Let the Hunt Begin

by Alex Ander

  Expelling a huff, Randall showed her a palm, “Your delivery, on the other hand, needs work,” then threw open the door to leave. “I guess I’m the true comedian here.”

  “...under,” sniggering, Devlin finished her sentence as the door closed, “control.”

  *******

  8:03 P.M.

  Having discovered a large metal bowl near the wood pile, Randall now placed the container, heaped with snow, in front of the fireplace. “Okay,” he kicked off his boots, sprawled out on the sleeping bag under the table, and propped himself up on his right elbow, “Sophia drank,” he motioned toward the bowl of melting snow, “one of those and ate about half of the hay cubes Bentley included in the horn bags. Now I’ve got her all set up under the overhang on the front porch. If the wind keeps coming from the north, she’ll be shielded from the weather.” He put a hand to his stomach. “Now, if only we had something to eat.”

  On his right, a foot away from him, sitting cross-legged on the bag, her shoes and socks off and drying in front of the fire, “Well,” Devlin rotated her upper body clockwise and opened a horn bag, “you obviously didn’t check both bags.” She pivoted his way and held out two plastic-wrapped squares, each an inch thick. “I made us multi-grain power bars for dinner. Which one do you want?”

  He arched his brows. “Normally, I’d look at you cross-eyed if you offered something so sacrilegious to a meat-eater, but,” he shook his head once, “not today.” He poked his chin at the goodies. “What’s on the menu?”

  “You have your choice of oats and honey or quinoa and...”

  Making a face, he snatched the ‘oats and honey’ bar from her hand.

  “...raisin.” She opened the wrapper on the quinoa and raisin. “I was hoping you didn’t want this one.”

  Randall tore off a corner of the bar and closed his eyes. “Mmm.” He chewed. “In my mind, this is steak and potatoes with a gallon of gravy.”

  Devlin went back to the horn bag then reversed course with a red plaid thermos in hand. She unscrewed the beige-colored cap and lid then sniffed the container’s contents.

  He spotted her. “Hey, what’cha got there?”

  She poured black liquid into the cap, took a sip, then held out the vessel. “Coffee.”

  “Any chance,” he accepted the offering, “good old Mr. Bentley spiked it for us?”

  “Sorry. No cream or sugar, either.”

  Randall sipped. “Ah. That’s okay. In my mind, this is Irish crème de la mint mocha latte...” wavering, he searched his memory bank for other fancy coffee words.

  She wagged her finger at him. “Don’t forget the whisky.”

  “Thank you. Irish cream mocha mint latte with a gallon of whisky.”

  Devlin sniggered while going in for another bite of her power bar.

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 35

  I’m Asking You Now

  8:41 P.M.

  The bottoms of their bare feet facing the fire, she on his right, Devlin and Randall lay on their backs watching the fire’s dancing flames, their balled-up winter jackets serving as pillows under their heads. While not as comfortable as a home with a furnace, the heat from the blaze took the chill off as it swirled around under the kitchen table.

  Randall crinkled plastic and set it on the floor on his left before holding out his up-turned palm toward her. “Hit me up with another ‘oats and honey,’ will you?”

  She scowled at his hand then observed the side of his face. “You’ve already had two.”

  He rolled his head toward her. “So? I’m a powerful guy. I need my power bars. Besides,” he did a muted stomach crunch to get a peek at the horn bags on her right, “I still don’t know what’s even in there. You could be hoarding three dozen of those things, and I wouldn’t know it.”

  Her lips curling upward, her gaze never leaving him, Devlin reached out and draped her right arm over the bags in a ‘this is all mine’ sort of move.

  He chuckled. “You’re like those secretaries who...when they get food from businesses—for the whole office—they end up hiding it in their desk drawer.”

  Her mind conjuring images of people from her past jobs, people who had hidden food meant for all employees, she let out a quick snicker.

  “Yeah,” he nodded, “you’re one of those people,” a beat, “food gatekeepers...a food-keeper.”

  “All right. You can have one more.” She plucked a power bar from the bag and held it out to him.

  He reached for it.

  She pulled it back. “On one condition.”

  “Now my nourishment is based on conditions?”

  “Just listen. You asked me to remind you...that you’d tell me the story behind why you stopped riding. Well, I’m asking you now. What happened? Why don’t you ride horses, anymore?”

  Randall faced the fire, his humor fading. “Simply put, Pops had to sell off all his horses.”

  Devlin’s shoulders sagged. “Why did he have to do that?”

  “Though he was still in good health, the hard work of maintaining a ranch was starting to get to him. I was able to finagle some leave from the military to come home and help him close things down.” Randall fell silent for a few seconds. “That was a tough day when I led Scout up the ramp of the horse trailer,” he faltered, “knowing I’d never see—or ride—her again.”

  Devlin pressed her lips together at the downtrodden tone in her partner’s voice. “I’ll bet it was. We get attached to our animals.”

  Ten ticks passed.

  “Anyway,” Randall shifted his position on the floor, “I made peace with it a long time ago. Older people get older and can’t do the things they used to do. And younger people have to live their lives.” He lifted his right hand a few inches off his leg and let it fall back down. “That’s the circle of life, I guess.”

  Devlin leaned his way and set the power bar on his chest.

  He glanced at the food then faced her. “You’re feeling guilty now, aren’t you?”

  She hiked her eyebrows. “Yeah. Kind of.”

  “I’m okay, Jess. Really.” A beat. “In fact,” he envisioned the horse outside, “getting to ride Sophia has brought back a lot of happy memories. Sort of like going through a mental photo album you could say...of me riding Scout.”

  Devlin sent him a gentle smile. “Having to give up your horse doesn’t mean you have to give up riding. There are places out there where you can ride horses for a day.” She trundled onto her left shoulder blade to regard him head-on. “Why don’t the four of us—you, me, Faith, and Curt—go horseback riding sometime?”

  Randall met her gaze. “You ride, too?”

  She shrugged her right shoulder. “When Faith and I were young, my father would take us to visit my uncle for a few weeks during the summer. He had a farm with a couple horses, so Faith and I learned how to ride from a young age. We never kept up with it after graduating from high school, but they say riding horses is just like,” she paused, “well, it’s just like falling off a horse. You...”

  Randall laughed.

  “...never forget. So, what do you say? After this job is over, we’ll start planning a trip to a horse ranch for the four of us.”

  Pursing his lips, he nodded. “That sounds cool. I’d like that.” He faced her. “But why not take Cassie...and your dad, too. Make it a family event.” He paused. “Okay, a family event plus me.”

  Devlin patted his arm. “You’re already family, Noah. And I,” biting her lower lip, she studied the flames, “I think I like the idea of all of us going.”

  “It’s settled then.” Randall peeled the wrapper off his power bar. “The Devlin and Randall and Mahoney,” his eyebrows bounced once, “and Ashford...road trip is on.” He chomped down on his meal and chewed. “After I’m done with this, I’m going to see if Sophia’s okay before hitting the hay.” He cocked his head at the thought of the animal outside. “I think I just made a joke.” He elbowed her. “Get it? Hitting the hay?
You know, since we have a horse outside and all?”

  “Yeah. I got it.” She crawled out from under the table and stood. “You’re hilarious.” She arched her back. “While you’re eating that, I’m going to go find a tree to lean back on.”

  He frowned.

  She noticed. “Pee. I need to pee.”

  “Ah. Got it.”

  She pivoted away from him.

  “Hold up. I’ll go with you.”

  “I think I can go pee by myself.”

  He rose to his feet. “Really? Then why is it at weddings, parties,” he wavered, “social gatherings, whatever...you women always have to go to the bathroom in packs? What the heck happens in there, anyway, that it takes two or three people to get the job done?”

  Devlin grinned.

  “In all my life, I’ve never said to a buddy of mine, ‘I’m going to the bathroom, Bill. Want to come with me?’”

  She let out a quick snicker while envisioning the picture he had painted.

  “Sorry. I’m getting off track here.” He claimed the Henry Big Boy. “I’ll follow you out.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the gesture, but like I said...I can handle this myself.”

  “Under normal circumstances, sure. But do you really want to face a hundred-and-fifty-pound mountain lion with your pants down around your ankles?”

  Devlin shot a look toward the door then came back to him. “Mountain lions?”

  “Well,” Randall glanced up at the hole in the roof, “we are in the mountains, after all.”

  She half closed an eye at him while puckering her lips for a few seconds. “All right, but,” she raised a hand and flicked her fingers back toward herself, “I want my rifle back.”

  “Why? Aren’t you going to be otherwise occupied?”

  “Women are great multi-taskers.” She took hold of the 45 Colt while sending him a wry grin. “I’m confident I’ll be able to shoot and pee at the same time.”

  “Impressive. I couldn’t do that.” His ill-behaved side kicked in. “I’d need both—” clamping shut his mouth, he thought twice about the off-color quip he was geared up to deliver. “I’ll,” he motioned toward the front door, “stay on the porch outside. Just—”

  “Thank you for not going there.”

  Randall showed her his up-turned palms. “See? I can show restraint when necessary.” A moment. “Just...”

  Devlin suppressed a grin.

  “...holler if you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, and I’ll come running.”

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 36

  Easy, Girl

  19 MAY—4:31 A.M.

  The storm had passed. The cloud cover was breaking up. The wind was nonexistent. And to the east, over a low peak, the sun was still an hour away from making an appearance; however, a pre-dawn glow had begun to light up the mountainside.

  Standing outside on the front porch, in a fluffy snow drift almost up to her knees, her left hand on Sophia’s left hind quarter, Devlin scanned the landscape where the trees met up with the opposite side of the seventy-foot expanse of virgin snow between the cabin and the tree line.

  On her left, facing away from her, the horse whinnied and rocked its head for the third time in the last minute while stepping backward and forward.

  The U.S. Marshal patted the animal and spoke in a soothing tone. “Whoa. Whoa. Easy, girl. What is it?” Devlin squinted at the woods. “What’s got you spooked?”

  Eight hours ago, having finished their chores, Devlin and Randall had crawled into the wide sleeping bag with their clothes on and shoes and socks off. Back-to-back, lying on their sides, they had quickly fallen asleep, their cheeks reflecting the dancing flames of the warm fire.

  Two minutes ago, after having heard Sophia clomping around on the porch for the previous three minutes, Devlin had quietly slipped out of the cozy covering, donned footwear, gloves, a hat, and her winter jacket before grabbing the Henry Big Boy and stepping outside to see why the horse was so excited.

  On Devlin’s one o’clock, shadows moved.

  She focused on the location.

  On her ten o’clock, more movement.

  She whipped her head in that direction to make out two encroaching black outlines.

  Sophia let out a louder, longer cry then stomped her hooves.

  After giving the nervous horse a comforting two-beat pat on the rump, Devlin cupped the rifle’s forend in her left palm and slipped the last three fingers of her right hand inside the lever loop. Her eyes darting from one silhouette to another, she held the weapon crosswise in front of her belly button.

  Sophia tramped in place on the porch then jerked her head away from the railing that kept her from bolting.

  Three more shadowy figures emerged from the trees on the right.

  Now seeing several pairs of glowing dots, Devlin shouldered the 45 Colt while thumbing back the hammer. “Noah!”

  A single growl came from her ten o’clock before a one-hundred-eighty-degree arc of low growls filled the calm morning air.

  She raised the rifle’s muzzle toward her ten o’clock and applied four pounds of weight to the long gun’s trigger.

  The hammer fell.

  The Henry roared.

  Something yelped.

  Devlin ran the lever forward and backward and pressed the trigger.

  A fireball shot out of the muzzle.

  Sophia reared up on her hind legs and came down.

  Devlin worked the lever.

  His pistol in hand, barreling out of the cabin, Randall put on the brakes to keep from knocking her off the porch. His left foot slipped out from under him, and he landed on his right knee, coming eye to eye with a charging gray-and-white wolf. He fired three rounds from his Walther PPQ45.

  The animal took a few more strides then collapsed at the base of the steps.

  The Big Boy barked out one round after another, metal scraping against metal in between blasts.

  Randall spied a blurry figure on his two o’clock and let loose with a volley of shots.

  The animal went down.

  Devlin: “Reloading. Cover me.”

  He rose up on her one o’clock, put his back to her, and fired at three different shapes in the near distance.

  The slide on the Walther locked back.

  He reached for a spare magazine on his left hip. Having stepped into boots and grabbed only his pistol, he gripped at nothingness on his belt. “Damn it. I’m all out.”

  Devlin slid a cartridge into the magazine tube then chambered the round while bringing the gun on target. “I’m up and running.” She fired.

  A yap came from a few feet away.

  She ran the lever and pressed the trigger before repeating the process two more times.

  Another yap.

  Catching sight of an incoming white and gray mass out of the corner of his right eye, Randall made a right-ninety pivot, got up a head of steam, and met the beast head-on halfway down the porch decking. A hundred pounds heavier, the deputy marshal clamped both hands around the wolf’s throat and drove the predator into the snow.

  The wolf struggled, flailing its legs while trying to sink its teeth into human flesh.

  Randall squeezed harder and bore down before reaching into an outer pocket with his left hand and retrieving a folding knife.

  Devlin fired her lever action rifle. “I’m out again. Reloading.”

  He flicked open the Cold Steel Recon 1 Tanto’s locking blade and stabbed the wolf multiple times in the stomach before...

  The animal yapped.

  ...he took a reverse grip on the cutting tool and slammed the four-inch blade into the beast’s left ear.

  The creature’s body stopped writhing.

  Randall hopped up and bolted away to stand in front of the reloading woman, his head making a continuous back-and-forth 180-degree arc, his eyes scanning for threats.

  Devlin jammed a third round into the pistol-caliber carbine, “I’m back u
p,” then operated the lever while shouldering the PCC. “Watch yourself.”

  He sidestepped right, “I got right flank,” and stared in that direction.

  Three seconds elapsed.

  Devlin swung the Henry back and forth several times. “Clear over here.”

  “I got nothing my way.”

  She took advantage of the lull and thumbed into the tube the last two cartridges from the buttstock ammo carrier.

  His head bobbing up and down, Randall mentally counted the carcasses. “That must’ve been a mega pack. I see eleven out there and,” he tilted his head to the right, “the one over here makes an even dozen. Plus, I know I saw at least four disappear into the woods on the right.”

  “I saw another four escape my way. Here.” She held out the rifle. “There’s...”

  He claimed the lever gun.

  “...a box of ammo for that in a pouch on the saddle scabbard. You get Sophia ready, and I’ll pack everything up and douse the fire.” Devlin squinted at the darkness. “I want to be out of here in two minutes.”

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 37

  It’s Still Hot

  5:45 A.M.

  Fifteen minutes after leaving their overnight shelter, Devlin and Randall had joined up with the main path a half mile north of where they had come upon the abandoned motorcycle. From there, they had ridden north for forty-five minutes, taking the trail as it snaked its way among mountain peaks.

  Entering a clearing, the agents now spotted a distant cabin on their two o’clock.

  Snow blanketed the roof, and a snowdrift sloped three feet up the structure’s west-facing side.

  Randall squinted. “Hammer would’ve most likely come this way. We should check it out.”

  “I agree.”

  Looking at the cabin, he squared his shoulders with it then barely rotated his hips to the right.

  Taking the cue, Sophia moved in the same direction.