Endangered (9781101559017)

by Beason, Pamela

  “David—wasn’t that what he called him? David Davinski,” she murmured. Cold, gray, dead. She understood it all now. The blue demon. Her intuition about Weird Wilson. The grapes. Even the odor of Camembert she thought she’d imagined last night had been real. “David is—was—the baby Barbara Jean was carrying three years ago. BJB plus KJD.”

  Perez frowned. “You lost me.”

  “Initials—they’re carved into the wall of the town house, a few doors down. BJB plus KJD. Barbara Jean and Karl. Those handprints in the Drawing Room.” A family of handprints: father, mother, baby. The items pilfered from campgrounds. Food, clothing, cooking utensils. The repeated sightings of Coyote Charlie. “They’ve been living up here for nearly three years.”

  Perez considered. “Well, Davinski’s been here for that long. Barbara Jean probably died around six months ago. And David, just days or, at most, a week ago.”

  “Poor David.” She looked down at the boy by her side. His hair was dry now, golden blond. Blue eyes stared into hers.

  “Zack!” he chirped.

  “Yes, you’re Zack,” she agreed. “But you do look a lot like David.” She turned toward Perez. “Did my camera and phone survive?”

  “I’ll get your pack.” He disappeared again.

  Out beyond the plaza, the rain poured off the overhang in a translucent curtain of water. She sat down again, closed her eyes and listened to the hum of falling water. Zack climbed into her lap, and she hugged his small warm body. It would be so nice to lie down and go to sleep for a few hours. Maybe for a few days.

  Footsteps scuffled in front of her. She opened her eyes to a blinding flash. Perez stood there, the digital camera in front of his face. “Now that’s your photo,” he said, his dark eyes shining.

  Ever since she’d met Chase Perez, she’d been trying to think of a description for the clear brown color of his eyes. Finally, she had it: they were the color of a stream she’d drunk from on Vancouver Island. The surrounding peat bog tinged the crystal-clear water dark brown. Peat brown, dark but transparent at the same time. A smoky flavor, earthy and delicious.

  He set the camera down beside her. She didn’t want to think about how she’d look in the picture he’d just snapped. A sewer rat, an old hag. In a minute she’d take a picture of Zachary by himself. She glanced at her watch. A deep scratch marred the crystal, but the hands were still moving. It was a few minutes after two o’clock.

  Two o’clock. The USDAWS hunters were to start from the park perimeter at noon. “The hunters!” She clawed at Perez’s arm. “We’ve got to let Thompson know we have Zack!”

  “I’m trying.” Perez held her cell phone up to his ear. After a second, he shook his head. “Just static.”

  “It was almost dead last night.”

  “The light’s still blinking.”

  “Try the satellite.”

  She gave him the number and her access code. He walked outside, but returned only a couple of moments later. “Can’t get a damn thing in this storm. But the hunters won’t be out in it, either.”

  She wouldn’t bet on that. The hunters she knew prided themselves on overcoming the elements.

  “The sky’s brighter to the west; the rain might lighten up. I’ll try again in a minute.”

  Zack looked a lot healthier than he had a half hour ago, but Sam knew that the toddler needed decent food and probably medical attention as well. She could do with a few Band-Aids and a beer herself. Maybe several Band-Aids and several beers.

  “We need to go,” she told Perez. “They’ll be shooting any minute. We can walk out of the rain.”

  “I’ll get the pack.” He turned toward the far wall.

  She shouldered her borrowed pack, took Zack’s hand, and led him out onto the plaza. On the little boy, Perez’s shirt and jacket dragged the stone floor like a nightgown. Zack stumbled on the material. As she turned to pick him up, Karl Davinski emerged from the shadows of the town house. His chopped hair dripped muddy water onto his bare chest. His eyes, locked on Zachary, were coldly determined. In his outstretched hand he held what looked like an antique revolver.

  “David,” he hissed. “Come to Daddy.”

  25

  CLUTCHING a fold of her soggy pants, Zack shrank back behind Sam’s leg. The barrel of the pistol was pointed squarely at her chest. Davinski’s finger was on the trigger.

  “Give me my son!” he roared.

  Was the gun loaded? Sam saw a movement behind the armed man. Perez. Davinski saw her eyes focus on the point beyond him; he began to turn in the other man’s direction.

  “Karl!” Sam yelled, pulling her gaze back to Davinski.

  He swiveled back in her direction, his eyes shifting from side to side now.

  “I know you don’t want to do this, Karl.” She had to keep his attention. “This is not David. This is not your son. David is dead.” She emphasized the last word heavily. “Like Barbara Jean.”

  The wraith shook his head violently, dislodging a shower of droplets from his tangled locks. The gun barrel wavered. Behind him, Perez crept closer.

  “No,” Davinski moaned. His gaze trailed downward and locked on Zack. The little boy’s fingers clenched more tightly around Sam’s leg. “David was lost for a little while, but I found him. I saved him.”

  “You didn’t save David. David died in that cave-in,” she said softly. “He was crushed by the rocks. David’s dead.”

  Karl Davinski’s eyes flickered as if she’d just jolted him with a stun gun. He wasn’t completely disoriented, then. Sam reached back, put her hand on Zack’s head. “This is another little boy. A different boy, Zachary Fischer. You found him in the campground, didn’t you? Just like you found those grapes.”

  He looked startled that she’d put it together. Then his pale eyes blazed with anger. “Liar!” he shrieked. “He’s mine. I saved him.”

  “This is not your son. This is Zachary, and his mother wants him back.” Still looking at him, she slowly slid the pack down over her shoulders and extracted an arm from the straps.

  Davinski’s washed-out gaze connected with hers. “I made a mistake, and then David was lost. But he didn’t get hurt; look at him! He was stolen!”

  “Karl,” she said gently. “You know that’s not true.”

  His eyes blurred with tears. “But the blue demon had him. I saved him.”

  “I know you did, Karl.” Wilson’s mud-covered outfit had been blue. He was the shadowy man at the end of the path. “You saved him. But Zack is not yours to keep.”

  Davinski’s finger pressed against the trigger.

  Sam hurled her pack at Davinski and dove for the floor, pulling Zack down with her. A bullet whined over her head like a rocket-powered bumblebee. At the same time, there was a loud crack as the pack connected with Davinski’s knees, and he staggered forward and tripped over it. Then Perez was on him. She rolled to her knees. Zack was on all fours, crying. She pushed herself up, ran toward the struggling men. Perez gripped Davinski’s wrist; he slammed the man’s hand against the floor. Another shot rang out, ricocheted off the plaza stones in a puff of dust, only a foot beyond the sobbing toddler.

  Perez was on top of Davinski. No way to kick or punch one without getting the other. She stomped on the hand that held the pistol, felt metal and bone hard beneath her boot.

  Karl Davinski howled. She heard a pop as another bullet exploded from the gun under the sole of her boot. She raised her foot. The limp hand drew away, leaving the pistol on the floor. She grabbed the weapon.

  Davinski kneed Perez in the groin. The agent’s body buckled in pain. Davinski shoved him away, slithered like a lizard toward the nearby opening of the kiva. He was halfway down into the underground structure before Perez recovered and grabbed his ankle. As they both tumbled into the kiva, Perez’s foot caught the ladder. It fell with a crash after them.

  Sam galloped to the stone edging around the kiva. Perez sat on Davinski’s abdomen, struggling to pin the other man’s arms to the ground. Davinski�
��s legs flailed behind Perez’s back.

  “Stop it, Karl!” She pointed the pistol at Davinski’s head. Neither man gave any sign of hearing her. Davinski kneed Perez hard in the back. Sam felt the blow in her own kidneys. It didn’t look as if Davinski would be down for long.

  Sam shouted again. “Stop or I’ll shoot!” Yeah, right. She’d never shot anything but tranquilizer guns. But how hard could it be? Thousands of people did it every year, and some of them were idiots. Warning shot first; she really didn’t want to kill anyone. She aimed just above Davinski’s head and pulled the trigger.

  The bullet pinged exactly where she was aiming, releasing a little puff of dust, then smacked off the wall behind Davinski and then off the wall just inches away from Perez’s ear. Davinski flinched, but Perez amazingly did not. He delivered a blow to the side of Davinski’s head that gave Sam an instant headache. As the other man went limp beneath him, Perez rolled off him and whipped a zip tie from his jeans pocket. Then Davinski shot up, managing to get his hands on the edge of the kiva, pulling himself up to the rim.

  “You have got to be kidding,” Sam groaned. As his head emerged from the rim of the kiva, she drew back her foot and kicked out hard, connecting with his temple. Davinski dropped from the rim, hitting his head hard on the packed earth floor; he stayed down this time. Flipping Davinski over, Perez quickly bound his wrists together and then moved down to Davinski’s legs, tying his ankles together only a second before Davinski started thrashing again.

  Perez pulled himself to his feet. His hair was wet with sweat; his face was covered with blood and dirt. “God, Summer,” he said, “Haven’t you ever heard of ricochet?”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He hefted the ladder into place, leaned on it panting for a minute, and then climbed up.

  Davinski rolled over and lay looking up at them. Across his left temple and cheek was the deep red imprint of her hiking boot. Sam was glad to see she hadn’t killed him.

  “Are you going to leave him down there?” she asked.

  “Hell yes.” Blood dribbled from a cut on Perez’s bottom lip onto the collar of his white T-shirt as he leaned over and pulled the ladder out of the kiva.

  Zachary ran to Sam and threw his arms around her thigh. Glaring at Davinski down in the kiva, he spat, “Bad man! I hate you!”

  “That’s right, Zack. He’s a bad man.”

  The little boy picked up a loose rock and threw it, hitting Davinski in the thigh. Then Zack turned and grinned. Probably not a behavior that should be encouraged, Sam thought, but she couldn’t really blame the kid.

  She pulled the camera from her pack and captured a shot of Zack standing above his kidnapper. Zack happily obliged her by tossing another pebble down onto Davinski.

  Sam put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s enough, Zack.” She stared down at Davinski, who lay quietly, his pale blue eyes staring up, focused on nothing. “How could you let it all go so wrong, Karl?” she murmured.

  “It was perfect,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Then Barbie got sick and left me . . .” A tear rolled down his weathered cheek.

  “I know you loved her, Karl. And David’s death was an accident, wasn’t it?” she said softly. “Maybe he was just playing on those rocks?”

  “He won’t stay put unless I leave him on the island.”

  The pile of rocks in the Wreck Room, surrounded by Curtain Creek, would look like an island.

  “And I have to go out hunting. I have to be a good father.” Davinski groaned. “David’s afraid of the water. I tell him he’ll go over the falls.” His gaze shifted to meet hers. “We live off the land. This is the Anasazi Garden of Eden, you know.” Davinski’s cracked lips curved into an eerie smile. “I was reborn here. And now David is, too. He was lost but now is found.”

  Perez had one eyebrow raised. “Guess that about sums it up,” he said. “I’ll come back for him and for the . . . David . . . as soon as we can get a copter up here.”

  Outside, somewhere far away, she heard the crack of a rifle shot. Then another. “The phone, Perez! Give me the phone.” Grabbing it from him, she galloped to the edge of the plaza and lowered herself painfully down the steps onto the mesa, punching in numbers as she went.

  She dialed the wrong number, got a gas station in Las Rojas. “Shit!” she yelled in the unlucky attendant’s ear. She punched End, made herself take a deep breath. Two more pops drifted up from somewhere below. Definitely gunfire. She carefully punched in the park headquarters’ number.

  “Heritage National Monument.” A woman’s voice. Didn’t sound familiar. She could barely hear it at all. The battery was nearly dead.

  “Stop the hunt!” she yelled.

  “Madam,” began the answerer, “I understand that you’re upset—”

  “This is Summer Westin, up on the plateau. I’m with an agent from the FBI—”

  “And I’m Cinderella,” the woman snapped. “Look, ma’am—”

  Perez, holding Zack in one arm, plucked the phone from her grip. He identified himself, then said, “I’m holding Zachary Fischer in my arms right now.” He listened for a minute, then held the phone to Zack’s mouth. “Say hi, Zack.”

  “Hi!” the little boy screeched. “Mommy?”

  Perez moved the phone to his ear again. “We need a helicopter up here immediately. We’re on the path below the ruins, starting down toward . . .”

  “Village Falls,” Sam supplied. “A helicopter could land near the bottom.”

  “Village Falls,” he repeated into the phone. He paused. “I’m ordering you to stop the cougar hunt immediately.”

  Sam chewed a fingernail to the quick in the long silence that ensued.

  “Well, you’d better damn well figure it out,” Perez finally snarled. He punched End.

  The look on his face was not encouraging. “What did she say?”

  He pushed Zack up onto his shoulders. “She’s on loan from Canyonlands. She’s not sure who to call about the helicopter. And she didn’t know how to contact the hunters.”

  THEY hiked down the rocky trail through the rain, which was now a mere drizzle.

  “Fischer’s still unaccounted for,” Perez told his partner through heavy static. “I’ll tell you the details later. I need you to call off the federal guns. Now.”

  “Nicole promised that she would try to end it ASAP,” he told Sam when he’d ended the call. “At least that’s what I thought she was saying. The phone went dead before she finished the sentence.”

  It wasn’t enough for Sam, who watched her boots descend the trail as if they belonged to someone else. She should be running, screaming, anything to stop the senseless slaughter. Zack was finally safe and sound, but the cougars were going to die, anyway. But even as her mind was on fire, her body was, too. Every muscle ached. She felt every scratch and gouge: the cougar stripes on her thigh, the wide scrapes along her backbone. Her shredded clothing chafed against the welts and glued itself to the bloody areas. Her scalp throbbed nearly as much outside as her head ached inside.

  Zack, wearing one of her black garbage bags for a raincoat, rode on top of the agent’s pack. Perez kept a protective hand clutched around one of the child’s ankles. Zack’s fingers formed a pale headband across the FBI agent’s bronze forehead.

  The storm had transformed the bone-dry park into a spectacular display of falling water. Village Falls was a thundering cascade, and Sam shivered, watching it. She and Zack had almost plunged over along with all that water. The rain dissolved into a light mist. As a helicopter rocketed toward them, they waited near the shimmering pool cradled by red rock. Their clothing steamed in the sunshine.

  “Take us to the hunters,” Sam ordered the pilot. Perez rode next to the man, and Sam strapped herself, with Zack on her lap, into the seat in back, crowding in with a pile of equipment.

  “My orders are to deliver you to park headquarters,” the pilot said. “Medics are standing by to give you and the boy aid. And the press is waiting, too.”<
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  “Has the hunt been called off?” she asked.

  “Don’t know.” The pilot swiveled his head in her direction and she found herself staring at her own reflection in his mirrored sunglasses. “I’m not part of that.”

  “You’re about to become part of that,” Perez snapped.

  There were three groups of hunters. They found one cluster near the top of Powell Trail, where it flattened out over the mesa. Their dogs were still on leashes and there was no wildlife in sight. The pilot contacted the leader on his radio, then handed it to Perez, who delivered the order to cease and return to base. Looking up, the man in fatigues waved in acknowledgment.

  They flew over the plateau toward the northern border of the park. The helicopter, buzzing low over the mesa, scattered a group of mule deer, and Sam watched the does and fawns dart frantically in all directions. In its panic, one fawn, trying to make an impossible leap to the top of a boulder, crashed into the rock and collapsed in a heap below.

  Sam pressed her hand to the window and leaned close as they passed over.

  “Bambi!” Zack chirped from her lap. “Bambi hurt!” He flattened his nose against the glass.

  They both breathed a sigh of relief as the fawn unfolded its long legs and staggered after its mother.

  The second group of hunters, only a couple of miles from the northern border of the park, seemed relieved to turn around and head back to their vehicles. The pilot was on his radio, quizzing someone about the location of the final group. He pulled a lever and they swung in a circle back in the direction from which they’d come.

  “They’re on Horsehip Mesa,” he said. “Near Rainbow Bridge.”

  A cold dread gripped Sam. Leto’s territory. She watched the helicopter’s shadow slide over the mesas and canyons below. Life seemed distant and passing way too fast from up here. In one treed valley, she spotted two black hulks crouched in the sparse underbrush between the aspens. Black bears? She’d seen droppings during her tenure in the park but never an actual bear.