Riley cut her eyes to Emerson. “You’re gloating again, aren’t you?”
“Big time,” Emerson said.
Riley turned her attention back to Scully. “Why haven’t I ever heard about these Rough Riders?”
“Their very existence is highly classified. There are whispers, of course, but even 99.9 percent of the people working for the Park Service have no idea who we are or what we do. Tin Man will take it from here. I think we can all take comfort in the fact that your deaths are going to be for the greater good.”
Scully left the office, and Tin Man pulled a hatchet from a holster under his jacket. “Does this answer your question?” he asked Emerson.
“You probably buy them in bulk and get them at wholesale,” Emerson said. “Personally, I think the whole Tin Man hatchet routine is a little clichéd.”
“It serves my purpose,” Tin Man said.
Bob and Jim stepped into the office.
Tin Man gestured at Emerson and Riley with his hatchet. “Truss them up and let’s move them out.”
THIRTEEN
Riley strained to adjust her sitting position so that the zip ties binding her wrists together would be just a little less uncomfortable. They had been sitting in a small cell in the back of the Yellowstone jail for almost four hours.
“Well this is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into,” Riley said to Emerson.
“It’s not over until it’s over,” Emerson said.
The door to the cell opened, and Vernon and Wayan Bagus were shoved in, hands tied behind their backs. The door closed and locked behind them.
Vernon grinned. “Well, I sure am happy to see you two. Although I can’t say I’m impressed with the facilities here. They got all the basics but none of the amenities you’d find in one of your higher class jails.”
Wayan Bagus reached into his robe and pulled out an assortment of bath soaps, shower gels, and little bottles of Listerine he’d borrowed from the Old Faithful Inn.
“I would be happy to share these with you,” Wayan Bagus said to Vernon. “Except for the Listerine, these complimentary products make your hands smell like flowers.”
Riley looked at Wayan Bagus. The zip ties that had been binding his wrists were lying on the floor.
“How did you get out of those?” she asked.
Wayan Bagus shrugged. “A wise man, recognizing that the world is an illusion, does not act as if it is real, and so he escapes suffering.”
The door to the cell opened again, and Bob walked in. “Everyone out. We’re going for a ride.”
Jim was in the hall with his service weapon drawn. Lights in the hall were dim. The building was silent. As far as Riley could see they were the only detainees.
Outside the jail, it was dark except for an idling Chevy Tahoe’s headlights. Emerson, Riley, Vernon, and Wayan Bagus were herded into the SUV. Bob and Tin Man were in the front, separated from the back by a police partition cage.
Emerson leaned forward. “Where are we going?”
“Not far,” Tin Man said. “We’re tending to your bucket list. You wanted to see some of the park’s restricted areas.”
Fifteen minutes later, Bob pulled off the main highway onto a smaller one-lane dirt access road. Tin Man got out and unlocked a gate, marked by a sign that read NO TRESPASSING.
Past the gate, the road was heavily rutted and the Tahoe crept along for a couple more miles before coming to a stop. Tin Man and Bob got out of the SUV and opened the rear door.
“Out,” Tin Man said, holding a flashlight so everyone could see the step down onto the dirt road.
“I see you traded in your semiautomatic for that big-bore bolt-action rifle,” Vernon said to Bob. “I do some hunting myself, and I know that there’s one heck of a gun.”
“What do you hunt?” Bob asked.
“Squirrel mostly,” Vernon said. “You might not think that’s got a high difficulty rating, but they’re devious devils.”
“I mostly hunt bear,” Bob said. He looked over at Tin Man. “He hunts people.”
Tin Man flicked the flashlight beam into the tall grass at the side of the road. Several sets of eyes reflected the light before the animals backed off and retreated into the darkness.
“Enough talk,” Tin Man said. “We let this drag on and it’s going to eat into my recreational time.”
Tin Man moved off the dirt road, onto a rough path that led through the brush. “Follow me and watch where you’re walking. I don’t want anyone to break a leg ahead of time. And don’t even think about wandering off the path, because Bob will shoot you if you so much as stray five inches.”
Riley, Emerson, and Vernon walked single file into the brush, stumbling over branches, struggling to keep themselves upright in spite of their bound hands. Wayan Bagus was having an easier time. No one had noticed he had escaped the zip ties. He kept his hands hidden in the folds of his orange robe.
Vernon was directly behind Tin Man. Wayan Bagus was behind Vernon. Riley was between Wayan Bagus and Emerson. The temperature was in the low forties, but Riley was sweating with the exertion of the forced walk at the high altitude and the fear of what lay ahead. She tripped and went down to one knee. The march stopped while she pulled herself up. She stood tall and they continued walking.
“Wait for it,” Emerson said softly behind her.
She knew he was encouraging her not to lose faith. He was reminding her to stay vigilant for an opportunity to turn things around.
The air was increasingly foul with the smell of sulfur and rot. The moon peeked from behind a cloud. Not enough moonlight to show whatever was beyond the path, but clearly something had died and was decomposing in the inky blackness of the night.
“You got some day-old roadkill out here,” Vernon said.
Tin Man shone his flashlight off to the side of the path, panning the beam across the field. Not far from where they were walking were piles of dead and rotting buffalo, mule deer, and elk. They littered the landscape of rolling scrub grass.
Tin Man inhaled deeply. “The smell of death. Nothing like it.”
Riley was taking shallow breaths. Her stomach rolled with nausea, and sweat dripped off the tip of her nose. “What is this place?” she asked.
“A dumping ground for dead animals,” Bob said.
“It’s not a ‘dumping’ ground,” Tin Man said. “This is sacred ground. Here there’s no rank, there’s no rich or poor, black or white, Christian or Muslim. Here you don’t even have a name. Here you’re either a killer, a scavenger, or fresh meat.”
“Which are we?” Emerson asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Riley looked out at the acres of bones and carrion. She couldn’t see them without the aid of the flashlight, but she could feel the weight of the dead animals. “You don’t bury them?”
“Bury them? These animals were all killed by natural causes. Ideally, they’d be left where they died for scavengers to eat, but it’s too dangerous to do that where tourists sightsee, so we relocate them here for the coyotes, wolves, and bears.”
They walked for several more minutes before Tin Man told them to stop. The moon was emerging from behind the cloud, so Riley could see they were standing at the end of the path and on the edge of an excavation. She guessed it had to be at least twelve feet deep. A big yellow backhoe was parked a short distance away. A couple freshly dead, half-ripped-apart buffalo were at the bottom of the pit. A pair of backpacks lay beside them, along with some barely identifiable human remains.
“Is that Joshua and Emma Bulfinch?” Emerson asked.
Tin Man ignored Emerson’s question and motioned toward the pit. “Get in.”
Emerson looked into the hole. “I don’t feel that would be in our best interest. You’re certain to kill us once we’re down there.”
“You have it all wrong,” Tin Man said. “I don’t intend to kill you. My associate is just going to shoot each of you in the leg. Then, we’ll leave you here to discover for yourselves
whether you’re predator or prey.”
Vernon lowered his center of gravity and started to sway back and forth.
“What’s he doing?” Bob asked.
Vernon did an awkward-looking somersault, struggled back to his feet, and continued to sway.
“I’m about to go all capybara on your ass,” Vernon said.
“Isn’t a capybara a rodent?” Bob asked Tin Man.
Tin Man smiled. “I think he means ‘capoeira,’ the Brazilian martial art based on dance and acrobatics.”
Everyone was mesmerized by Vernon.
“Has he really been studying capoeira?” Riley asked Emerson.
“He had a Groupon at a local dance studio for a free introductory Zumba class last month,” Emerson said, “but the instructor was sick, so they stuck him in the capoeira class instead.”
Riley caught a flash of orange in her peripheral vision and turned in time to see Wayan Bagus spin and perfectly execute a flying kick to Bob’s gut. Bob doubled over on a whoosh of expelled air and dropped his rifle. He staggered back and tumbled into the pit. Wayan Bagus grabbed the rifle, and threw it into the brush.
“Nice move,” Tin Man said, “but it was a big mistake to get rid of the rifle.”
“It was of no use to me,” Wayan Bagus said. “I could not let you use it to injure my friends, and I could not use it to injure you. I would prefer not to contend.”
Tin Man pulled a pair of hatchets from a concealed holster. “And I intend to contend,” he said. “The rifle wouldn’t have been much use to me either. These are my weapons of choice.”
Tin Man threw the first hatchet at Emerson, missing him by less than an inch. He brandished the second and moved past Riley and Emerson, toward Wayan Bagus.
Vernon roared, doing his best imitation of a pissed-off bull moose. “Capybara your ass,” Vernon yelled, charging Tin Man and head-butting him from behind, knocking him into the pit beside Bob and the buffalo.
“Thank you,” Wayan Bagus said to Vernon. “It was thoughtful of you to come to my aid.”
Riley peered over the edge of the pit. Tin Man was slowly getting to his feet. Bob was standing but looked dazed and uncomprehending.
“I have to admit, I was a little worried there for a while,” Riley said.
“No need for that when you got Little Buddy and me tag-teaming,” Vernon said. “Isn’t that right, Little Buddy?”
“What is ‘tag-team’?” Wayan Bagus asked.
“Tag-team’s what they do in the WWE. That’s World Wrassling Entertainment. Don’t tell me you don’t follow the WWE. Where’ve you been all your life?”
“In a monastery and then on an island…until someone stole it,” Wayan Bagus said.
“I’m thinking it’s lucky for you someone stole that island,” Vernon said. “Otherwise you might have lived your whole life without the WWE and two-ply toilet paper.”
“I do like the two-ply toilet paper,” Wayan Bagus said, retrieving the hatchet Tin Man had thrown at Emerson.
Wayan Bagus used the hatchet to free Riley, Vernon, and Emerson from the zip ties, and everyone moved to the edge of the pit. Tin Man was clawing at the rocks and dirt, trying to climb out, not having any luck at it.
Emerson leaned over the edge. “We have to be going now. We’re going to borrow your Tahoe. You two can stay here and work on your survival skills.”
It was difficult to see Tin Man’s face in the dark shadows at the bottom of the pit, but Riley could hear him swear. She saw the flash of a hatchet blade, and her breath caught in her throat as, without warning, Tin Man buried the blade deep into Bob’s chest. Bob fell back and lay motionless, the hatchet still in him.
Riley clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from retching. The smell, the dead animals, the brutality at the bottom of the pit was overwhelming. The only thing stopping a flood of tears was the fact that she was completely dehydrated.
“Remember this,” Tin Man shouted, pointing at Emerson. “I worked with this man for the past seven years, and I liked him. He’s dead because of you. I want you to take a good look so you know exactly what I’m going to do to you the next time we meet.”
“We’ll see,” Emerson said. “Now I have a hatchet too.”
Riley thought it was a good thing the flashlight was at the bottom of the pit with poor dead Bob, because without it the rifle was hopelessly lost in the brush. She knew for certain if she had the rifle she’d shoot Tin Man, and it would put a big black mark on her karma.
Emerson led the way out, and everyone found it easier to follow the path with their hands free and the moon shining down on them.
There were occasional rustlings in the brush, and Riley caught the sound of what she suspected was an animal gnawing on a bone, but she kept her head down and forged ahead. Relief washed over her when she saw the brush give way to the road and the parked SUV.
The Tahoe was unlocked, and the keys were in the ignition. Not much chance of auto theft in grizzly backcountry.
Riley looked in the glove compartment and under the front seats.
“What are you looking for?” Emerson asked.
“A gun,” Riley said. “I’m contemplating shooting Tin Man.”
“That would not be a good thing,” Wayan Bagus said.
“He’s a killer,” Riley said. “And he’s going to continue to kill. He needs to be stopped.”
“I’m with Riley,” Vernon said, “but it doesn’t matter, because there doesn’t appear to be another gun.”
Riley looked at the hatchet Emerson was carrying.
“No way,” Emerson said. “It’s too risky.”
He was right, she decided. Her daddy had taught her how to use a gun. She had no experience with a hatchet.
FOURTEEN
It was close to midnight when Riley parked the Tahoe behind the Old Faithful Inn. It had been decided that they would all go to their rooms, ransack their minibars, and meet back in the parking lot in no more than ten minutes.
Riley and Emerson were the first to return to the SUV.
“I’m not comfortable with this,” Riley said, chugging a bottle of water and tucking into a granola bar. “This is the first place anyone would think to look for us.”
“If Tin Man succeeds at getting out of the pit, it will take him at least another hour before he can make his way back to park headquarters in Mammoth.”
“You don’t know that for certain,” Riley said. “He could know a shortcut. He could already have a search party out looking for us.”
“Unlikely,” Emerson said.
“Why are you and Vernon and Wayan Bagus so calm about all this? It’s like I’m the only one who worries about anything.”
“Vernon isn’t smart enough to worry. Wayan Bagus is at peace with the universe. And I’m pure bravado. I’ve found that I can bluff my way through almost anything and talk myself into believing it.”
“Wow.”
“You hadn’t figured that out?”
“No,” Riley said.
“Well, then, I’m sorry I told you. I suppose I’ve ruined my image as a hero.”
Riley smiled at him. “You have your moments. You saved my life in the museum.”
“I did,” Emerson said. “I was excellent.”
“As long as I’m the designated worrier, let’s think about this stolen Tahoe. We can’t ride all over creation in it.”
“We aren’t riding all over creation. We’re going to hike to Sour Creek Dome. Vernon is bringing the backpacks.”
“I understand your need to get to the bottom of this, but hiking to Sour Creek Dome is a dumb idea. There’s a psycho axe murderer and his small army after us. Even if we can get past them, there’s a bunch of hungry bears and wolves ready to eat us in Lamar Valley. Wouldn’t it be better to get out of Yellowstone and go to the police?”
“Which police?” Emerson asked. “The park rangers who turned us over to Tin Man? Or the Bozeman, Montana, police, who are eighty miles away, have worked with the U.S. Park Police
for years, and, in the near future, will most likely be informed that four dangerous fugitives killed a park ranger and stole his car?”
“How about the FBI?”
“Whatever we’ve stumbled upon is at the highest level of national security. Best case scenario is they’ll lock us up and throw away the key.”
Riley pawed through the stolen minibar stash and came up with a couple tiny bottles of whiskey. She gave one to Emerson, and she unscrewed the cap on hers.
“Here’s to good times on Sour Creek Dome,” she said.
“Good times,” Emerson said.
They clinked bottles and chugged the whiskey.
Riley felt the liquor burn her throat and warm a path to her stomach and beyond.
“I feel inspired,” Emerson said.
He grabbed Riley by her flannel shirt, pulled her close, and kissed her. There was some tongue involved this time, and when he released her they both licked their lips.
“You taste like whiskey,” Emerson said. “I could use more.”
“Whiskey?”
“Yes. That too.”
“I don’t think I have any more whiskey.”
“Well, then,” he said. And he leaned in for another kiss.
“I hate to be a party pooper,” Riley said, “but I keep going back to the part about us getting locked up and the authorities throwing the key away.”
“It’s very simple,” Emerson said. “We need to uncover the secret being hidden at Sour Creek Dome and expose it to the world. Without a secret to protect, Tin Man and the Rough Riders’ usefulness to the U.S. government will come to an end. I suspect they’ll become more of a liability than an asset.”
“What if it truly is a matter of national security?” Riley said. “What if we’d be endangering people if we went public?”
Emerson nodded. “I thought of that, too. I’m certain that back in 1903, it was part of a noble plan to protect the American people from something really terrible, but I’m equally certain that the plan has been corrupted over the years.”
Vernon rapped on the driver’s side window. He was carrying two large North Face backpacks. Wayan Bagus was standing next to him, holding a third pack and his little duffel.