Spirit of a Hunter

by Sylvie Kurtz

  “Stay right here. You’ll be safe. Remember the birdcall?”

  She nodded.

  “If you hear anyone else approaching, be ready to shoot. I’ll be back in four hours.” He turned to leave.

  So long? She grabbed his wrist.

  He smiled. “Ah, you like me. You really like me.”

  “You’re such a jerk.” Her grip relaxed. “Four hours.”

  “It’s a date.”

  * * *

  SABRIEL HAD TOLD HER to stay put, but she couldn’t sit, curled into a ball, her imagination magnifying every noise, every eternal second into a disaster. She dug the palm-size binoculars she’d seen Sabriel use from the pack he’d left behind and one slow step at a time made her way back to the edge of the brush about two hundred feet from the camp. On her stomach, she wedged in until she had a good view, but was still hidden.

  The men sat in a loose circle. Their attention wasn’t on their surroundings, but on their meal. No one stood sentinel. No one guarded their flank. Wasn’t that a basic? But then why should they care? They were hunters. And they thought their prey was running scared.

  That’s how she’d been, too, living with blinders, seeing only what she needed to see to survive. The roof over her head. The three squares. The financial support. Except that the roof might as well have been supported by bars. She could never eat what she wanted, only what was placed in front of her. She might not have had a mortgage to pay, but she also hadn’t handled more than spare change in over ten years. What was so grown-up about depending on someone else for everything?

  She caught a glimpse of Sabriel. He blended with the trees, became a bush, hid behind a stump. A shadow, he moved to the far edge of the camp, unseen by the men whose goal was to capture him—or at least stop him with a bullet.

  One man against six. Armed men. And the arrogant fool had gone to them without his gun—only a knife and some rope. Her lips rolled in and her teeth sealed them shut.

  Please, please make him come back safely.

  Scotty needed him. She needed him. If he got in trouble, was she close enough to hit a target? Did she have the courage to squeeze the trigger? She pulled the weapon from the holster and placed it within reach.

  Through the binoculars, she watched as Costlow got up and stretched. Everything about him was square, from his head to his torso to his hands. The overall effect reminded her of the Lego robots Scotty still liked to build on rainy afternoons. Costlow walked away from the group—right toward the last spot Nora had seen Sabriel. She sucked in her breath, held it trapped. Costlow unzipped his fly and let out a stream of urine.

  She jammed a hand over her mouth. She wanted to scream, run, laugh, cry all at the same time. Sabriel was going to get caught. He was going to leave her stranded and her beautiful boy would end up another one of the Colonel’s failed experiments. What was she supposed to do? Just sit there and watch him die?

  Give him a chance, Nora. He knows what he’s doing. She raised the binoculars to her eyes and focused on the group.

  Where was Sabriel? As hard as she tried, she couldn’t see him.

  The men began to turn in, using their packs as pillows. Soon they shuffled, snuffled and eventually snored. Sabriel made no sound as he flowed through the camp so slowly she could barely see him, even when she cranked up the power on the binoculars. He planted Boggs’s knife on the man next to him, switched some of the contents of one pack to another’s, placed the socks—drying on a bush—in the coffeepot. Moving as if in slow motion, he plucked a weapon here, another there. He took the MREs remaining in the men’s packs and stuffed them down his shirt, then disappeared.

  A stone landed on the man closest to the brush. Frowning, the man sat up and looked around. He seemed to listen to something coming from behind him. The man reached for his pistol and headed into the brush.

  A wave of sick fear surged over her. Should she cause some sort of distraction, draw the man away from Sabriel so he could escape? She was too far to shoot or throw rocks. And either of those options would wake up the rest of the camp. And if the Colonel’s men got her, they got Scotty. But she couldn’t let Sabriel die, either. She’d never wanted to put anyone—him—in danger.

  She had to get closer.

  * * *

  EVERYTHING AROUND Sabriel slowed, became in tune with the rhythm of the earth. No tension, no nerves, no anything, except awareness—of every breath, of every heartbeat, of every ripple in the invisible field that moved through all things. The preparations were done. All he needed was to tug the right string to set his mission in motion.

  He lured the man on the outskirt of the camp out of sleep with a rock and the tantalizing sounds of a footstep or two. Weapon drawn, the soldier slipped into the brush and into the woods.

  Just as if he’d been coached, he followed the path Sabriel had laid to the narrow ravine, and hit the trigger Sabriel had set. The spike from the trap whipped through the air, catching him right below the knee in a powerful wallop. The man rolled on the ground holding his knee in agony. Before he recovered, Sabriel had him gagged and trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey. The small cave would hold him until he could ensnare the others. Someone would have to know where to look to see him in the thick brush at the bottom of the ravine.

  The next man stepped into a pit trap, spraining his ankle. Sabriel tied him near the first man, lashing one to the other.

  The third backed into a leg-hold trap and Sabriel added another token to his bad-guy chain.

  Three more to go, and he and Nora would have a clear trail to Scotty.

  Adrenaline revved from the successful hunt, Sabriel approached the camp once again and two things hit him at once: Nora had moved from her safe position and Boggs’s satellite phone was ringing.

  Swearing silently, he retreated and made his way around the camp. He’d only gotten four sidearms and Boggs’s rifle. Boggs and Hutt still had their pistols.

  Nora moved again. His heart knocked. What was she doing? If she took another step, Boggs would see her. Didn’t she realize she was putting herself in danger?

  Moving faster than he liked and risking discovery, he reached her, clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her back into the brush.

  “What are you doing?” he growled.

  She gasped and rolled over on her back, ready to kick and fight. “Saving you.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. Saving him. The little fool. “Next time, wait. You almost got us caught. I had to leave two pistols and three men behind.”

  “I—” she started, then blinked as if she were holding back tears. “I’m sorry. I thought they’d found you.”

  “And what were you planning to do?”

  “You told me to aim for the biggest target.”

  Things were getting messy. When he called Seekers for the pickup of the Colonel’s men, he should leave her behind. He could get to Scotty faster without her, keep her safer in Seekers’ care. He helped her up. “Let’s roll before the rest of them wake up and all hell breaks loose.”

  With a nod, she followed him back to where they’d left the packs.

  “How did you know they wouldn’t see you?” she asked.

  “Practice. Tommy and I used to play this game all the time, leaving people scratching their heads. The only rule was that no one get hurt by our pranks.”

  “But I could see you.”

  Sabriel reached around to help her down a tricky stack of rocks. “You knew what to look for. The Colonel’s men were too intent on their own agendas to think that we might backtrack and take a look at what was going on right where they were.”

  “But Boggs. He looked right at you.”

  “He saw what he expected to see—tree trunks. All I had to do was find the hole in his awareness.” He cocked his head, listened to the broken surf of wind.

  “Where the hell are Garo and Aggas? Hilferty?” Boggs’s shout cut the night air. “What do you mean they’re missing?”

  Behind them, the tempest of chao
s erupted.

  Chapter Ten

  The echo of chaos fell away as Sabriel led Nora over the next crest of mountain. The moon played peekaboo with scalloped clouds. Amazing how many stars freckled the navy skin of sky. Thing was, she shouldn’t have time to notice these things. Even though her footing was shaky in the darkness, they should be walking faster while they had the chance to get ahead.

  At the rate they were moving, they’d never catch up to Tommy and Scotty, and the Colonel’s men would round them up as easily as cattle.

  “I can walk faster, you know,” Nora said, unable to keep her irritation from boiling over.

  “I know, my super woman. I’m making sure we have enough gas to go the distance.”

  Damn him, he was laughing at her. And his slow pace was having another unnerving effect. With night cloaking the woods that usually distracted her, she was aware of him. Of his constant proximity. The steady, calm of his voice. The brush of his fingers against hers when he passed her an energy bar or offered her some trail mix. Of the strength of his hand on her shoulder when he asked her how she was holding up. A simple gesture that left her so flushed, she had to take off an extra layer to dissipate its heat.

  “We’re going to have to rest soon.” Sabriel stopped and reached for his hydration tube.

  Nora pressed by him only to realize she had no idea where he was heading. “We have to keep going.”

  “You’re dead on your feet.”

  “Super women can keep going when their kid’s in danger.”

  “Even super women have to change their socks.”

  She wanted to spit out more of the venom poisoning her thoughts, but he was right again. Her feet were getting too hot and blisters would not help her keep up the pace. She sat on a fallen log and dug out a pair of dry, if not clean, socks and unlaced her boots.

  And as much as she counted on his strength, his skill, his confidence to get her to Scotty, she had to learn to take charge of her own fate. She had to make sure that she could find her way to Scotty and back to civilization. “Show me how to find my way in the woods.”

  The moonlight’s shadows hid his expression, but could not disguise the intentness of his study. “I’ll take you where you need to go.”

  Now she’d gone and hurt his feelings. “I’m not doubting your ability. But if something happens to you, I have to be able to get help.” She hung her damp socks on her pack, avoiding the piercing prod of his gaze. “Your cell phone hasn’t worked in days. Not that I could tell anyone where to find us.”

  He sat in silence, unlacing his boots, changing his socks, then retying the laces with meticulous care. “At the next stream,” he said, “we’ll stop and, while the filter purifies water for our hydration bags, I’ll show you the basics of map and compass.”

  “Deal.” Her lungs emptied on one long release of air, unpenning tension and giving her steps a new bounce.

  The next stream took an hour to find. Already, the purple break of dawn rimmed the peaks of mountains. Fatigue ached through her body, making her bones and muscles heavy and her eyes gritty. “What can I do while you purify the water?”

  “Get out the Jetboil and some oatmeal. Grab the map and compass while you’re at it.”

  He washed the mud of his camouflage from his face and hands. Then, while he pumped water, he explained the marking on the map—how contour lines worked, where they were now, and Tommy’s two possible destinations, the hiking trails, the highways, the rivers, what the colors meant, and the easiest way to find help.

  “But Tommy isn’t using a regular map,” Sabriel said, taking a break from pumping water to start the stove.

  Nora sat back on her heels and wrapped her arms around her knees. “What kind of map, then?”

  “Songlines.”

  She frowned. “Songlines?”

  “It’s an ancient navigational system used by aboriginal people. It creates invisible footpaths across the land. Cues that act like road signs even in a place like this forest where one hill pretty much looks like the next and one creek is hard to tell from another.”

  “How?”

  “Look back. Remember how we talked about birches and how they tend to die young?”

  She nodded, seeing the trio of white birches at the top of the hill in the graying light of dawn, remembering the shredded state of their papery bark.

  “If I took you there and asked you to think about the last conversation we had, you could probably find the point and retrace your steps to it.” He smiled as he capped the hydration bag and slid it back in her pack. “Tommy, though, he started giving the reference points song titles and then he’d sing them all together to make himself a map. Off-key. You know how he can’t carry a tune to save his life. Since I hung out with him, I got caught up in the game, too.”

  “‘Route 66,’ ‘Farmer in the Dell,’ ‘Blueberry Hill,’” Nora whispered, a new respect forming for Tommy’s outside-the-box brain.

  The thought of songlines appealed to her. Songs, stacking them up into playlists, their beats, their lyrics, their emotions had allowed her to survive her mother’s rocky romances—their lustful beginnings, their stormy middles, their bitter endings. George had been the exception. His arrival and his departure had both been quiet. Not her mother’s style at all. Maybe that’s why Nora had liked him so much. George had given her her first radio for her eleventh birthday. She’d learned to tune out her mother’s drama, and tune in the radio to blissful escape.

  “You know Tommy’s songline,” she said and looked up at Sabriel with renewed admiration. “That’s why you don’t need the map. That’s how you know he’s going to either Mount Storm or Goose Neck Mountain.”

  “Pilgrim’s Peak is in the other direction.”

  “Teach me his song.”

  Sabriel ate up the last of his oatmeal with more gusto than warranted. “I told you I’d get you and your son back safely.”

  “Like you said,” Nora said, washing up her oatmeal-gummed cup, “it doesn’t hurt to be ready for unexpected trouble.”

  So he gave her Tommy’s song and, with each title, hope of soon holding her son burgeoned. I’m coming for you, Scotty.

  * * *

  THE TRAIN TRESTLE joined the Kestrel and Merlin campgrounds. The nineteen-mile triangle of tracks was on a pocket of privately owned land that bordered the Gray Goose Wilderness Area and was maintained for the use of an old-fashioned steam engine that pulled three dining cars, a four-star kitchen and a glass observation car that made the riders feel as if they were flying over the valley. On the two-hour ride, passengers were served a four-course meal and breathless views.

  Technically, he and Nora were trespassing. Not that anyone policed the tracks so high off the ground. Not that they had any choice with the Colonel’s men closing in on them. Nora had fallen asleep sitting up, repeating Tommy’s songline over and over again. She’d been on her feet for almost a day. He’d figured he could give her an hour. What he hadn’t figured was that the Colonel’s men would catch up to them so fast.

  The train tracks were the shortest way to get across the mile-wide gorge and to a phone to get help with his cell dead. “Come on.”

  Nora stayed planted on the legal side of the tracks, eyeing them as if they were vipers that would rear back and bite. “Those are train tracks.”

  “You’re a sharp observer, super woman.”

  She frowned at him. “There could be a train.”

  “Closed for the season.” Though he wasn’t sure.

  She tentatively stepped onto the tracks, shaking as she looked over the side at the rusty-looking structure holding them five stories above the ground and the tiny line of a creek meandering below.

  “Don’t look down and you’ll be fine.”

  “Sure. I can do this.”

  Going over the schedule in his mind, Nora following him, he stepped from tie to tie with confident strides. One lunch service. One dinner service. April to October. But just when in October the train stopped running
, he couldn’t remember.

  They were halfway across the gorge when a deep-throated roll, long and drawn out, reverberated in the air. Hell, he’d guessed wrong. They couldn’t race fast enough to beat the train back to far side of the gorge. Not that the business end of Boggs’s pistol was a destination of choice. That left forward, head-on, until the next support tower.

  “That’s a train whistle.” Nora stumbled over a tie. His hand twisted back to steady her, then tugged to prod her along.

  “Yep.” He kept running, holding her hand tight in his, keeping her ahead of her fears.

  “It’s coming closer.”

  “Yep.”

  “There’s no ground next to the track in case you hadn’t noticed,” she said, voice not quite steady. “We’re stranded in midair.”

  “Yep.”

  The silver nose of the engine rounded the mountain’s flank, came straight at them.

  “Sabriel!”

  “Come on, Nora. Don’t quit on me now.”

  “We’re going to die!”

  “Not today.”

  The click-clack of wheels raced with his thoughts. Gauging the architecture below him from the shadows slanting onto the trees, he stopped and turned to face her. “Climb over.”

  Her chest pumped air in and out of her overworked lungs. Her eyes took over her face. “Over where?”

  “The side. There’s a support right under you.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You want me to—”

  “You want to argue or you want to stay in one piece?” The beastly shape of the train rammed toward them in a clatter of iron on iron, its long, deep whistle, a deafening warning. Sabriel shinnied down the side, braced himself on the iron lacework and reached for Nora.

  She muttered something he couldn’t make out, but got down on her knees and slinked down the side, inch by careful inch, shaking all the way, but moving. The girl was tough.

  “I’ve got you.” He guided her feet onto the iron brace. “Slide down.”

  She did, ending up snug in the V of the narrow brace.

  The train chugged above them, click-clacking against the rails, right into their bones, threatening to jolt them right off their perch. Its whistle rent the crisp autumn air, echoing eerily against the mountains surrounding the valley in a crown, piercing brain, shocking heart. Sandwiched between his body and the support, Nora had nowhere to go, but he tightened his grip anyway and firmly chased away the image of her plunging down into the abyss below.