Forbidden River

by Brynn Kelly

  “A man,” Cody murmured, his lips grazing her lobe.

  Her best no shit look was wasted.

  The shooter turned back, briefly swinging his head their way. He was skinny, with a dirty-blond buzz cut and scraggly beard, wearing head-to-toe khaki camo. Snake tattoos circled his neck, as if they were trying to strangle him.

  “Oh shit, him?” she said under her breath as he disappeared.

  “You acquainted?” Cody removed his arm.

  “A hunter. He came up to me on the tarmac a few months back, asking for a ride up here, but I turned him down because he wanted to take dogs—they’re not allowed in this forest. He was pissed off but I guess someone took his cash.”

  “Ex-military?”

  “In his dreams. More of a survivalist, I reckon. I figured at least he was taking out his fantasy on the deer and pigs. I got his name and Googled him ’cause it was bugging me. Shane something. Did time for armed robbery and assault.”

  “Good call not to take him.”

  “Yeah. Mostly I’m good with being up here alone, but being up here alone with him...” She twitched as an image of the tourist’s body flashed in her mind. “Shit, so where’s the dead guy’s girlfriend? And the other couple who disappeared? If he’s... Oh God, I delivered them to him. He could be living in the hut, lying in wait.”

  “Best thing we can do for all of them is get help. Let’s do this.”

  She nodded. “True. Be careful, Cowboy.”

  Another grin, like this was a game. “Always. And you know, I’m a city boy. I earned a business degree and worked in a tech company, so this ‘Cowboy’ thing you got going...”

  “So disappointing. See you tomorrow, Cowboy.”

  “Look forward to it.” He winked, still grinning as he walked off.

  Was that...? Was he...flirting? Now?

  Hell. She’d better bloody see him tomorrow.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TIA CLAMBERED UP the bank and retraced her steps as Cody melted into the bush behind her. She really didn’t want to leave him but, like he said, it was the best plan they had. As the hut came back into view, the shooting resumed, bullets hammering metal like a thousand nail guns firing at once.

  She crept to a point that gave her a limited view of the clearing—the closest she dared to get. The hunter—Shane—was standing on a half-buried boulder, his body jolting with the recoil. Shit. He was disabling her chopper—with an AR-15 with a telescopic sight. He paused, slammed in a new magazine, angled the rifle through the open pilot’s door and sprayed the controls, left to right to left to right... She winced. Cartridges pinged against the hull. The dogs whined and yelped. The straining head of the attack dog was just visible around the side of the hut, an orange lead attached to its collar. He’d tied them up.

  Movement behind her. She swung, tensing. Cody, a meter away. She thumped a fist onto her chest. “Oh my God, stop doing that.”

  He dropped behind a rotting tree trunk, gesturing for her to join him. “I’m thinking our plan’s just been shot to hell.”

  “Yep. And he’s taken out the radio.”

  “Could we set off my distress beacon?”

  She pressed her lips together. Tempting, but... “Too dangerous for Search and Rescue. Out here it can take hours for the satellite to fly over and catch the signal. By the time they get here they’ll be flying in darkness, with no clear place to land.”

  “And a madman going nuclear on them.”

  “They’d be prepared for a broken leg, not combat. Someone will come looking when I fail to return, but that could be days. They’ll have me recorded as safely on the ground up here.”

  “What’s the quickest way out if not by air?”

  “We’re not dressed to go over the peaks and down the glacier,” she whispered, thinking aloud.

  “Any other walking tracks? Roads?”

  “Not this high up. And bashing through the bush could take weeks.”

  “Which leaves the river.”

  “We’d be sitting ducks.”

  “Except ducks can fly.”

  She rolled her eyes, but his focus was on the clearing—now quiet again.

  “We gotta do it,” he whispered. “River’s near peak flow so it’ll be fast. How’s your kayaking?”

  “Rusty. We did some white water in training. Team-building stuff.” But she needn’t go all the way to Wairoimata. If she could get a few hours downstream, she could go bush while Cody paddled out. “You can talk me through the tough bits.”

  “You can roll?”

  “Yep.”

  “You done grade five rapids?”

  She winced. “No.”

  “You’ll be good,” he said unconvincingly. “Now, how do we get to the kayaks and launch them under his nose?”

  The shooting started up again. “Fuck. My chopper.” My life. Just when she was getting something good going.

  “Might be fixable.”

  More gunfire. Potshots. He was being selective. “You think?”

  “You insured?”

  “Enough to repay my loans, but I’ll be left with nothing.” She rubbed her face. “I’ll look forward to worrying about that when we’re out of here.”

  “So we tweak the plan. I’ll lead him away while you get the kayaks to the river. I double back. Then we’re gone.”

  “We’d be crazy to launch here. The river meanders for the first kilometer—he’d be faster on foot and have plenty of opportunity for potshots. And if he gets back and finds the kayaks gone, he’ll assume we’ve launched from the hut and come looking.”

  “Got a plan B?”

  “There’s another entry point downstream, a Y-junction, where a big tributary joins the Awatapu. He can’t cross either river without a boat, not with the dogs, and swimming that vortex would be suicide. He’d be trapped on an arrowhead of land with rapids on two sides. He’d have to backtrack up the tributary for a couple of hours to reach a wading point. If we launch at the junction, we’ll be out of his scope in minutes—and we’ll get a head start.”

  “How far away is it—this arrowhead?”

  “There’s a shortcut over a saddle.” She pointed west, not that it was any help in the thick foliage. “He can’t be two places at once, and he’d be more likely to watch for us up here.”

  The firing stopped. She swallowed, resetting her hearing. Shane paced along one side of the chopper, nodding in satisfaction as he swapped magazines again.

  She shuffled closer to Cody. “Okay, so you get the kayaks while I lead him into the bush. I’ll lose him, circle ’round and meet you at the arrowhead.”

  “Too dangerous for you. I’m playing decoy.”

  “It’s my territory. I know it better. And...you’d handle carrying two loaded kayaks better than me.” She pointed to his watch. “If I don’t arrive by 1800, go without me. That’ll give you a little over two hours of safe paddling. You need to be far downstream by nightfall.”

  No answer.

  “Cody?”

  His jaw tightened. “I’m not leaving you.”

  And here we go with the macho bullshit. “Like you said, the priority is to raise the alarm.”

  More silence.

  “A few minutes ago you were happy for me to lift off without you,” she whispered. “What’s different about this scenario?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’d be happy leaving me if I was a guy, right?”

  He blinked, jerking his head back. “Actually, no.” His voice clanged with genuine offense.

  “O-kay,” she said. That intense look on his face... Something bigger than chauvinism was preying on that cool demeanor. A touch of PTSD? Guilt? “But we don’t have a choice. If we stick together, he’ll take out both of us.”<
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  “No.”

  “You have ten seconds to come up with a better plan.” She checked her watch. “Nine, eight—”

  “I lead him away. You kayak for help.”

  “I can’t take on that river alone. We’ll both end up dead, as will the climbers. And like I say, this is my turangawaewae, my home ground.”

  He swore under his breath. Game to Kupa.

  “Wait here until I’ve lured him upriver, then get the kayaks.” She gave him directions to the saddle. “If I don’t show, you’re paddling out solo. For everyone’s sake.”

  She crept away before he could argue, her throat drying. He’d better bloody leave without her.

  She circled the clearing, staying hidden. Shane had found her backpack and was shaking its contents onto the tussock. With the knife, he speared a pair of lacy knickers, lifted them to his nose and sniffed. Oh God, really? Looking for something for the dogs to track, or...? He pulled a hunting knife from his pocket and flicked it open. The spare clothes she always carried would be too clean for tracking but he pocketed the underwear anyway. Ugh. He swaggered back to the pilot’s door. A tearing noise. Judging from the way he was bent over, by his jerky movements, he had to be slicing up the pilot’s seat. That would have her scent on it.

  She ducked farther into the bush, skirting to the upriver side of the clearing. How well could a pig dog adapt to tracking humans? If it was anything like a search and rescue dog, it’d go off both the scent of her in the air and the dead skin and debris that fell from her body. If he got the dog started at the hut, it should first lead him in a circle, via the bank where she and Cody had sheltered. Best she could do was stay ahead of them and hope.

  When she was a safe distance from the clearing, she yelped like she’d been hurt. The sound echoed through the valley, followed by a man’s shout—Shane. The dogs barked and whined. She blew out a breath, imagining them straining at their leashes.

  “Shut up,” he shouted. The dogs silenced.

  She trod quietly but deliberately left a trail—stepping in mud, snapping branches, striding through tussock. Once she’d laid a path far enough upriver, she would find a stream to wade along to interrupt the scent trail before heading back down through the bush. The birds had started up again. The river seemed to be rushing louder, like it’d frozen at the gunshots and was relaxing again.

  She made steady progress, keeping the river noise within range on her right for orientation, keeping the breeze on her face to leave a scent trail, keeping her breathing and steps quiet so she could tap into her surroundings. The forest stretched up and darkened—thinner scrub and more towering rata. Less cover.

  The going got steeper, the river noise deepening into the rolling roar of a white-water gully. Overtop, a trickle—a stream, ahead. She checked behind, her stomach flipping like a landed trout. Nothing moved among the twisted tree trunks. Shane had better be on her tail and not Cody’s. She hadn’t heard a gunshot since the hut. That must mean he hadn’t found Cody. No scrawny guy with a gun would risk hand-to-hand combat with a man of that build.

  The stream was narrow but it’d do. Clear water, a stony bed. Churn-proof, though she’d have to avoid the rocks that were furry with green moss. She slipped off her socks and shoes and stepped into the water, swallowing a gasp as the cold jolted her nerves. As the shock abated she waded upstream, the scalding sting giving way to numbness. She left the waterway at an impassable tumble of rocks, dried her feet as best she could and gratefully pulled on her socks and sneakers, her toes burning all over again when sensation returned.

  As she tightened her laces, a shiver rolled up her spine. She turned, sucking in her lips. She heard panting, leaves crunching. Oh God, a dog. She couldn’t turn back just yet—they were too close. She’d find another stream to follow, higher up. She leaped to the far bank and set off, faster. Behind her, footsteps thudded. Or was that her pulse? After a few minutes, light filtered through the trees ahead—a clearing. A trickle—another stream. She stumbled toward it, surged out of the scrub and stopped dead, gasping.

  Not a clearing, not a stream. A cliff. She grabbed a thin black tree trunk. Way down below, the river churned and frothed around jagged rocks. How had she ended up back at the river? The trickle she’d heard was a waterfall sprinkling from a fissure in the cliff. A clod of earth gave way under her right foot. She tap-danced to reclaim firm ground. Below, the clod smacked into the white water.

  She was farther upriver than she’d thought, at a sharp bend. A sheer drop blocked her exit on two sides, the shooter and his dogs on another. She’d backed herself into a corner.

  She looked down, swaying. Tane would tell her to jump for it, taking a positive leap to clear the rocks, torpedoing with her toes pointed, lifting her chin so the water didn’t flood her nose, bracing for the shock of the water. You’ll be sweet. She tried to force herself to leap but her hands clutched the tree. She still had one escape route that didn’t require plummeting to likely death—back the way she’d come.

  A bark. A shout. Close—in the trees behind her. Another bark. She had to get out of the light. She talked her hands into releasing the trunk, crept along the cliff, clutching at branches, and gratefully ducked back into the forest. She could hear it, like a ghost dog—panting, scrabbling through dirt and sticks. Hopefully they’d lost the scent at the stream and were operating on guesswork.

  She crept inland, following a ridge above a dry, rocky streambed. The roar of the river eased.

  Behind her, something rustled. She swiveled. A dog leaped on top of a rotting tree trunk, its focus latching on to her. The brown one with the big jaws. Shit.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE DOG CROUCHED, growling like an idling motorbike. It threw up its head and barked, once, twice, three times, idled again. How the hell had it circled her so quickly? Tia dropped her gaze to the ground in a show of submission, and scanned for a stick. Nothing but twigs and leaves. She was in the middle of a fucking forest and she couldn’t find a stick?

  “Jaws! Attack!”

  She jumped. The voice was right behind her. The dog launched off the trunk, teeth bared. She reared, and her right foot punched into air, throwing her off balance, dropping her feetfirst off the ridge. She grabbed a tree root but it tore away, spitting dirt into her eyes. She slid down a bank of sheer rock, scrambling for a handhold, her stomach in full panic.

  She thumped onto the dry riverbed, arse-first. The dog stood on the ridge several meters above, barking, turning itself nearly inside out in indecision. From out of sight, Shane yelled the attack order again. She pushed to her feet. Uninjured and, for now, out of reach.

  A noise, behind her. Something grabbed her calf and tugged. Pressure flamed into bright pain. She twisted. Another terrier, a white one, was clamped on the back of her leg. Its teeth pushed through the denim of her jeans, popped her skin, sunk in. The pain exploded. She punched blindly, yelling, her fists bouncing off solid muscle, her vision spotting. Oh God, Shane had three dogs, not two—and this one was about to rip her leg off. It yanked, and she slipped sideways, her shoulder clonking on dirt. No sound. Why was there no sound? She couldn’t feel the rest of herself—nothing but the tearing burn in her leg. She flailed her fists but the angle was too awkward. The dog dragged her, stopping when its back hit the rock wall.

  The sour stench of body odor smacked into her. Shane appeared, gripping the brown dog’s collar. It lunged for her, gagging as he yanked it back, its eyes rolling. Behind, the greyhound tracker bounced side to side.

  “She got a good strong bite on her, eh?” Shane said, his shoulder looking ready to jump from its socket. “Jaws! Release!”

  It didn’t.

  “Yeah, nah, bit of a mongrel that one. Well, they all are, but must’ve been some monster jumped her bitch mother. Trick is, getting her to let go. Still working on that.”

  “Get it off m
e!”

  “Yeah, hurts like fuck, eh? Hang on, just let me tie this bugger up. He’s going apeshit. He can smell the blood, eh?”

  What was this guy on? Tia tried to pant through the pain but it sharpened with every inhalation. Man, if she ever gave birth she was taking the drugs. Panting didn’t do shit. The dog—Jaws—gave a rolling growl. She forced her leg to relax. Maybe if she stopped resisting it’d stop the goddamn tugging. Its hold slackened—just long enough for it to adjust its bite and bust through fresh skin. She yelled.

  She vaguely registered Shane leashing the brown dog to a tree and taking off a camo backpack. Something thudded down in front of the greyhound. A slab of meat. As it sniffed, Shane crouched and ruffled its ears. “G’boy. G’boy. What a good boy. Yeah, yeah, yeah.” The bound brown dog yelped. Shane tossed another slab and it jumped and caught it, choking as it yanked the leash.

  Shane grabbed a stubby stick from the bag and advanced on Jaws. “Yeah, bitch got me good, too, when I’s training her.” He thrust his left elbow at Tia and, with the stick—an artificial thing with rope at either end—pointed out a ragged red scar on his forearm, below his rolled shirt. “Right through the bite sleeve. Shouldn’t a got the cheap one. Fucking li’l shit.”

  He turned to Jaws. “Release!” he barked. “Release! Nah, fuck, see? She’s useless.”

  The dog stilled, giving Tia a split second of relief. Its nostrils flared, the whites of its eyes glowing in the dim light, ears pinned.

  “Yeah, girl, you done good but you gotta know when it’s time to concede, mate.” He forced the stick between her jaws, the extra force threatening to snap Tia’s shin. “Release! Release!”

  The pressure lifted. Tia inhaled. Shane kicked the dog’s stomach and it yelped and skittered sideways, tail down. He pulled another slab of meat from his bag. The dog slunk to it, eyeing Shane’s boot.