by Ellen Clary
He looked at home in his uniform of khaki, many-pocketed hiking pants, light green short sleeve shirt, and official jacket. His service belt, sporting a radio, flashlight, and gun, seemed bulkier than he was. The gun was the only item that looked out of place. Amy figured he must have been a boy scout as a kid.
The access road climbed very gradually, which made bike access possible, and the trailheads were at a relatively low elevation compared to the mountains above. They were in a dense fir forest with little light seeping through the branches. After they stopped, Amy let Lars out and he scanned the parking lot, sniffing with little result until he moved all the way over to the side.
/Here./
Amy said to Art, “Lars has found what he thinks is the scent. He’s already covered most of the parking area, okay if I let him follow the scent?”
Art said, “Sure, let’s do it.”
Amy said on her handheld, “Central, this is Amy with Art. Lars has located a viable scent and we’re going to let him follow it. Theory is that our quarry ditched the bike somewhere.”
“Roger, Amy. Be aware that we can only sort of see you via GPS while you’re in the woods.”
“Got it. Commencing tracking.” To Lars she said, “Go search.”
/Search!/ Lars said, and took off along the one available trail, which immediately started to climb up the hillside.
“Slow down, Lars, so we can keep up with you,” Amy said. Amy, who was in excellent shape, still had to work to keep up with the long-legged Art.
Where he could, Lars preferred tracking in an S pattern, zig-zagging while continuing in a general direction, but the drop-off of the hillside didn’t allow that. Still, he seemed sure of the direction. The trail continued to climb without any switchbacks; the trees grew less thick, there was more sunlight working its way through the branches, and there were some shrubs growing in newly available spots.
As they followed Lars along the path, they broke out of the trees to a hillside nearly empty of trees. After a short time, Lars suddenly turned and started up the rocky slope, which was littered with small pieces of granite and red-brown volcanic rock.
Art said, “Our quarry has been in the trees all this time. Is Lars sure about this?”
Amy said, “Let’s mark the spot where we left the trail with a waypoint just in case we need to come back.”
Lars stopped. He lifted his head, inhaling deeply, body tensed. Amy was absorbed watching him when she heard a tree-branch-cracking sound. Wait! There aren’t any trees around here! It seemed like a millisecond later that she heard Art cry out and then start cursing.
She spun around. Art wasn’t there.
“Art?”
“Amy!” His voice sounded muffled.
“Art, where are you?”
“Down here.”
“Down where?”
“Down in this hole.”
Feeling incredibly stupid as she looked around, seeing only a rocky landscape, Amy yelled back, “What hole?”
“Careful!”
Amy reeled in her vision, focusing on the nearer part of the rocky plateau. The grays, browns, and coppers blended in with the sandy soil.
“Art, keep talking.”
“I think I’m in a mine shaft.”
“You’re kidding. Are you okay?”
Amy walked further, taking small steps.
Lars, who had been swiveling his body and head around, suddenly dug his back paws into the soil and charged further up the hill.
Amy, who had been holding the handheld, lifted it and said, “Central, this is Amy. Art has fallen into what we think is a mine shaft. Requesting assistance.”
“Copy that—we’ll be there.”
Amy saw an opening among the stones, with some broken branches. She edged her way closer. She saw what appeared to be fir and pine branches mixed with dirt. Bending down for a closer look, she heard Lars say, /Here, here, here!/
Amy thought, Great timing Lars, can you hang on a sec? Right then she heard a distinctive popping that sounded either like an old gasoline car backfiring or gunshots. Suddenly realizing that no cars of that type were around for miles, she spun around from the hole yelling in both voice and brain, “Lars, come! Oh please, come.”
The kelpie came charging down the hill, making anguished noises that Amy had never heard from him before. Alarm surged into her mind. “Lars, have you been hit?”
Art was yelling from below, “Amy, don’t go up there.”
“Hang on, Art. Lars, let me see you.” Lars came closer and Amy could see he now had a slight limp on his right front leg.
Looking over his shaking body, Amy found blood on the side of his shoulder. Carefully pulling the fur back, there appeared to be a graze wound from a bullet. A bullet. A freakin’ bullet. Lars was whining and trembling.
Steadying herself with a lot of effort, willing away the more scary “What ifs” and furious that someone took a shot at her dog, Amy put her hands on the sides of his neck and murmured, “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry, but you’re going to be okay. I know it hurts though. I’m going to clean this up.” Who the heck would shoot a dog? A person running for his life I guess, she thought.
/Man. Scary man./
/I know—it is scary./
/Hurts./
/Yes./
“Central, this is Amy. Lars has been shot, but he’s going to be okay.” (She realized she was really saying this mostly to herself.) “But we have an active shooter and we’re stopping here.”
“Roger, we’ll let the other units know,” came the reply.
Pulling a cloth and some first aid supplies from her pack, she sponged off the blood and put some shielding antiseptic dressing on the wound. “Don’t scratch this,” she said to him as pointedly as she could manage, “and don’t go near that hole either. Lie down here, okay?” Lars appeared happy to lie down.
She looked worriedly up the hill, and then more carefully at the shaft. Amy could see where the pine branches had been laid and covered with debris and then dirt and rocks.
“Someone laid a trap for us, Art. Can you see anything?”
“Not really—my pack came off as I fell. I can’t find it and it has my headlamp. Anyway, can you rig a light to shine down here?”
Pulling out her own headlamp, Amy eased closer to the hole on all fours. She usually didn’t bring climbing gear as it slowed her down, but she found herself wishing for something she could hammer into the ground to anchor herself to. If they’d had an actual rope she could have possibly set up a pulley system to get Art out, but the crew would bring more appropriate toys for such an endeavor.
Grasping her headlamp in her hand, she switched it on and extended it with her arm.
“Can you see anything?”
“Not quite. Can you shine it further over?”
Amy crawled out just a bit more, extending the beam of the headlamp. Rocks started sliding down the hole.
“Careful, I don’t need company.”
“Sorry.”
“I can see my pack, thanks.”
She could hear the sound of crawling and pack rummaging. She worked her way back away from the edge, but not before she sneaked a careful look down the hole. She saw a pit of mostly rock and dirt with the occasional piece of old mill-cut wood which was dusty grey and splintered. The sides were nearly vertical. “Art, are you okay? That was quite a fall. Nearly twenty feet down at a guess.”
“It took a while to be able to breathe and I’m banged up, but I’m mostly okay. I don’t see a way out of here though. Lots of boulders stacked up here in one direction. The other way appears to go deeper into the ground and is caving in, it looks like.”
“Crew is on its way to bail us out of this mess. Art, what is this hole for?”
“It’s a shaft of an old mine that’s been filled in. It’s way dusty. Dirt and sand. Rocky with a lot of old wooden timbers on the ground and some up the sides. I’m not that far down, which implies I’m not that far from the actual mine entrance.”
“Would that be a way out?” Amy asked.
“Well it’s been filled in with lot of small boulders. Looks like the boulders are more recent, like they used them to close the mine. So yes, that could be the entrance.”
Amy glanced up the hill. A short distance away, a wooden opening with stones over much of the entrance seemed to lead into the hill.
“I can see the access you are describing. It’s not far, but it’s blocked from the outside too. Are you hurt?” She remembered that she has asked that earlier, but it seemed like a good idea to ask again.
“I smashed my left hand up grabbing for something—probably can’t climb out on a rope.”
“But he can probably move those boulders blocking the entrance,” said a voice.
Amy whirled around to see someone she had seen before on a computer display: that auburn hair, that angular face with its harsh lines—and now the beginnings of a beard. He wore a blue flannel shirt that had seen better days, very dusty jeans, and light duty hiking boots.
Lars immediately started towards the man, barking and growling. Belatedly, Amy noticed the handgun he was carrying.
Shit. “Lars. Come!” Amy was caught off guard; she’d never seen Lars threaten a human, but he’d hadn’t been hurt by a human before either.
Lars kept advancing, teeth showing, his body hunched down.
“Amy, what’s going on?” Art yelled.
“Larson!” The edge in her voice started to lift the pitch of her voice, and she struggled to keep from panicking. Lars paused, appearing to consider the request.
“Come here, now!”
He reluctantly turned back.
“I missed shooting that dog once. I won’t again,” the man said in a voice that was intended to be confident and matter of fact, but didn’t quite sound like it.
“He wasn’t trying to hurt you the first time. Just trying to find you.”
“Don’t want to be found.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Amy!” Art called up.
“We have company.”
“Is his name Randall by any chance?”
“Not telling,” said the man.
Art said, “Auburn hair. Five foot eight. 160 pounds. Blue flannel shirt?”
“Well, the blue is starting to go, but I think that’s a yes.” Amy grabbed Lars’s collar and glared at the man.
“And leave my dog alone!” Amy growled.
“I will if he will,” the man replied.
“He doesn’t want to leave you alone, I must say.”
Randall said, “Anyway, I was saying that Art—is that your name?—can move those boulders out of the entryway of the mine and get out eventually.”
“He’s hurt. Show me where the entrance is, so I can move them for him.”
“Well, it’s right over there.” He pointed with the handgun to the raised section of ground that Amy saw before. It appeared to be partially dug out. As Amy started over, he added, “But you’re not going to be doing that.”
“What?!”
“You’re coming with me.”
“No. Why?”
“Because if you don’t, I’m going to shoot your dog, and Art, and you, in that order.”
Oh gods. I hope those coordinates got through to Central.
Randall smiled. “Consider yourself an official hostage. You are my ticket out of here.”
Amy called out, “Art?”
“Best to do what he says, Amy,” Art said, obviously trying to sound calming and hopeful as best one could from the bottom of a hole. However, he went on to say, “Randall, if you hurt her, I will slowly kill you myself when I get out of here.”
“Fortunately, we will be long gone by that time,” Randall grabbed Amy’s arm. “Hand me that.” He indicated the handheld.
Amy considered for a moment, and then gave it to him. “It won’t work for you, it’s genetically keyed to me.”
“Well, that’s just fine with me,” he said, smiling as he grasped it. He walked a couple of paces away, set it down on the ground, picked up a large stone, and smashed the stone into the handheld. It caved in very impressively. The handheld was intended to withstand being knocked around and it even floated in water, but it wasn’t designed to hold up against being deliberately assaulted. Amy offered a brief prayer of thanks that he didn’t carry it someplace else and then destroy it. Central would have this position as the most recently known location so they would be able to find Art and Lars. Lars, she thought. She needed to convince the kelpie-cross boy to stay with Art and not to follow her.
“Time for us to go. Tell Hell Hound not to follow us.”
“Give me a moment here.” She bent down and spoke both aloud and mentally to Lars. “I need to go with this man. Stay here with Art. He needs you.” Lars didn’t look convinced. Stroking his head and neck and trying to look imploringly into his eyes without being intimidating, she said, “Stay with Art, he needs you to watch for people to come rescue him. Do not follow me.” Lars looked unhappy about this, but seemed willing to listen. Amy decided to not tell Lars, “You’re hurt moron, you have no business following us. You’ll just get killed.” Amy sprayed some more anesthetic covering over his shoulder wound and he flinched a little, as if trying not to let on it was still very sore.
RANDALL MOTIONED with his gun. “You are walking in front of me. We’re going to be following this trail for a little while. Don’t do anything stupid like trying to run, as I won’t miss at this close range.”
“Whatever you say, Randall.” She was grateful that she was getting him away from Art and Lars.
They trudged along the path, heading down the other side of the hill. She walked in front. Just before they got to the bottom, they came to a quietly running stream. Randall tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Turn right.”
“Into the stream?”
“Yes.”
“But—”
“Shut up and move.”
Amy turned down the stream, hopping from rock to boulder to log. Their progress was slow. She realized he was trying to avoid being tracked by the dogs, but a dog paired with a human by a mental connection was tough to fool this way, as they knew to check the embankments when a track suddenly disappeared. She decided now wasn’t the time to tell him this. They curved left with the streambed and came to another trail crossing.
“Turn right,” he said.
They started to climb the adjacent hill. It was a clever way to switch trails, Amy admitted to herself.
“How many of you dog people are out here?”
Why, so you can shoot at them too? she thought. “A few.”
“How many?” His voice grew tenser.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t the assigner.”
“Who else is looking?”
This one she was happy to answer. “There are a lot of people looking for you, Randall, and your picture is on the news by now, too.”
“Well, they’re going to have to work hard to find me.”
They will, Randall, Amy thought. We don’t give up looking. Wonder if the handheld got a clear enough view of the sky to transmit its location, before Randall smashed it?
They trudged on for what seemed like hours. After some time, she got brave and asked, “So, Randall, why did you hold that store up?”
He walked for a step or two without saying anything, then said, “My mom has vidastock syndrome, and we want to try an experimental treatment that insurance won’t pay for.”
“The blood disease?” she looked over her shoulder. She could see him nod.
She went on, “It’s my understanding that the standard treatment for that is to replace the person’s blood with artificial blood, which lets the system have a fresh start.”
“We don’t want no fake blood,” he said with a surprising intensity, and she could hear his foot kick stones out into the air.
Amy said, “But they’re having success with it—it could save her life.”
“What life would she have?
” Randall said.
“Pretty normal, from what I understand—”
Randall grabbed her hair, pulling her back and brandishing the gun, his now-stubbled face very close to hers.
“My mother is not a machine.” He spoke between clenched teeth, actually sputtering a little before shoving her forward, hard. “Keep walking.”
Amy decided that this was a bad time to try reasoning, and an excellent time to stay very quiet.
“We want to try a radiation-type treatment.”
Abandoning her resolve, Amy exclaimed, “What?!”
“They would remove her blood a pint at a time and irradiate it.”
“That’s crazy, Randall.” She instantly regretted her outburst.
She could feel his breath again on her ear. He said in a low, scary, serious tone, “Don’t tell me I’m crazy.”
“Randall, it could kill her.”
“At least she’d be herself.”
A dead herself, Amy chose not to say.
Ducking under a tree limb, Amy thought for a moment and asked, “Randall, did someone tell you that artificial blood was bad?”
“Ezekiel William Jebediah says it is not in God’s plan. We are to resist becoming machines. Our bodies are the temple of God.” Amy held her head in such a way that Randall could not see her rolling her eyes cloudward at the mention of the controversial, self-styled religious leader.
No machines in the temple, I guess, Amy thought as she sidestepped a rock. And who but this guy calls himself with only first names?
Amy asked, “Can’t you ask the provider of the treatment for help or file a coverage request?”
Randall made a dismissive sound. “Insurance thinks it’s a dangerous treatment.”
Can’t argue with them there, she thought.
“Does, um, Ezekiel know that you robbed a tech store?”
“I robbed more than one, but I didn’t tell him.”
“So you stole stuff to sell?” Amy figured she might as well make a play at investigation.
“Yeah, small, street-sellable items that haven’t been tied to a person yet.”
“How about data units?”
“Too big, and not a common thing to buy on the street.”
“What about the data on the data units?”