by Ann Gimpel
A raven’s head poked through a hole in the tent.
“Shit.” Moira dove for her gun and clicked the hammer back.
“I suppose we should count ourselves lucky it took them some time to break in here.” Tim glanced at her .357 magnum revolver. “What are you planning to do with that? Decimate the tent?”
“If I have to.”
Tim grabbed his staff. She did a double take. The intricately carved walking stick glowed with a bright, white light. Tim’s jaw was set in a hard line. Head high, he turned in a full circle, staff extended before him.
“Lying, cheating whore,” someone shouted from outside the tent. “You’re doing the same thing you’re divorcing me for.”
Tim looked at her. “Is that—?”
“Sounds like it, but I don’t have any idea how. He hates the backcountry. Wouldn’t have a clue how to get himself back here—or what to bring. The storm would’ve finished him off if he tried to follow me.”
“Ha! I did follow you. Wasn’t all that hard. That big pack of yours slows you down.”
I’m not losing my mind. That was the other set of footsteps I heard.
“If it was so easy, why didn’t you catch up?”
“Once I realized you weren’t alone, I got smart. There are many ways to travel.”
“I thought you were descended from all those generations of Indian scouts—the ones who braved ten feet of snow to hunt.”
“Shut up, bitch.”
Moira heard a tinny, discordant note in Ryan’s voice. Something clicked. Her ex wasn’t really out there, except as some sort of magical projection. And she’d bet her last buck his father was helping him.
“Did you tell Singing Bear what really happened?” she snarled.
Silence.
A different voice sounded in her mind. “Maybe not. Why don’t you tell me? You don’t need words, daughter. Images will do.”
Tim tightened his arm around her. “Be careful. That one has real magic.”
“Yes, but he always liked me. Give me a minute.” She sent one image to her father-in-law. The one that had dogged her ever since she walked in on Ryan and his bimbo.
“Thank you. That is all I needed. You cannot lie when you send mind-pictures, and that one came from your soul.” A hesitation, then, “I am sorry, daughter.”
Muted squawks rose from outside the tent, barely distinguishable above the howl of the wind. She heard Ryan tell his father that she was a scheming, lying slut. Here she was fucking some man in the wilderness like he figured she’d done every other time she left on Park Service assignments...
Moira listened, horrified. How could she have spent ten minutes with the bitter, angry man spewing malicious crap about her—let alone almost a year?
“None of that could possibly be true.” Still holding his staff, Tim turned her toward him. His face held a drawn look, as if hearing Ryan’s accusations hurt him as much as it did her.
She shook her head. “No. Ryan was the only one in my bed for the few months we spent together. Actually, he’s the only man I’ve ever had sex with. Until what we just did.”
Tim closed his arms around her. She felt the staff, warm where it rested against her back.
“Thanks for believing in me.” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder. Incredulity vied with joy. Ryan had never believed anything she ever told him.
“Of course I believe in you, mo ghrá. I love you.”
She shook her head. “It’s just—”
“Hush. That part of your life is over. Let’s concentrate on getting ourselves out of here, so we can see what the next part looks like.”
“Why was your walking stick glowing?”
“It’s a magic staff. I didn’t understand why it wanted me to bring it along last night, but I do now.”
She let herself rest against him for just a moment, shutting out the reality of their predicament. Too much snow had fallen for them to just walk back over the pass, and the blizzard didn’t show any sign of letting up.
Chapter Five
Moira reluctantly, disentangled herself from the comfort of Tim’s arms. She went to the tent door and peeked through it. The storm hadn’t abated one whit, but the birds seemed to be gone, along with whatever projection Ryan had managed. She looked at her watch. Just past four.
“I need to radio headquarters.”
“I agree.” Tim gestured at the storm. “You’ve got eleven people out there. Some of them probably aren’t going to make it since they’re not back yet.”
No one would make it, including them, if it didn’t stop snowing, but Moira kept that thought to herself. There was no way a rescue chopper could fly in this weather.
“While I try to raise headquarters, could you check on the mules? They’re probably in a paddock just beyond the tents. Follow the line of tents. They’re pitched right next to one another. When you reach the end, you should find the mules. If you don’t, come back and we’ll look for them together.”
He nodded, finished refastening his clothing, put on his gloves, and slipped out the door. “I’ll check the other tents for Mitch and Jake while I’m at it,” floated back to her, garbled by the wind.
She pulled her satellite phone out of her pack. Despite her worries about her boss hounding her, she’d made a point of charging it before leaving home yesterday morning.
Something made her shiver. The sensation was so intense she looked over her shoulder, wondering if one of the birds had somehow gotten in without her noticing. She didn’t find any of the ravens, but invisible strands of hopelessness dragged at her. It reminded Moira of when her superstitious mother used to natter on about evil spirits discovering your gravesite—and desecrating it.
She closed her eyes, knowing what the bleak premonition meant. Ryan hadn’t given up. His father wouldn’t help him anymore, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t cast his own warped spells.
Moira forced herself to take a deep breath. And then another. She and Tim were probably safe for a while. It would take time for Ryan’s magic to recharge. At least she knew that much about how shamanistic castings worked.
Will we manage to get out of here before he tries to kill us again?
Because she didn’t have any answers, Moira concentrated on setting up her phone’s antenna to get a signal. She dialed as soon as she could.
“National Park Headquarters. Kings Canyon-Sequoia.”
The cheery sound of Betty’s voice almost brought tears to Moira’s eyes. “Betty. Moira, here. I’m at Baxter Lakes. Cannot locate any of the trail crew. Repeat. Cannot locate any of my crew. More than a foot of fresh snow has fallen, and it’s still snowing heavily. Visibility deteriorating, currently at ten feet or less. Requesting rescue operation.”
“Oh my God.” Betty’s gasp was so loud, Moira had to hold the phone away from her ear. She could picture the plump blonde with her long, red fingernails, her mouth curved into an oh of horror. “Right away, hon. I’ll get it called in right away. We were all worried about you. This freak storm just came out of nowhere. None of us were expecting it.”
“I have the solar charger, but it’s worthless without sun. I’m signing off to preserve my battery. And turning off the phone. Will turn it on from five minutes before six until five minutes after if someone needs to talk with me.”
“Roger. Understood.”
The line went dead. Moira didn’t know if the satellites had dropped the call—which they did with annoying frequency—or if Betty was so freaked out, she’d been in a rush to call Search and Rescue. Moira took care to turn off the phone and return it to its case. She tucked the whole mess deep in her pack where it might stay a little warmer. Cold was hell on battery life.
Wind rushed through the door as Tim came back inside. He looked rattled. “Didn’t find any people. There are four mules in the paddock. Five if you count the dead one.”
“What?” She shook her head hard. “It couldn’t have frozen to death. Not yet, anyway.”
�
�Looks like the birds pecked it to death. Opened up either the jugular or carotid. I didn’t get close enough to tell which. Not that familiar with equine physiology.”
She brushed past him, heading toward the door, but he caught her arm. “Uh-uh. Not a good idea. It’s pretty gory.”
She yanked her arm away and bent to pick up her gloves. “We need to free the other mules. The blood will draw every predator within a ten-mile radius. Mules are pretty resourceful, but they’re sitting ducks in that paddock. And I need to see if there’s more ammo for my gun in the supply tent. Looks like we’re going to need it.”
Tim set his mouth into a grim line. “Any chance there might be another weapon?”
“How long since you’ve shot one?”
“A long time, but I’m sure it will come back to me.”
“Can’t you use magic or something?” She pointed at the staff. No longer glowing, it just looked like polished hardwood, with something that might’ve been runic writing circling its girth.
He shrugged noncommittally. “I could, but the destructive side of power is so vast, it scares the crap out of me. That’s part of my problem with taking Liam’s place.”
Despite the desperation of their situation, something like a small sun bloomed in her heart. Tim was finally talking with her. He wasn’t hiding behind a wall anymore. “Thanks for trusting me.”
“You’re welcome. It’s long overdue.”
She bit on her lower lip, chewing on chapped skin. “Back to your question about other weapons, you probably know they’re not legal in national parks. Rangers are the only ones allowed to carry them. Every once in a while, though, one of the crew sneaks something in.”
“Okay, I can look through the tents more thoroughly later.”
“Let’s get moving.” Her gaze zeroed in on him. “Actually, I’m glad to have something to do. It’s better than waiting around until six to turn the phone back on.”
“Know what you mean.” He reached for her, catching a shoulder as she moved past him. “I know we have work to do. And we might not get out of here alive, but I want to tell you something important.”
She swung around to face him. Something about his tone brought her emotions close to the surface. “What?”
He smiled. “Ach, mo ghrá, mellow out a bit. Let a fellow make a proclamation of love without feeling it’s an imposition.
“I fell in love with you when we were just kids. Even then you looked like one of those ancient Valkyries, with all that blonde hair and your golden eyes. I’ve never seen eyes like that on anyone.” Color rose in his face, but he kept talking. “It’s not just your beauty, though. You’re strong and self-sufficient. Not afraid to tackle anything on your own terms. It’s why we butted heads so often. That, and our Irish tempers and my Druid vows.” The rosy hue deepened, bringing a golden tone to his tanned face. “I want to marry you, mo ghrá. As soon as we can. I’m not making the same mistakes I made ten years ago.”
Moira felt the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile. Joy whooshed through her. She reached out a gloved hand to stroke his face. “I’d like that too,” she murmured. “It’ll be a few months, though, until the divorce is final.”
“Not a problem. After all the years I’ve already waited, a few months are nothing.” He closed a hand over hers. “We can leave now. After you.”
She led the way outside, then stopped abruptly. “I probably should tell you we haven’t seen the last of Ryan.”
“I didn’t think we had.” Tim laughed, but it held a bitter edge. “If I’d had a woman like you and fucked up as badly as he did, I’d want to do something about it too.”
A lone coyote howl filled the air. Answering wails rose from all directions. Moira knew the wind could deceive, but it was clear the local cleanup crew were on their way. They had to get the other mules out of Death Corral. And damned fast. “We need to hurry.”
He moved in front of her, leading the way along a trail he’d already made through calf-deep snow. “Do you think they’ll be okay on their own?”
“We’ll turn them loose. They ought to be fine. Mules are way stronger than horses.”
“What about all those feed sacks?”
“Not a problem. Coyotes won’t eat them. But we ought to move them into one of the tents so they don’t get buried.”
* * * *
It was nearly time to turn the sat phone on again. Skittish from what happened to one of their own, the mules had been reluctant to do anything. It took a great deal of coaxing, cajoling, and handfuls of grain to get them to step over their fallen comrade and out of the enclosure. Despite the cold, sweat ran down Moira’s sides. She had hold of one end of an eighty-pound feed sack, the last one they needed to move under shelter, when she heard voices. Jake, Mitch, and another mule stumbled out of the whiteout.
“Never mind,” Tim grunted, hefting the sack to one shoulder. “I can get this. Do what you need to.”
Moira stomped over to the two AWOLs. “Get the packs off that animal and his halter, then turn him loose. When you’re done, help us move sleeping bags and clothes into the supply tent.”
“What happened to the corral?” Jake sounded wiped. He had an arm around Mitch, supporting him.
“One of the mules is dead. It’s pretty bloody.” She didn’t have to say anything else. Jake had been a miner before he’d opted for the relatively softer life of going on Park Service work details. Even though they didn’t pay him much, they fed him. He’d told her once that three squares counted for quite a bit when you’d spent a lot of your life hungry.
She shone her headlight on her watch. “I need to turn the phone on. Talk with you later.”
The sat phone rang nearly as soon as she powered it on. It didn’t surprise her. Nor did the sound of John’s voice. “Report,” he said brusquely.
“Two trail crew accounted for. Nine missing.”
“Mules?”
“Did we start with twelve?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, we have five here. Six if you count the dead one. So that means six are missing.”
“One of the mules is dead?” John sounded shocked. “What happened?”
“Long story, John. And it doesn’t matter. We freed the others.”
He cleared his throat. “I’ll expect a full report once you’re back in the office. As you’ve probably figured out, storm’s too bad to send a chopper. Soon as it quits snowing, we’ll come for you.”
“Any idea when the weather’s supposed to clear?” She tried to keep her voice from wavering. It wouldn’t do to let her boss know how frightened she was.
“Not for another couple of days. Frankly, I don’t get it. This weather was not in the forecast.” Concern—and worry—permeated his words. “You have plenty of food and fuel. Just pay attention to protocols, and you should be fine.”
She sucked in a breath. Two days could be a long time with her soon-to-be ex-husband on the prowl. “When would you like me to turn the phone on again, sir?”
“No point in running down the batteries. Tomorrow night at this time should be fine. Oh, and Moira, if you can get a fire going, by all means do so.”
“Thanks,” she murmured. John really was trying. It was a major concession for him to give her permission to have an open fire above ten thousand feet, where they were normally forbidden.
“You’re welcome. Take care of yourself. I already lost two rangers this season. Don’t wim to lose another.”
The empty hum of satellites buzzed against her ear. She powered down the phone and buried it in her pack. Moira looked around the tent where she and Tim had kissed and snuggled. A tender glow started in her belly, radiating outward. He was such a wonderful man, kindhearted and sensitive. She wondered if she could possibly be lucky enough for the love between them to take root and grow this time, without all the pain and hurt and endless arguments.
Hope I live long enough to find out.
She grabbed the sleeping bags, shouldered her pack, and
moved through the storm to the supply tent. It would be a tight fit, with the four of them and most of the community gear, but until she was certain the coyotes would be satisfied with the sacrificial mule, she wasn’t taking any chances.
When she got inside, battening the door against wind that had to be gusting at close to forty miles an hour, she saw Tim bent over Mitch. “What’s wrong?”
“Hypothermia, frostbite. Too much booze and dope. Not enough food or water. Probably has some kind of viral hepatitis to boot. He’s pretty yellow. Whichever MD cleared him for this work detail should have his license suspended.” Tim sounded angry—and troubled. “I got his clothes off and wrapped two down bags around him with hot water bottles inside, but he’s delirious. I need him awake enough to eat and drink since I obviously don’t have any IV equipment here.”
Wending her way among stacks of gear, she dropped her pack and the sleeping bags on a cot. An unpleasant odor from Mitch’s unwashed body permeated the already stale air in the tent. She could only imagine what it would be like by morning. She walked over to Tim and peered down at Mitch. He thrashed weakly on a cot. His color was horrid, face a ghastly shade of gray. The whites of his eyes were lemon-colored.
“I’m surprised he made it back here,” she said.
“Yeah. Me too.”
“There should be either a full EMT or paramedic pack in with the supplies. Do you want it?”
Something painfully close to hope flared in Tim’s eyes. “That would be great. Any medical supplies are better than what I have, which is nothing.”
Turning up the beam of her headlamp, Moira rummaged through boxes stacked along one side of the tent. It took her a few minutes, but she located the crate of medical supplies and carried it over to Tim. “Where’s Jake?”
“Bringing stuff from the other tents. Did you talk to the Park Service?”
“Uh-huh.” She stopped, trying to figure out which piece of bad news to deliver first.
“And? Come on, Moira, don’t make me work to get information. I’m having a hard enough time.”