Travis

by Shannon West

  In a panic, he realized that this last bullet had come from closer by, just beyond the other side of the trail. He tried to get to his feet, but his legs didn’t want to work, and blood was slipping down into his eyes. Before he could even register the pain, he fell down on his chest to rest a second—just a second before he tried to make it out of there. His last conscious thought was of Camron, and how unsurprised he’d be to know Travis had taken the wrong fork in the road and run into trouble—how once again, he’d managed to fuck everything up.

  ****

  Camron was packing up the four-wheeler when he heard the shots and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that something had happened to Travis. There were three shots in fairly rapid succession and maybe it was instinct—maybe some kind of weird side effect of the mating call, but he knew those shots had been directed at Travis. The sure knowledge made his heart stutter in his chest before it started back with a wild thumping and caused a sick thrill of terror to flare through him.

  Ruthlessly quelling his first impulse to race wildly down the mountain in the direction of the shots, he forced himself back inside to locate his hunting rifle and then attach it to the gun rack on the front of his four-wheeler. Though he hurried, he kept his movements sure and methodical, not allowing himself to fly apart like he wanted to.

  In minutes, he was hurtling down the hill, finally giving in to the overwhelming need for speed, chasing the sound of the shots still reverberating through his head. The minute Travis left, Camron knew he’d made a mistake. His words had been thoughtless and mean, and he hadn’t even meant them, really. Yet there was a part of him that said, the hell with him, let him go. You don’t need some crazy boy fucking your life up, changing all your plans.

  The funny thing was that the second he’d heard those shots and was faced with the real possibility of losing Travis, none of those plans seemed important or even worthwhile in any way. All he could think of was getting to him and that the last words they’d spoken to each other were hurtful and cruel.

  Camron had already made up his mind to follow him and catch up with him on the trail before he’d heard the shots. He knew he was only kidding himself, and he knew he couldn’t stay away from Travis. He figured he’d apologize and talk him into coming home with him where he belonged.

  He’d been taking his time, closing everything up to leave, and giving Travis a chance to cool off and calm down. He figured he was only twenty minutes ahead of him, and he could catch up to him easily enough. No problem. Never in a million years did he expect Travis to get himself in some kind of trouble before he could get to him. Never did he think for one minute that his time might be up.

  When he got to the first fork in the trail, he almost flew right down the hill, but something told him Travis might have taken the wrong fork. He hadn’t exactly been in the best shape when he’d brought him here a few days before. He needed to at least check it out. Camron circled back, making himself go slowly and look for tracks and sure enough, there on the wrong fork about ten yards down, he found a boot print sunk in the soft dirt in the middle of the trail.

  Trying hard to remember what was down that trail, he could only come up with an old deserted cabin about a half a mile ahead. One of his great-uncles had lived there up until maybe seven or eight years before, when he moved his elderly wife closer to Blackwater Falls and the doctor there. As far as he knew, no one had moved back. Squatters could have taken it over, but this was all MacKay land, and he couldn’t imagine anyone being dumb enough to trespass on it. Even discounting all the No Trespassing signs posted everywhere, the locals knew never to hunt or even get close to property belonging to the MacKays and the Sutherlands.

  While no one in the area suspected the true nature of the clans, there had been enough intermarriage with the locals to have a little information floating around, even though the humans they mated with eventually had to cast off all ties with at least their extended relatives, at a minimum. Once out of school, the clan members cut all ties with the humans they’d known there, because the shifters lived so much longer and aged very slowly as the years passed by. Still, enough of a mystique had grown up around Blackwater Falls and the clan that locals knew to avoid the area at all costs, and outsiders were “discouraged” from visiting.

  On the chance that some squatters had taken up residence in the cabin, though, Camron headed straight for it, a feeling of sick dread urging him on. The bullet that came through his windshield as he got close to the cabin shocked the hell out of him and made him swerve onto the shoulder, spin out hard and then land the four-wheeler on its side in a ditch at the edge of the woods. He jumped and rolled out of the wreckage at the last minute, with only his supernaturally quick reflexes saving him from serious injury. Clan members joked about their “cat-like” reflexes, but it was all too true, and this time they had saved him from being crushed under the weight of the ATV.

  Falling down onto his belly, Camron crawled to the shelter of the deeper forest and pulled out his hunting knife. He couldn’t make it back for his rifle, because he realized that the shot had come from somewhere in the woods, and the shooter might be watching him even now. He needed the heavy comfort of the big knife in his hand.

  He looked back toward the trail, trying to get a glimpse of whoever was shooting at him and spotted something pale blue lying near the ditch where he’d wrecked his ATV. Peering closer, he saw that it was a baseball cap, turned up on its side. A dark bloodstain spread out over the side of it, and the knowledge that it was Travis’s cap punched into him like a fist. His stomach threatened to empty itself in a sick panic.

  Two more bullets thunked into the tree just above his head. He yelled like he’d been hit and flattened himself in the grass. His hand clutched the knife beneath him as he waited. Playing possum was the oldest trick in the book. When he was a kid he’d done it with his friends during their war games all the time, and it even worked sometimes. Probably that was why it was such an old trick—because people still occasionally fell for it.

  After a long silence, he finally heard footsteps coming toward him. Heart hammering, he lay as still as he possibly could, not even daring to breathe. He was taking a chance that the guy wouldn’t shoot him again to make sure he was really dead, or at least not too soon. His luck held steady, and when the footsteps were right beside him, he heard a click as the shooter cocked his piece ready to deliver the killing shot. Springing to his feet, he buried the knife in the man’s stomach, twisting the blade and watching his face as his eyes widened in shock and blood bubbled at his lips.

  Afterward, he stood over the body, looking down at him for a long time, watching the man’s eyes glaze over and stare frozenly up at the sky. He knew he should feel pity or remorse for what he’d done, but it was hard to feel either one. The man had tried his best to kill Camron and may have killed--no, he wouldn’t allow himself to think of that. Travis may have been wounded, but he wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. He’d know it if he was.

  And if he was wrong and this son-of-a-bitch had killed Travis, he’d try his best to revive him, so he could kill him all over again.

  He gazed down at the man lying on the side of the trail and realized he’d never seen him before. He was about sixty, with a scruffy beard and wearing a dirty camo jacket, jeans and cheap hunting boots. He looked like any number of older men you might see on any day at the Walmart around this part of the world, though maybe a little more disreputable than most.

  He had just bent down to go through his pockets when he heard the sound of four-wheelers coming toward him. Camron ducked quickly back into the woods and hid himself behind a big pine near the forest’s edge, wishing like hell he’d had a chance to get his gun off the rack. As the sound drew nearer, he realized that it was two ATVs, coming fast, and he sagged with relief as he peered around the tree and saw that it was Hawke and Spencer, both of them with rifles secured to the racks of their machines.

  He watched as they skidded to a stop by the dead man on the side
of the trail, and Camron saw Hawke jump off and kneel beside the man Camron had killed. Hawke’s young mate, sitting on the back of one of the vehicles, looked shocked and scared. As Camron stepped out of the woods, Hawke stood up quickly, jumping in front of his mate, his eyes widening when he recognized Camron.

  “Goddammit, Camron, what’s happened here?” Hawke gestured toward him. “Is any of that blood yours?”

  Camron glanced down at himself. His entire shirt front and both forearms were covered in gore, but he shook his head grimly and gestured toward the dead man. “No, it’s all his.”

  Spencer came around the side of his vehicle and gripped Camron’s shoulder. “What about Travis?” he said urgently, shaking him a little. “Camron, where’s my brother?”

  ****

  It had taken about an hour to get Emma safely down the mountain and extricate themselves from her. Hawke resisted at first when Spencer insisted they go back up and make sure that Travis was okay.

  “C’mon, Spencer, haven’t they been bothered enough? According to your mother, Travis was fine but still refused to come back with her. Leave them alone!”

  “I don’t want to bother them, Hawke. But we both know what kind of guilt trip my mama can lay on you—hell, I’m feeling the effects myself!”

  “So? Travis can handle it too if you give him the chance. He has Camron to help him now.”

  Spencer got that mulish expression that his whole family was prone to. “Damn it, Hawke, I’m going up there with or without you.”

  Hawke felt Jace touch him warningly on the back and he shook his head and sighed. “All right, we’ll go with you. But we won’t stay and bother them once you’ve satisfied yourself he’s okay—got it?”

  “Got it,” Spencer said, grinning. Spencer had been doing this to him since they were kids and had gotten him into a lot of trouble this way over the years. Still, it was fairly early in the day, and he’d promised Jace a ride up the mountain. He turned his four-wheeler around and followed Spencer back up the trail.

  It was only about fifteen minutes later that they heard the gunshots. Hawke stopped first and Spencer pulled up beside him. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah, I did. Do you think that it’s hunters?”

  “Shouldn’t be—not around here. Could be poachers, I guess. Let’s make sure that Travis and Camron are okay.”

  Ten minutes later, they were just past the last fork in the trail on the way to Camron’s cabin when they heard another series of shot coming from down the opposite fork. Hawke and Spencer both stopped and glanced over at each other. Hawke turned to Jace. “Get off, baby, and wait for me while I go check this out.”

  “Hell, no,” Jace said, tightening his grip around Hawke’s waist.

  “Jace,” he said, making his voice deeper and more stern. “I don’t have time to play around. Now get off and wait for me by the side of the trail. I’ll be back in a few minutes, but if I’m not for some reason, start walking back down the mountain, and I’ll catch up with you.”

  “Don’t use that sheriff voice with me, and I’m not going anywhere but down that trail with you. If you think I am, you’ve got another think coming.” Jace glared back at him belligerently, and Hawke blew out an irritated breath.

  “Jace…

  “No, damn it. Now get on down there and see what it is. I’ll stay out of your way, but I’m not going to hide on the side of the trail, so you can forget that shit.”

  Hawke huffed out his exasperation, but Spencer yelled over at him. “Damn it, Hawke, stop trying to be Papa Bear and let him come with us. We need to see what that is!”

  Hawke pointed a finger at Jace. “You stay low behind me, you hear? And if anything happens, you stay the hell out of it!”

  “Okay, okay, let’s go.” Jace pushed his finger away and gave him a cheeky wink. “You’re not half as scary as you think you are.”

  Hawke gave him a look of affronted outrage and turned back around to follow Spencer who was already taking off down the trail. Hawke’s more powerful vehicle caught up with him in a minute or two, and as they rounded the first bend in the trail they both must have seen the overturned four-wheeler lying on its side in the ditch at the same time. A body was lying flat on its back beside it, its arms outstretched onto the trail.

  Hawke had a bad moment when he recognized Camron’s four-wheeler, but by the time he’d stopped and jumped off beside the body, he’d already realized it wasn’t Camron or Travis. This man was older and heavier. He had time to register the fact that the man was not only dead, but that he had a huge, bloody stab wound in the stomach, when a movement caught his eye, and he whirled around and managed to get in front of Jace in time to see Camron, covered in blood, stepping from the cover of the trees.

  “Goddammit, Camron, what’s happened here?” Hawke’s gestured toward Camron’s shirtfront. “Is any of that blood yours?”

  Camron glanced down at himself, then gestured toward the dead man. “No, it’s all his.” He seemed shocked and traumatized, despite the coolness of his tone, but before Hawke could make him sit down, Spencer lunged around the side of his vehicle and gripped Camron’s shoulder. “What about Travis?” he said urgently, shaking him a little. “Camron, where’s my brother?”

  Camron shook his head, his eyes haunted. “I-I don’t know. I was coming for him when…”

  Hawke pushed Spencer off him and helped him to sit down on the side of the trail. “Tell us, Camron. Where’s Travis?”

  “We-we had an argument after his mother left. Just something stupid, but we both got mad and said stupid shit. Travis said he was leaving and started back down the trail.” He lifted anguished eyes to Hawke. “I was coming after him, but I was giving him time to cool off—you know how he is—and then I heard the shots. I knew it was him. I knew he was in trouble.”

  Spencer made a noise beside him, but Hawke kept his focus on Camron. “Take your time, Camron. Just tell us.”

  “I could tell the shots were coming from down here, so I was coming for him when that guy,” he jerked a thumb over at the body, “shot at me from the bushes. I wrecked my four-wheeler and then I played dead when he shot at me again. I waited till he got close and…” He held up the bloody hunting knife. “I used this on him and I-I killed him.” He scrambled to his feet, knocking away their hands. “I got to get to Travis. I think he’s been shot.”

  “What?” Spencer yelled, grabbing his shoulder and whirling him around. “What are you saying?”

  Camron pointed toward a blue hat on the ground. “T-That’s his hat. He was wearing it when he left.”

  They all looked at the blood stain on the side of the cap at the same time, and a shocked little silence fell among them. Camron broke it when he cried out. “He’s not dead. He’s not! I’d feel it if he was, Hawke. You know I would!”

  Hawke nodded. “Yes, I believe you would, Camron. Just calm down and let me think a minute.”

  “Hawke!” Spencer cried out beside him, running a hand distractedly through his hair, his eyes filling with tears. His anxiety was doubled in Camron—Hawke thought for sure he’d jump out of his skin any second.

  “Calm down, both of you!” Jace’s soft, but urgent tone cut through the tension, and made them all turn toward him. “This isn’t going to help Travis one damn bit. Now think about it! There has to be more than one of them. Somebody took Travis.” Jace gestured over to a set of boot tracks leading off the trail. Beside the tracks, there was evidence that someone had dragged something heavy off onto a small track that led up toward the cabin on the hill above.

  “It could have been his body,” Spencer said, his voice hoarse and half-choked.

  “No!” Camron shook his head firmly. “He’s not dead—maybe hurt, but not dead.” He headed off toward his ATV to get his gun. “I’m going after him!”

  “We’ll all go, but let’s not charge up the hill like Chuck Norris, damn it. Camron, you and Spencer get off in the woods and head up around the back. Get above it if you can, an
d I’ll go up through the woods to the front of the cabin.” Hawke reached down to pull a revolver from an ankle holster. “Jace, keep this just in case. You’re with me.”

  Camron started off but Hawke pulled him around to face him. “Camron, don’t do anything stupid, and give me a chance to get in place. I’ll try to draw their attention.”

  He nodded curtly and took off, with Spencer right behind him. “It’ll take them a minute to get in place. That will give us time to get up the hill, since I have to move slower with you.”

  Jace nodded, and Hawke knew he realized he wasn’t being condescending. The cougar shifters had phenomenal speed when they needed it even in their human forms—at least for short bursts of time. Camron and Spencer were probably already halfway up the hill by this time. “Please stay behind me, baby, and don’t take any chances.”

  Jace nodded again, touching his arm reassuringly, perhaps realizing Hawke had to keep warning him to be cautious—the idea of what might have happened to Travis was riding him hard. He’d been the one to urge Spencer to back off when Camron wanted to bring Travis up here, and even though none of this was Camron’s fault, they all knew how volatile a love match between two clan males could be. Hawke was feeling guilty that he hadn’t insisted they stay closer to town until they worked out their relationship.

  Hawke got his rifle, along with some extra ammunition he always kept in his packs on the ATV and filled his pockets with it. Then with a nod to Jace to follow him, he took off up the hill toward the cabin.

  ****

  When the kick landed in his ribs, Travis jerked awake. Before he could move, a single-barreled shotgun jammed against his forehead. He pulled back violently, which was a stupid move, because it caused pain to come crashing down on him, so bad he had to grit his teeth to keep from biting his damn tongue off. The pain seemed to emanate from the side of his head, and he remembered suddenly the bullet blazing its way along his cheek. He was sick at his stomach and had to swallow down the nausea that threatened to make him vomit all over the boots of the shotgun owner.