toward Gandy. He said, "Hey, don't look at me. I work in an organic grocery store for a living."
"I'll do it," Michelle said. "Give me the gun."
"No. You're a civilian. If you killed one of them it'd be murder. You'd get off probably but you don't want to go there."
Then Brynn leaned over a large rock. Set the rifle on it, the muzzle in the men's direction.
They were about one hundred yards away, and Gandy's rifle didn't have a telescopic sight. But Brynn was familiar with rifles--from the training courses mostly. She'd also been hunting a few times though she gave it up years ago on a trip to Minnesota; Keith had been reloading his rifle when they'd been charged by a wild boar. Brynn had killed the crazed animal with two fast shots. She'd quit the sport after that, not out of fear--she'd secretly enjoyed the rush--but because she'd killed an animal whose only crime was defending its invaded home.
She'd been prepared to kill the partner with her spear a few minutes ago. But this seemed different, shooting somebody like a sniper.
Well, are you going to do it or not? Brynn coolly asked herself. If so, now. They're not going to be standing still forever.
Brynn decided to aim about two inches high to compensate for the arcing of the bullet over that distance. The breeze? Well, that was anybody's guess; it whipsawed back and forth.
Have to hope for luck here.
Brynn gazed down the notch in the back of the rifle and the blade sight in the front.
Both eyes open. She flicked the safety off. She started to squeeze the trigger. The trick was to keep the sights aligned on the target a
nd apply pressure until the gun went off; you never actually pull the trigger.
But just then the men separated. What had been a cluster of target became two distinct ones. Hart had apparently seen something and had moved forward. He was pointing.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Gandy asked. "Are you sure it's them?"
"Yes," Michelle snapped in a whisper. "It's them. Shoot!"
But which one? Brynn asked herself. Assuming the one I don't hit gets under cover, who should I target?
Choose. Now!
She aimed at the partner, the man with the shotgun. She lifted the muzzle high. Began to squeeze the trigger again.
But at that moment the men started down into the ravine. In an instant they were simply dark forms moving through the brush.
"No!" Michelle cried. "Shoot anyway!"
Then there was no target. They'd disappeared.
Brynn lowered her head. Why had she hesitated? she wondered. Why?
Gandy said, "We better go. They're headed in this direction."
Brynn didn't look at Michelle. It was as if the young woman, the spoiled princess, the dilettante, had been more in control than she.
Why didn't I take the shot?
She clicked on the safety and stared at the pool of gloom where Hart and his partner had disappeared. Then turned away to follow the others.
"The camper's not far," Gandy said. "A quarter mile. My friend's got a van and he should be back now. He was getting some food and beer. We'll all jump in it and get out of here."
"Who's there?" Michelle asked.
"My wife and stepdaughter, a couple of our friends."
"Stepdaughter?"
"Amy. She's nine." Gandy touched his ear and examined his fingers. The bleeding had stopped.
"She's with you tonight?" Brynn asked, frowning.
"It's spring break." He noted her troubled expression. "What's wrong?"
"I didn't know you had a child," she said softly.
"You're not bringing us trouble if that's what you're thinking. Imagine what'd happen if I hadn't found you. Those guys might've stumbled onto our camper and who knows what they would've done."
"You have a phone?" Michelle asked.
Brynn's first question, after she'd made sure Gandy wasn't badly hurt.
"I was telling your friend," he replied, "I'm not a big fan of microwaves in the brain. But we've got one back at the camper." He asked Brynn, "Say, you have a helicopter? You could get officers here pretty fast with one of them."
Brynn said, "Just medevac. Not tactical." She was thinking about the daughter and the man's family. Here, she'd tried all night not to bring this horror to innocent local residents...and now she'd endangered a family with a child.
Walking fast, breathless from the largely uphill route, they'd put the ravine far behind them. Brynn shamefully thought of it as "the place where I balked." She was furious with herself for the lapse.
Gandy said to Brynn, "You just said they were after you. You didn't say why."
Michelle, wincing as she limped, said, "They killed my friends. I'm a witness."
"No! Oh, my God."
Brynn added, "House breakin by Lake Mondac."
"Just...you mean, tonight?"
Michelle nodded.
"I'm so sorry. I--" Gandy could think of nothing to say. He asked Brynn, "And you tried to arrest them?"
"There was a nine-one-one call. We weren't sure what it was about. I got there afterward, lost the car and my weapon. We had to run."
"Lake Mondac? Where's that?"
"About five, six miles south. We were making for the Snake when they found us. We had to detour. How much farther to your camper?"
"Not far." He paused as a sheet of high cloud slipped between earth and moon and complete darkness enveloped them. A thin wash of illumination returned and he gestured to their right. Gandy led them farther through the woods. Then pointed out the start of a smaller trail. After they began down it, he stopped and gathered some brush, using it to obscure the path.
Brynn helped him add more camouflage. Michelle pitched in too, looking over their handiwork and announcing, "Perfect. They'll never find it."
Brynn shivered. The adrenaline from her abortive assault--and the sniper shot--had worn off. She'd dressed once more in the parka and the second set of sweats but the chill was back in her bones. "Are you in a campground?" The search-and-rescue mission here had been limited to the Joliet Trail and the Snake River Gorge.
"No, there's an old ranger station and a parking lot. Deserted. All overgrown. Nobody's been there for years, looks like. Kind of spooky. Stephen King ought to write a book about it. Ghost Rangers, he could call it."
Brynn asked, "How far to the access road from there?"
Gandy considered this for a moment. "There's a dirt road that goes for about a mile. It takes you to the main road in the park. Then it's about four miles to the entrance on Six eighty-two. That's the closest." He looked their way. "You can relax. We'll be on the highway in twenty minutes."
"WHERE?" HART MUTTERED.
The men were moving through the dry streambed where they'd seen their prey disappear.
"Look," Lewis called softly. He was staring at a muddy patch of ground.
"What? I can't see anything."
Lewis pulled off his jacket and made a tent with it. He took a cigarette lighter out of his pocket and, inside the garment, flicked it. Kneeling, Hart could see a series of footprints in the mud. They came from three people. "How old you think those are?"
"Look fresh to me. Who the hell's with them? Shit, if it's a cop he's got a cell phone or radio."
The lighter clicked off. The men stood up and looked around, as Lewis tugged his jacket on. Hefted the shotgun. He shook his head. "You wouldn't think a cop'd be around this time of night."
"True."
"But who else'd be here?"
"No campers this time of year. Ranger maybe. We gotta find 'em fast." Hart walked a little farther up the streambed. He crouched and ran his hand over another patch of mud. "They're going that way." He pointed up the hill. "That a path?"
"Looks like it."
Hart grabbed a fallen tree trunk to push himself to his feet. The wood was rotten and a portion of it crumbled under his grip.
In less than a second the rattlesnake nesting inside, about two and a half feet long, had launched itself silently into the back of Hart's hand--on his good arm. Before he could even shout in horror, the dark, glistening stripe of muscle had vanished.
"Lewis!" Hart pulled off his glove and saw two puncture wounds in the back of his hand, near the wrist. Shit. Was he going to die? One of the fangs had pierced a vein. Feeling faint, he sat down.
Lewis, who'd seen the strike, flicked his lighter and examined the wound.
Hart asked, "Should I suck it out? I saw that on TV, a movie."
"You're going to be okay. You don't want to suck it out. Venom gets to your heart faster under your tongue than through a vein."
Hart noted that his breathing was suddenly coming fast.
"Stay calm. The calmer the better. Let me look." Lewis studied the wound carefully.
"You going to burn it?" Hart's eyes danced as he gazed at the Bic flame.
"No. Relax."
Lewis let the lighter go dark. He took a shotgun shell out of his pocket and, with his Buck knife, carefully cut it open. He tossed aside the pellets and the plastic wad. "Hold your other hand out."
Hart did and the man poured the gunpowder, fine little black cylinders, into his cupped palm.
Lewis told him, "Spit in it. Go ahead."
"Spit?"
"I know what I'm doing. Go ahead."
Hart did this.
"Again. Get it wet."
"Okay."
Then Lewis reached into his inner pocket and took out a pack of Camels. He smiled like a cookie-stealing schoolboy. "I meant to give up smoking last week." Then he ripped open three cigarettes and sprinkled the tobacco into Hart's palm. "Mix it
all up."
Hart thought this was crazy but he was feeling even more light-headed. He did what he was told. With the knife Lewis cut the tail off his shirt. "Put that mess on the wound and I'll tie it."
Hart pressed the black-brown wad onto the punctures and Lewis tied the cloth around them and helped him put his glove back on.
"It'll sting. But you'll be fine."
"Fine? I just got bit by a rattler."
"It was pretty much a dry bite."
"A what?"
"Snake was a rattler, yeah, but a massasauga. They control how much venom they let go. They're small and don't have a lot, so they conserve it, use it on prey so they can eat. For defense they don't use much. Just enough to scare off a threat."
"Well, scared the shit out of me. I didn't hear it rattle."
"That's only if they sense you coming. You surprised him as much as he surprised you."
"No, not quite," Hart muttered. "I feel faint."
"You got a little venom and you'll feel funny some. But if that was a wet bite your hand'd be twice its size and you'd be screaming already. Or out like a light. I know we've gotta move but it's better you just sit still for five, ten minutes."
Hart had been in fist fights, he'd faced down people with weapons when he'd had none and he'd exchanged bullets from time to time. But nothing had shocked him like that snake.
This is my world. You'll see things that aren't there and miss things that're coming up right behind you.
Hart took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "That's a rush for you." He was almost enjoying the giddy sensation. He looked down at his hand, which had stopped stinging now. "How come you know all this, Comp?"
"My dad and me'd go hunting. Same thing happened to you happened to him. He explained it all what to do. Then he switched my bare behind for not looking where I was going and stepping on the nest."
They sat in silence for a moment. Hart wished that Lewis had pocketed one of the vodka bottles. He wouldn't have minded a jolt right about now.
Hart remembered that Lewis's mother was in a home. "Your father still alive?"
"Yep."
"You see him much?"
"Not really. You know, things happen." Lewis grinned, looked away and said nothing more for a moment. He started to say something. But didn't. They looked around at the wilderness, the wind shuffling leaves, the faint lapping of the lake.
"I was thinking, Hart."
"Yeah?"