Scapegoat: A Patrick Flint Novel

by Hutchins, Pamela Fagan

  He hugged her back, pulling her into his chest with both arms. Trish couldn’t remember him ever hugging her like that. “Perry got hurt real bad. Your dad’s canoeing him down to town. I came to find you.” He released her.

  Trish was shocked. But mostly because Perry was hurt bad enough to end the trip. He did get hurt fairly regularly. Trish never did. Her mom said it was because he was a boy. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “I expect he will. You’ll hear all about it later.”

  “Okay.” Her grandfather wasn’t much of a talker.

  “This man that had you is camping with a group. We need to get out of here before anyone else shows up.”

  Trish hugged her elbows. “They have walkie talkies. They took us to use as bait, Grandpa Joe. I don’t know what’s going on for sure, but it sounds like they’re upset with someone, and they think we were with him. Do you think it’s my dad?”

  Grandpa Joe grunted. “No way to know.” He went back to Mr. Smith and rummaged under his raincoat. He backed away and held up the walkie talkie.

  “I told you,” Trish said.

  He stuffed the radio into his waistband. “Where’s Bunny?”

  “In the tent. Are we leaving now?”

  “Yes.”

  Grandpa Joe always sounded mad, but her dad had told her that he just didn’t have much to say. Her grandfather’s curt ways had never bothered her. He did seem shorter than usual, though, except for the long hug.

  “I’ll get her shoes on and bring her out.” Trish crawled back into the tent with renewed energy. She wanted to get out of this creepy campsite and away from Mr. Smith as fast as she could.

  Bunny was sleeping peacefully. Trish paused, thinking. In her experience, Bunny was easiest to deal with when she was asleep. Maybe she could get her out of the tent without waking her. She pulled her from the sleeping bag and put her shoes on. Bunny didn’t stir````````. Then Trish carried her out to their grandfather. She was still asleep. He held out his arms, and Trish transferred the limp girl to him.

  He shifted Bunny’s cheek onto his shoulder and placed a hand over the back of her head. “Keep up.”

  He speed walked ahead of her into the wet night. Trish scrambled after him. Moving quickly through the mountains in the dark reminded her of the night a year before when she’d ridden, blindfolded, behind Ben on her horse Goldie, up the mountain, not sure whether Kemecke would kill her when they reached his camp.

  Ben.

  She missed him. She’d grown to count on their unlikely friendship. When she got back from the trip, she wanted to see him. Maybe . . . maybe . . . she wasn’t sure . . . but she might want him to be her boyfriend. But she was sure that she wished she had Goldie with her for this midnight hike. She was completely out of breath and stumbling all over the place.

  After they’d crossed the creek, Grandpa Joe slowed down, but it was still faster than Trish had ever hiked before. It was spooky on the trail in the dark. She imagined Mr. Smith’s friends around every bend, mountain lions crouched behind every boulder. But the hike was uneventful. In less than half an hour, they’d made it to the river. By then the rain had stopped, but it was still pitch dark from the clouds. They couldn’t even see the moon, which had been big and bright the night before.

  Grandpa Joe handed Bunny back to Trish, then pulled a canoe out of a hiding place and dragged it down to the water. The rest of the canoes were gone.

  “Get in,” he told her.

  “We’re going to canoe down the river in the dark?” she asked. It seemed dangerous. What if they hit rapids or a waterfall? There was no way Grandpa Joe would see them coming. She could barely see her own fingers.

  “No better time not to be seen.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “The cars. The guard station.”

  Bunny’s eyes popped open. “Where are we?”

  Trish shifted her to her hip. “Grandpa Joe is taking us to your mommy.”

  Bunny smiled and put her head back on Trish’s chest.

  Trish waded to the canoe, carrying Bunny. She set the girl in the middle seat, then followed, careful with her footing. “Where are the life jackets?”

  Bunny said, “I’m sleepy.”

  “Don’t have any.” Grandpa Joe pushed the canoe off the bank. It rose in the water, and Trish felt a weightless sensation when it started to float.

  There was the sound like knocking on the canoe, then Grandpa Joe flopped in.

  He grunted. “Good. A paddle.”

  He lifted it out of the bottom of the canoe and navigated down the far side of the river. He paddled fast, without pausing between strokes. To Trish, it felt like they were flying down the river. Something dark loomed overhead and she realized it was the footbridge. They passed under it. Then Grandpa Joe cut left. The canoe scraped over rocks, and they came to a stop.

  “We’re already to where we parked the cars?” Trish was disoriented.

  Only an hour before, she and Bunny had been Mr. Smith’s captives, hidden away in a tent in his campsite. And now they were free, across the river, and all the way down to their vehicles. She had felt isolated and like they were a million miles away from the world when Mr. Smith had them. But they weren’t really far away at all.

  Grandpa Joe got out and reached back in for Bunny. Trish held the girl’s waist as Bunny stood and let her grandfather lift her from the canoe.

  “Huh,” he said.

  “What?” Trish replied.

  “No canoes.”

  “Should there be some?”

  “Dunno. Follow me.”

  She moved to the front of the canoe and got out without tumping it or falling, which she considered a pretty major accomplishment in the dark. By the time she was on dry land, Grandpa Joe was nearly out of sight. No way was she getting left alone out there. Even though it had gotten brighter. She looked up. The clouds had parted. The moon shone through like a spotlight.

  Trish sprinted to catch up with her grandfather. She’d only thought they were going fast before. Her grandfather’s long legs ate up the ground, and she jogged to keep up.

  Within a few minutes, they were at the vehicles.

  Grandpa Joe cocked his head, then walked around the station wagon, with Trish on his heels. “Son of a . . .”

  “What is it?”

  He didn’t answer. He repeated the head cocking as he paced the perimeter of the Suburban. He turned, hands on hips. “Cabin. Now.”

  “What’s wrong with the cars?”

  “Flat tires.” He spun on his heel and jogged toward the cabin. Or where she thought the cabin should be. It was too dark to tell.

  She jogged after him. The ground was wet and mushy. Water splashed from puddles onto her ankles, but it didn’t matter. Her jeans and boots were already sopping wet, like the rest of her. She figured that if someone rung her out, it would be enough water to fill a bathtub.

  Grandpa Joe rapped his knuckles on the cabin door. Even his knocking was clipped and a little bit grumpy. “Hello? Anyone home? I’ve got a little girl out here.” And me, Trish thought. “We need shelter.”

  There was no answer.

  The clouds pulled together again, leaving only a sliver of moon. It spilled meager illumination on the little log cabin. Grandpa Joe handed Bunny back to Trish and motioned them to the side of the door. Trish moved a few steps away. He opened the door and peeked in. After a moment, he walked through it. The sky lightened again. Now Trish could see the Suburban across the clearing. She could even see the trees on the riverbank. She stood without moving a muscle, waiting for Grandpa Joe to signal her in, but, when he hadn’t after a few seconds, she joined him anyway.

  When she saw the inside of the cabin, her mouth fell open. Even in the low light, she could see the place was trashed. The bedding was on the floor along with curtains, metal dishes and utensils, and what looked like an emptied bag of flour. If she hadn’t been holding Bunny, Trish would have gasped. Cars with flat tires? The cabin tossed? Something had hap
pened here. Something scary.

  She scanned the room for a second, looking for whoever had done these things and ready to hightail it out of there with Bunny. To where, she didn’t know. A hiding place. Maybe the back of the Suburban. Then her eyes lit on her grandfather. He was standing at a table with some kind of electronic gadget on it. A radio, she decided.

  He picked up the mic, then muttered something under his breath that was probably curse words. Grandpa Joe had a potty mouth. Dad said he got it honestly in the Navy. “Broken.”

  “The radio?”

  “Yes.”

  Trish bit her lip to keep from crying. “Where do you think our family is, Grandpa Joe?”

  “Dunno. But one thing’s for sure.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We aren’t going to find them standing around here. We’ll leave at daylight.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight: Gorge

  South of the Tukudika River, Bridger-Teton National Forest, Wyoming

  Saturday, June 25, 1977, 1:00 a.m.

  Susanne

  Susanne’s eyes flew open. She’d heard something. Or sensed something. Of course, there were lots of sounds she wasn’t used to, it being the wilderness at night. She’d been able to sleep through most of them. Not this one, though. She lifted her head and moved her hair aside so she could hear better.

  CLANK.

  There it was again. Outside the tent. Metallic. Loud.

  “Patrick.” She pushed on his shoulder.

  He snored in response.

  She raised her voice to a shouted whisper. “Patrick. Wake up.”

  “Huh?” He sat, bumping his head into her chin. “Ow.”

  She forgot about the strange noise. His skull didn’t feel great on her chin. She was already irritated at him. He wasn’t making it any better.

  “I thought you were staying awake to keep Perry up and listen for trouble?”

  “Perry. Yes. Sorry. I must have dozed off.”

  “Must have.” Not that she’d stayed awake herself, but Patrick had promised her he wasn’t going to fall asleep. She had counted on him, and now trouble was in their campsite. She was sure of it.

  Patrick jostled his son. “Wake up, Perry.”

  Perry moaned and rolled over.

  “Shh.” Susanne’s voice was tight. “There’s something outside the tent.”

  Patrick went on immediate high alert. She could feel intensity radiating from him. He grabbed her arm and leaned closer. “What did you hear?”

  THUMP.

  “That. And a CLANK a second ago. Something is out there. Or someone.”

  Patrick inhaled sharply. “Did anything sound human?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell.”

  Patrick’s holster was lying at the head of their double sleeping bag. He freed his revolver, then held it awkwardly as he crawled on his knees and one hand to the tent zipper and eased it up.

  “What are you doing?” Her words were sharp. She couldn’t help it. She might not be happy with him, but she didn’t want him to leave.

  “Gotta see what’s out there.”

  Now it was Susanne’s turn for a quick breath. “You’re not leaving?”

  “No, just looking.”

  “Be careful.” Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could see Patrick leaning over and peering out the small opening he’d made.

  CRASH.

  GRUNT.

  “Well, that’s not good.” Patrick crawled back to her.

  “What is it?”

  “Bear.”

  “Black bear?”

  “No. Grizzly.”

  Susanne clutched his arm. She’d never been so close to a grizzly, with only a thin layer of fabric between it and herself, her husband, and her sleeping child. “Will it attack?”

  “No. We just need to stay quiet and be still.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure, since it’s found our food backpack. I expect by now it’s eating everything we have left.” He shook his head. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she could see his face crumpled in confusion. “I thought I’d double checked it was hung from a tree. Maybe I didn’t. Or maybe someone had one last snack before bed.” He muttered for a few seconds, chastising himself for the backpack getting left outside in grizzly country on his watch.

  No food for the kids in the morning. She wondered who had left it out there, but there was no time for the blame game.

  SNORT.

  No food wasn’t as bad as a bear attack, so she prayed that Patrick was right and held on tightly to his arm.

  RIP.

  “What was that?” She knew her voice was starting to edge toward panicky. Could the animal sense her fear? Would it be attracted to her weakness? She needed to dial it back.

  “Something tearing. Only the backpack, I hope.”

  Pete’s voice sounded like a bellow in the quiet of the night. “Patrick, is that you out there?”

  Patrick’s voice was a loud whisper. “No. We’ve got a visitor.”

  ROAR.

  The hair on Susanne’s arms stood on end. The unearthly sound seemed to go on forever. She forgot about being mad at her husband and buried her face in his shoulder. She could imagine the grizzly’s long, sharp teeth, his lips pulled back, his eyes beady and enraged. A gust of wind rattled the tent, and to her, it seemed like it was the breath of the bear as he exhaled with all of his might.

  “Patrick,” she whispered.

  From the other two tents, she heard whimpers, then someone started to cry.

  “Is your mother alone in her tent?”

  “No. Brian’s with her. But everyone needs to be quiet.” Patrick’s whisper sounded terse.

  Susanne didn’t like this. Not at all.

  ROAR.

  A scream pierced the night. Perry didn’t stir. For a moment, Susanne worried. How could that not have woken him? Then she was relieved. He didn’t have to go through the terror that would probably take a decade off her life.

  She stayed huddled against her husband. Her voice was shaking. “Could it have gotten one of the kids?”

  “No. I still hear it out by the backpack. But they’ve got to be quiet. The way to avoid a grizzly attack is to play dead, not squeal like a wounded prey animal.”

  “Does Pete know that?”

  “I hope so.”

  Susanne’s breaths were coming in pants. It was hard to be sure, but it sounded like the crying had stopped. The whimpering faded away. The grunting and snorting and roaring had stopped, too. Slowly, Patrick began to rock her side to side. Small, gentle rocks. His hand stroked the back of her head. Her breathing returned to something closer to normal.

  She swallowed. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Me either.”

  “Is it still out there?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  “No.”

  He squeezed her. “I’m not leaving. Just peeking out. I’ll be right here. And I have my gun.”

  “Okay.”

  As Patrick crawled to the tent door, Perry woke. “Mom? Dad?”

  “Shh, son. We need to be very quiet.” Susanne scooted toward him and put her hand on his shoulder.

  “Are the prospectors here?” His voice sounded woozy.

  “All clear. I think.” Patrick sat beside her. “You okay, Perry?”

  “What’s the matter, Dad? Who’s here?”

  “Was here. A grizzly. It seems like he’s gone now.”

  “A grizzly. Right outside our tent?”

  “Yes. And he got the last of our food.” Patrick raised his voice. “The bear’s gone, but everyone needs to stay in the tents and keep quiet. Roger that?”

  “10-4,” Pete said.

  “Um, okay.” It was Brian, and his voice was vibrato with tremors.

  Susanne felt sorry for the kid. Alone with his grandmother with a grizzly in camp. “Are you sure it’s gone?”

  Patrick shook his head. “The only thing I’m sure about is
that I won’t have any more trouble staying awake tonight.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine: Shoulder

  South of the Tukudika River, Bridger-Teton National Forest, Wyoming

  Saturday, June 25, 1977, 5:00 a.m.

  Patrick

  As Patrick disassembled and packed up their tent, he kept an eye on his son. They were running late. The sun had risen half an hour before. It would take them at least an hour to get down to the river. He hated the thought of the Hilliards having to wait on them.

  Perry was stumbling around the campsite, stuffing things into the remaining backpacks. Shredded paper, crumpled aluminum foil, a flattened, bear-shaped plastic bottle that formerly held honey, an empty peanut butter jar with teeth marks in it, and ripped pieces of the canvas from what used to be the backpack. All of it still soggy from the rain the night before. The bear hadn’t left a scrap of food. Luckily, no one had snuck any food into the tents.

  Patrick still couldn’t believe the food had been left out. My fault. His entire family had been a hair’s breadth away from a bear mauling and today they would have no food until Jackson, and it was his fault. It didn’t matter whether someone else had left the backpack out. Either he hadn’t impressed strongly enough upon them how dangerous it was to leave out food, or he’d failed to ensure it was put away. His trip. His watch. His fault.

  It made him feel incapable. Unmanly. How long would he have lasted in these mountains back when the Tukudika had lived here? They’d co-existed with the grizzlies and other predators successfully for centuries, without permanent structures and thick walls. By using their brains, they’d kept their families safe. Patrick didn’t feel worthy to roam the same mountains.

  He yawned, which also made him frustrated. The catnap he’d accidentally taken didn’t make up for the rest of his sleepless night. Sleep deprivation didn’t improve the mind’s function, that was for sure, and he needed every brain cell he had left for their journey today. After the bear had disappeared, he’d listened for it the rest of the night. He hoped it was the only one in the area, since Trish was out there somewhere, without even tents. He hated the thought of the grizzly between him and his daughter. He hated even more that she’d been gone for nearly twenty-four hours. Come on, Dad. Bring Bunny and Trish back safe.