The Lumberjack
Page 13
Frank parked in the back of the store and went inside, where Claire meet him with a friendly smile. Nugget and Hunter rushed Frank, demanding his attention; and when he embraced Claire, both barked and tried to push him away. “I never got them to stop doing that,” he said regretfully.
“Too bad we can never dance when they’re around, they probably think we’re hurting each other,” Claire joked, and then she continued, handing Frank a plastic bag, “I made you a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches and some fresh coffee, and if you’re back in time we’ll have the chicken pot pie.”
“Where’s Winston?”
“Where do you think he is? He’s in the kitchen guarding the pie.”
Frank leaned over the kitchen counter, and there sat Winston, staring into the oven, very focused. “Hey, boy.”
Winston turned his head and barked loudly. Get away from my pie, human.
Claire and Frank shook their heads, used to the old dog, but at the same time still amused by his behavior and odd habits. “That one you never managed to train.”
“And I’m glad I didn’t. Some animals just have too much personality.”
“Will you take Hunter, too?”
Frank looked at Hunter, who looked back expectantly.
“No, I want him here with you.”
“But I have Winston.”
“Please.”
He gave his wife a peck on the cheek. Hunter looked less happy, and lay down where he had stood, whining some. Frank turned around and said, “Protect,” pointing at Claire, and suddenly Hunter got up on his feet, having received an order. “That should keep him happy for a while.”
“I was going to take the dogs out for a walk…well, not Winston.”
“Please don’t take Hunter for a walk. Stay in the house. We might have a grizzly loose, like I told you on the phone.”
“But it’s so unusual to have any bears near town.”
“I know. Must’ve been, what? Ten years now?”
Frank opened the passenger door on his king cab truck, and Nugget jumped in easily. By the time he seated himself in the driver’s seat, Nugget was already sitting in the passenger seat, staring dead ahead, pretending Frank wasn’t there. “Haven’t got control over you either, huh? Bad influence, that Winston fella.”
Frank waved at Claire, who stood in the kitchen window waving back at him. He took a pickle and chowed down, and his stomach let out a purr. He opened the bag with the sandwiches, took one out, and closed the bag. He took two big bites, then placed the sandwich on the console in the center of the bench seat, poured some fresh coffee into a cup, took a few sips, and placed the cup in a holder. Then he got the truck in gear and slowly drove away. Frank turned and made one last wave to his wife as he pulled out. He reached for his sandwich…but of course, nothing was there. He quickly and angrily turned his head towards Nugget, who pretended to ignore him while staring dead ahead, licking his lips. Frank saw a few bread crumbs on Nugget’s mustache, and then he had to laugh at his own stupidity and pat Nugget on his head. You can’t trust a dog with your food.
He arrived at the crime scene, and parked his truck a bit away from the rest of the vehicles. First that nasty accident, now this… There was a large crowd of people standing in the rain. Flashing lights from an ambulance and several patrol cars and SUVs lit the area. Some white flashes came from behind the bar: crime scene photos, no doubt.
He was greeted by Carlos. “Thanks for coming. Didn’t know who else to call.”
“Whitney not around with his dog?”
“Oh, Whitney and that dog of his are here, all right…but, well, come and see for yourself. Not bringing Nugget?”
“Not yet, I want to look at the scene first—where the vic is, and so on. I want to avoid as many smells for Nugget as possible before I let him out.”
Carlos led Frank behind the building, towards the brow of the hillside below where it met the tree line. Several uniformed officers and a few civilians were there. Two pit bulls lay on the ground, whining loudly and acting very nervous. A man in handcuffs stood there trying to talk to them, an attractive young police woman next to him, frowning deeply. Officer Whitney was trying to calm his German Shepherd, Tango, but his dog also lay on the ground whining. The entire scene seemed absurd, and a bit strange to Frank. “Give me quick summary, Carlos?”
“We think someone might have forgotten to close the back gates, and a bear got inside the fence. The bartender, Joe Halls, had one of the guests kicked out in the back—there’s a kind of rest area there with a bench under a porch roof.”
“Why would he send out someone there?”
“For the person to sober up, I guess. But in this case, it was Beatrice Mayhaw—you know her?—and she became hysterical when she heard about the death of Noise Clement…you know him, right?”
Frank’s eyes widened. “Yeah, who hasn’t heard about him and BBB? When did Little Noise die?”
“Guess you haven’t heard, but since the cat’s out of the bag, I might as well fill you in. My colleagues and I were on our way to the Harris logging site to investigate a report of a dead body when we got involved in the accident where you and that Hollywood star helped us out.”
“Was it a bear that killed Noise?”
“Dunno. From the markings, it could very well be, but there’s a catch. Someone neatly sliced off his head.”
“And you still know it was Noise.”
“His size and his tats were confirmed by two witnesses, so yeah, I’m pretty sure it was him. Anyway, Joe had one of his employees take BBB outside so she could get some fresh air and calm down. He left her outside crying, and after a while they heard a horrible scream and the sounds of fighting. They got out here and found BBB bleeding from the neck. Something tore her up but good. Someone claims they saw the back of a bear heading up here into the forest. “There’s some type of stink on BBB and on Noise; not sure what it is.”
Frank just nodded sadly, staring into the deep dark woods. He felt like something was staring back. “Hell of a note. To be perfectly honest with you, Carlos, if it was a bear, then it’s probably long gone, scared away by all the commotion.”
“You’re right, but what if it wasn’t a bear?”
“Don’t worry. If there’s a track, we’ll find it.”
“Any thoughts about that?” Carlos pointed at the three terrified dogs lying on the ground whining.
“I have no idea what that’s all about. Normally those types of dogs would have charged after any animal. It’s in their nature, and from the looks of it…is that the owner of the pit bulls?” Frank pointed at the cuffed civilian.
“Yep, he tried to hunt whatever attacked BBB.”
“I normally don’t judge a person, but something tells me he shouldn’t have dogs.”
“Right on.”
Frank and Carlos went back to his truck, and Frank got Nugget out and put him on a thirty-foot red leash. Nugget was as calm as day, breathing normally with his tongue hanging out.
“You packing?” Carlos asked.
Frank patted the side of his shirt, and lifted the hem, revealing a large revolver in a brown holster. “Need to see my license?”
Carlos shook his head. “Got my own copy of it in my office.”
Frank rolled up the long leash, and then headed to where the other dogs were; and just before he reached them, Nugget froze. Inside Nugget’s mind, something that had always lain hidden, perhaps a dormant gene somewhere, awakened. Nugget didn't know what it was, but it was something that this particular dog breed had been trained and taught to recognize for hundreds of years: this specific scent. At the first whiff of it, Nugget didn’t understand what it was or what was happening, so he stopped. The smell was wrong; and suddenly that hidden little gene that had awakened sent to his brain the signal Nugget needed: the ultimate hunt was on.
The hunt for a lion.
Nugget went ballistic. Frank, who had been holding the line somewhat loosely, reacted too slowly; but the line was
attached to his belt. Unlike the other dogs, who were still lying on the ground whining, Nugget was invigorated. The hair on his back stood straight up; he barked extremely aggressively, and when the line attached to his collar forced him to come to a sudden halt, he went even madder, trying to get it off him. Nugget jumped, growled, and barked like he never had before. With a new alpha in place, the natural instincts of the other dogs took over, and suddenly they, too, went mad. Someone had forgotten to put a leash on the pit bulls, and they flew into the forest. The German Shepherd also somehow got loose, and it too ran into the woods, barking in the wake of the silent pits.
“Oh no,” Frank moaned, lying on the ground, watching Nugget taking off with the long line dragging behind him. He looked at the attachment to his belt; the metal had broken. “Crap material,” he snarled, then got on his feet and took off after the dogs. Behind him, the people watching let out a cheer, and soon many of them were following as well; and some idiot fired off a few rounds into the air.
The hunt was on.
* * * * *
BY THEN, the beast was far from the crime scene, feeling good about himself, having taken care of the second witness. No one must know of his existence. He wasn’t sure if the fat bitch had actually seen him the other night, but she had sure enough nailed him with a couple of pellets from the shotgun.
Two-leggeds are lesser beings, and should all die, he thought fiercely. They were ruining Mother Earth, and he was her guardian.
But he had underestimated the local law enforcement. They had been more alert than he expected. He was miles away from the killing ground, but he had to stop now. Far down on the road was a police vehicle with the lights turned off. It had gotten there just as he had, about half an hour after the last kill. The beast had first waited for the vehicle to move on, but it idled there. He followed the tree line and a long curve on the road away from the car, and came to another intersection—and there was another vehicle, this one clearly a Highway Patrol car. Both cars had the road covered, though neither was in the line of sight of the other. Still, not good. This was no highway here, just a small forest road, so this made no sense. Well he was patient, and he could wait; two-leggeds were the direct opposite, and eventually they would leave. He lay there for a while, observing the officer who sat in the car.
Suddenly the beast heard the barking of dogs in the far distance; it came from the direction of the killing ground. He must move, but what animal would dare to challenge him? His odor was formulated to discourage any beast on land, a potion that had taken ages to develop. Something wasn’t right, and the beast felt uneasy. The barking grew closer, but the beast more or less ignored it because he was the ultimate killer, handcrafted by Mother Nature. He would rather not kill an animal, but would if or when he felt threatened. He made a decision: another two-legged must die, but then he must lay low for a while. The consequences of killing a uniformed two-legged should not be underestimated. He was far too clever and would, if he could, avoid any more kills or detection for now. After all, he still had the primary prey to deal with.
* * * * *
“ANYTHING,D’LANCY?” Ethan Jones’s voiced crackled over the radio.
“Nothing, sir, but should we really be here?”
“Do as you’re told, Officer.”
“Yessir, but I need to remind you that my shift ended almost two hours ago.”
“Yeah, but you’re still getting paid, aren’t you?”
“Yessir.”
“Keep it tight, girl, we’ll be replaced soon.”
“But why are we parking here?”
“Because I helped Carlos in the past, chasing some troublemakers from the same bar, and they ran into this forest and came out on this road. As of a matter of fact, I ran one of those bastards over with my car.” Ethan Jones laughed as he turned off the microphone, thinking back on the event.
Over the radio came Carlos da Silva’s voice. “Ethan, you still parked on the northern path?”
“Sure am.”
“Good, the hunt is finally on. The dogs are on their way. Make sure you don’t shoot any of them—or run any over.”
“Roger.” Jones hung up the microphone, cursing Carlos. “What the fuck, does that sand wasp think I’m a fucking amateur?” He picked up the microphone again. “You get that, D’Lancy?”
“Roger, sir.”
“Good. Lock and load.”
“That’s a copy, sir.”
Ethan Jones stepped out of his car, lighting a thin, long cigar. The rain was still pouring down heavily, but his big hat brim covered his precious cancer stick. He opened the trunk and removed the cover on a sniper rifle, then loaded it with four rounds and waited. Despite his personal character, or lack thereof, he was an excellent officer, fearless and law-abiding. He wasn’t afraid or the least concerned; to him, this would be just another check-mark on his perfect record.
Ethan cursed aloud as the fog started rolling in. It was thick.
* * * * *
D’LANCY BUTTONED her raincoat and then paused for a bit, thinking of having to go outside in the rain. It was still warm out there, and she would start sweating in minutes. She unlocked the shotgun between the driver and passenger seats, and checked to make sure it was loaded. When she stepped out of the car, she could hear the barking of the dogs and instantly went on high alert, waiting patiently and watching for any sign of the bear crossing the road.
* * * * *
THE BEAST smiled. Mother had heard his prayer; the fog had rolled in just as he had asked, and it was getting thicker and thicker. He had made his decision, and had worked out a plan to get rid of the dogs without hurting them—poor fellow beasts under the slave yoke of the two-legged as they were. But it came with a price. He observed the next kill, and decided to go for it. The two-legged stood by the car, waiting for him.
* * * * *
JONES LAY over the car, using the hood as support for his rifle. Once in a while, he looked through the scope. The small dot was luminous and enhanced the sights, even though it was dark and foggy. Then he looked down the road, not using the scope, wanting to have a wider view on his surroundings. The barking was very close now; he could hear branches breaking in the forest, and he got ready to fire.
“Hurry! Over here!” someone shouted.
Light from many flashlights splashed through the fog like searchlights from a science fiction film, as distant men shouted and cursed in the forest. All the dogs were far ahead of them, barking loudly now that they had a fearless leader.
A shot rang out, the deep-throated roar of a shotgun, and it made most of the followers stop; but not the dogs, who sensed that their prey was near. The hunt escalated, and everyone turned in the direction of the shot. A moment later came the horrible sound of dogs attacking someone.
“They’re on something!” Carlos shouted, encouraging the hunters onward.
Lights from a police vehicle became visible from the narrow dirt road, and then there were more gunshots. Carlos emerged from the woods first, followed by Frank; behind them came the rest. On the ground lay a Highway Patrol officer being literally eaten by the two pit bulls, both going for her neck. Carlos had no choice: he pulled his pistol and fired his weapon twice, killing the dogs.
On the ground lay D’Lancy; next to her was a shotgun and a smoking shell casing. Her throat and neck had been ripped open, and blood pooled on the ground. Further down the road, another Highway Patrol car lay in the ditch, lights flashing. Wordlessly, an officer hurried to D’Lancy’s body and crouched over her, opening a first aid kit.
Carlos shook his head and made the call everyone in law enforcement dreads: “Officer down,” he screamed into his walkie-talkie. He calmed himself. “Ethan, you there?”
After what seemed a long time, a heavily-breathing Ethan Jones responded over the radio. “Heard a shot from D’Lancy’s position…hurried over, saw something, probably a bear…hit the fucker in the ditch with my car. Pursuing the animal and following the dogs, hurry.”
“They wouldn’t, normally, not if they were on something. We couldn’t make them stop because none of us were the dogs’ master.”
“What about Nugget and Tango, why didn’t they attack?”
“Nugget is on the primary target, and will stay on that trail until caught. He and Tango are much faster and more sustained than the pit bulls. The pits probably fell behind. Not sure why they attacked D’Lancy…hang on, let me check on something.”
He stopped and returned to the Highway Patrol car. He leaned down and sniffed the air. “Hey, Carlos, she’s got that stink on her, on her neck I guess…what’s left of it.”
The officer attending D’Lancy had given up on her. She was dead. There was no way to patch up the wounds she’d sustained, not in the field.
“Shit!” Carlos swore, heart sinking.
“You might want to get some of the scent from it, if it’s even possible. Right now I’d like to go after my dog.”
Carlos looked at Frank and Whitney, both of whom wanted to go after their dogs. He motioned for them to go on, and they ran hard in the direction of the barking.
The visibility was poor, and several times one of the men fell or got whipped in the face by tree branches. Frank’s lungs hurt, but he didn’t care, and pushed on.
Shouts and screams from the dogs fighting someone echoed in the forest. The sad sound of a dog yelping sharply in pain made Frank freeze; then he increased his speed, shouting “No, no, no!” over and over.
Another shot from a hunting rifle rang out, and there was more fighting, and another horrible scream from an injured dog. Frank knew it was Nugget, and that he was in danger. His tears poured down, but he didn’t care. “Not again, not again!” he shouted.