Season of Death

by Christopher Lane

  He was complimenting himself on this idea when he heard something. A snap, followed by a thump. It was barely perceptible above the gurgle of the stream. He swung his head from side to side, eyes darting as he surveyed the shadows in the surrounding brush. Keera had obviously heard it too and was squinting at the nearest rank of willows. They waited, ears straining, minds struggling to classify the sound.

  “Wind?” Ray wondered, unconvinced that a breeze could produce a thump.

  “Wolves?” Keera thought aloud.

  Standing in the stream, they watched for movement. When there wasn’t any, Ray suggested, “Let’s get going.”

  “What about Dr. Farrell?” Keera nodded at the water as though the archaeologist had fallen and needed assistance getting to his feet.

  “We’ll have someone come back for him. We don’t have the proper equipment. And getting him down would be …” He shook his head at the thought of dragging the headless body down the mountain. “I’ll contact my office and have them call in a forensics team from Fairbanks. They’ll know how to handle it.”

  “But …”

  “He’ll be fine in the river. The cold water will act as a preservative. It’ll probably help them determine the cause of death.”

  “Usually when your head is chopped off, you die,” Keera offered flatly.

  “We don’t know if it was chopped off,” Ray argued. “It could have been a bear.”

  She shook her head at this, frowning. “Bears don’t do that.”

  “You’re an expert on bears?”

  “I know my way around the woods. I’ve seen bears attack people. They don’t eat them. They maul them. It’s a territorial thing.”

  “Yeah …” Ray took her by the elbow, and they sloshed toward the bank. “We’ll take this ring to the archaeological camp and see if they can identify it.”

  Keera’s eyebrows rose at this. “Hey! That’s a good idea. Janice should be able to confirm that it belonged to her husband. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Ray shrugged. A better question was why the Voice hadn’t guided her to that conclusion. If it was so wise and all-knowing …

  On the bank, they heard a pop. A twig breaking? Nocturnal wildlife emerging? The path they had followed up was made by moose, and the area was known for wolves. It was about the right time of day for the latter to be on the prowl.

  Dismissing the noise, Ray led Keera back to the trail. They descended rapidly, trotting in a race against the impending darkness. Ten minutes later, the Zodiac came into view: a dull gray oval in a field of colorless shadows.

  “See if there’s a flashlight in the pack,” Ray directed as he helped Keera aboard. Lugging the boat into the water, he climbed in and started the engine. They leaned awkwardly as he gunned the throttle and sent the raft toward the mouth of the Kanayut.

  Foolish. That was the word that came to mind. Going downstream in an overburdened river with total darkness just a few short minutes away. It was reckless. It had been bad enough traveling with Lewis and Billy Bob in broad daylight. But now … The only good news was that the motor allowed them much greater maneuverability. Still, you had to see the white water and the boulders in order to steer around them.

  Moments later Ray realized that this wasn’t quite true as the first section of rapids announced itself with a low rumble. He aimed for the left channel. “Flashlight?”

  Keera was rummaging through the pack, removing the contents: backpacking stove, fuel bottle, poncho, water bottles, compass, waterproof matches, Cutter’s … “Not yet. Just about everything else.” She lifted a minitent. “If we get stranded, this’ll be handy.”

  “There’s got to be a flashlight in there somewhere.” He powered right, around a perceived danger. As he did, he heard a whine behind them. Releasing his grip on the throttle, he listened. Nothing. Just the sound of their own Evinrude idling.

  “Hey, what’s this?” Keera presented something small and dark.

  Ray could barely make out her hand, much less the object. “I don’t know.”

  It was only as she turned it that he saw the blinking red light. Thoughts of plastique and detonators raced through his mind. “Don’t move! Be absolutely still.” He reached for the device. Unfortunately, by focusing his attention on the mysterious object, he failed to detect the presence of a deep, swift trough. The raft was sucked sideways.

  It was a full minute before he regained control and had the bow moving downstream. When he did, Keera announced, “It’s gone. That thing, I dropped it.”

  Ray ran his hands along the bottom of the boat. “Repack everything,” he told her.

  She quickly stuffed the items into the pack. “It’s gone. Maybe it went overboard.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “Why? What was it?”

  “I’m not sure. But it could have been an explosive device.”

  “A bomb? Another one?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” Ray sighed at the possibility.

  “Guess what I found.”

  Ray was in no mood for games. “What?” In the next instant he was blinded by a brilliant, artificial sun. “Could you point it somewhere else?”

  The flashlight beam left his face and jerked its way across the water, illuminating the shore as it rushed past.

  “Better.” Ray recognized a clearing on the beach. “We’re getting close.”

  Keera aimed the flashlight downstream and the beam found a row of willows, a wall of scree, square shadows, two gray Zodiacs …“There it is!” she exclaimed.

  Ray gave the throttle a final goose, powering them across the main channel. The Evinrude fell to a low murmur, and another engine whined at them. It was off in the distance somewhere, singing harmony. He looked upriver into the darkness.

  “What?” Keera wondered. “What’s the matter?”

  “Shhh.” The alien whine grew in intensity, the pitch falling. “Another boat,” he told her. “They’re slowing down … getting closer.”

  “They? Who’s theyT’

  “Fishermen? Hunters? Tourists? Locals? You’re the one who knows the Bush. Who would be floating the river at night?”

  She shrugged. “Nobody. It’s too dangerous. No one would be that stupid.”

  “Except us,” Ray specified.

  “That’s different. You’re a Lightwalker. And I’m a seer.”

  “Ah … Of course.” As the rubber raft met the shore and Ray killed the motor, he asked, “Well if you’re a seer, why can’t you see who’s coming?”

  Keera scowled at him. “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “It sure would be handy if it did.” He helped her out and they started for the trail, the flashlight bobbing. “I’d feel better if I knew who was following us.”

  “Following us?” Keera asked in surprise. “You mean someone’s after us?”

  “I don’t know. We heard something upstream, then again on the river. And now …” He paused and the steady buzz of the approaching motor finished the statement. “Whoever it is, they’re coming this way.”

  Keera adopted an expression of concentration. A moment later she said, “Evil. That’s what’s following us.”

  “Oh, yeah? And what are we supposed to do about it?” he scoffed.

  “The Voice says …” She chewed her lip. “It says, ‘Run!’”

  FORTY-FIVE

  KEERA BOLTED, SKITTERING down the moose trail like a frightened rabbit. Ray had to jog to keep up, to keep the jarring beam of the battery-powered lantern in sight. After hurrying up a half mile of the winding, uneven path, he caught her arm.

  “Hold up,” he panted, pulling her to a halt.

  “We have to keep going,” Keera warned. She seemed just as fresh as when they had started the panicked run. “Come on!”

  “This is ludicrous,” he managed between gasps. “We aren’t even sure that there’s anyone back there, much less that they’re after us.”

  “You said they were following us.”

  Ray shook
his head. “I just meant … You said to run.”

  “No, the Voice did.” She held a finger to her lips. “Listen.”

  Ray tried, but all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart and the rasp of his lungs laboring to recover. “I don’t hear any …” He stopped. There was a groan: rubber on sand? Then a collection of dull scratches. Boots on gravel?

  “They’re coming!” Keera exclaimed. With that she broke free from Ray’s grip and sprinted away like an Olympic medalist. Ray took up chase, but an instant later the bobbing beam of the flashlight disappeared into the night.

  “Keera!” he called in an exaggerated whisper. “Keera!”

  When there was no answer, he slowed to a trot and cursed. It would be just his luck to lose the little girl he was supposed to be watching out for. “Keera?”

  An instant later a low branch raked across his left cheek, convincing him to reduce his pace. He continued at a cautious walk, dabbing at the wound, calling desperately, “Keera? Keera?” If she really knew the woods and the river like she said she did, he had no cause for concern. In fact, he was probably in more danger than she was.

  Hands outstretched, Ray stumbled his way along the overgrown path to a meadow. He remembered it from his last visit. Except this time, it was like something out of a mystical vision: gently rolling tundra and fading, late-season wildflowers washed in the weak, milky light of a rising half-moon. He scanned the surrounding trees, watching for movement. Nothing. Where could she have gone?

  He was eyeing the trail that wound toward the archaeological site when the sound of the pursuing evil presented itself: the thud of Vibram soles on packed earth. For a moment, he even thought he could hear them panting. Them? Who was back there?

  Starting for the camp at a crooked lope, he realized that he had left the pack in the raft. The going was easier without it. But something in it might have proven useful. Especially if he was forced to pass the night huddled in a clump of alders.

  It was a moot point, however. The pack was back at the river. And he was here, hustling along the trail en route to the dig site, minus Keera. Maybe she had gone on ahead.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Ray recognized a shadow: the steep cut-through that the specialist had directed him up. Pausing, he surveyed the meadow one last time. No flashlight beam. No Keera. If she wasn’t at the dig site, he would have Janice send the two Chinese bookends out to look for her. He, of course, would join them.

  Get to the camp, he told himself as he scrambled over the hill. Everything would be fine once he got to the camp. Keera had to be there. Didn’t she?

  Topping the rise, he was greeted by tall banks of halogens that created a glaring pretense of daylight. Ray smiled at the row of tents, the neatly excavated square of earth, the friendly glow of the cafeteria. Everything’s fine, he told himself. Keera’s fine. She’ll turn up in no time.

  Descending the knoll, he made a beeline for the cafeteria tent. Voices emanated from beyond the wall of nylon, laughter, the brittle sound of plastic utensils.

  Behind him there was a throaty grunt, then a curse. He looked back into the blackness. A deep voice prodded, “Hurry up!” Another profane shout chased him to the door of the tent. Zipping it open, he stepped in and quickly zipped it shut, as if the insect netting would keep him safe from the wickedness of the night.

  The atmosphere inside the cafeteria was nothing short of jovial: a party that had just reached its peak. Having spent the entire day on hands and knees, shoveling, scraping, probing the earth for hints of the past, the scientists were enjoying themselves. Loading trays full of aromatic dishes, tossing back beers, telling jokes, discussing the fruits of their labor, throwing darts … Ray glanced around the room, searching for Keera or Janice. Seeing neither, he approached the nearest table. “Where’s Dr. Farrell?”

  “In her tent, probably,” a coed offered before returning her attention to her plate.

  Ray exited the tent and was zipping the door when someone yelled, “There he is!”

  The statement was accusatory, the voice angry. Without glancing up, Ray made a break for Farrell’s tent. Leaping like a seasoned hurdler over the yellow-line barrier, he cut across the corner of the dig area, boots fighting for traction in the loose dirt. Even as he took this action, he questioned the wisdom of it. If someone really was after him, if they intended to do him bodily harm, what assistance could Janice Farrell offer? Wouldn’t it be smarter to escape into the safety of the tree line and the dark maze of knolls and gullies beyond?

  This thought was still worrying him when he arrived at his destination. Kneeling to attend to the door, he could hear heavy steps chasing him. Without so much as announcing himself, he zipped the door halfway open and fell inside, ripping the flap.

  Seated at a card table, Farrell was adrift in a sea of open cardboard boxes, making notes on a legal pad in the pale light of a single-bulb lamp. His abrupt intrusion and the desecration of her tent were met by swearing. Jumping to her feet, she glared at him.

  “Ray …?” The glare melted into a puzzled expression.

  “Hi,” he offered with a lopsided smile, picking himself up. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

  Before he could explain, two enormous figures materialized at the torn doorway: Chung and Chang. They were both panting like dogs. Stubby closed his eyes and folded in half as he waited for his cardiovascular system to recover. The specialist pointed at Ray. Speechless from lack of oxygen, his eyes communicated the message: You’re dead meat!

  “What’s going on?” Farrell demanded.

  The one with his finger extended announced breathlessly, “He … knows.”

  Farrell’s brow furrowed. She glanced at Ray before asking, “Knows what?”

  “He … figured … it … out,” Stubby puffed, his face still aimed at his boots.

  This time Farrell studied Ray with greater interest. Her expression slowly changed from confusion to skepticism. Shaking her head, she sighed, “Impossible.”

  “He found the body,” the finger-pointer said.

  “He what?”

  “He found it.”

  “And the bomb,” the mouth-breather added, finally able to stand erect.

  “You’re kidding!” Farrell exclaimed. She studied Ray before asking, “What are you? A magician?”

  “He’s got it all figured out.” The finger was back, scolding Ray.

  “No, I don’t,” Ray argued. It was the truth, and it seemed imperative that he impress it upon them. Whatever it was they thought he had figured out sounded dangerous, potentially life-threatening.

  “He does,” Stubby assured with a heavy sigh. “He needs to be dealt with.”

  Dealt with … Ray swallowed hard. The words brought to mind images even worse than the promise of a good beating. “Really, I don’t … I don’t know anything.”

  “Did you find him?” Farrell asked. “Did you find Mark?”

  Ray stared into the sad blue eyes. Janice was a beautiful woman, and that beauty somehow became more pronounced when her emotions rose. She seemed genuinely concerned. Except … A day earlier, she had been convinced that Mark was in Juneau. What had changed?

  “Did you?” Farrell repeated gravely, her lower lip trembling.

  Ray dug the ring out of a pocket and presented it to her. She received it with a whimper. Turning, she dug something out of a knapsack. Another gold ring. She handed it to Ray and he saw that it matched: same style and design as the band from the corpse.

  “Where did you find it?” she asked in a husky voice, eyes fixated on the ring.

  “Near Shainin Lake.”

  “And he’s … he’s dead?”

  “Yes.”

  She staggered, and Ray moved to support her. “I’m fine,” she grunted, resisting him. But she didn’t look fine. She looked dazed, on the verge of collapse. “You’re sure?” This was addressed to Chang and Chung. They nodded like dashboard dolls.

  Farrell held her husband’s ring to her lips f
or a moment, then stepped through the tent door and pitched it toward the pit like a fast ball. The ring sailed, whistling through the air before skipping and pinging across the dirt. Muttering a curse, she came back in and kicked a crate. Turning to Ray, she asked, “So you found the bomb too, huh?”

  The bomb …? Not a bomb. Too … The hairs on the back of Ray’s neck stood up.

  Before he could answer, she wanted to know, “What did you do with it?’’

  “It’s back in the raft,” he said, his mind racing to determine what was happening. He had the sensation that he was falling, that he had been pushed off of a high precipice. “There was another one in my pack,” he added.

  “Another bomb?” Farrell squinted at this.

  “Well … It might have been a bomb. It was an electronic device of some sort. We lost it … overboard.”

  “We?”

  Ray hesitated, a protective mechanism rising within as he reeled against the queer feeling that he had just disclosed too much. “I meant I lost it.”

  “There was a girl with him,” the specialist told her.

  Farrell nodded, as if she understood, and turned to dig in the knapsack.

  “You were following me?” Ray accused.

  The two goons stared at him with thick, emotionless faces.

  “How long were they following me?” he asked Farrell.

  Her back still to him, she shrugged. “Since you came back upriver.”

  “How did you know when I …” His voice trailed off as she withdrew a small cardboard box and pushed it at him.

  “Open it.”

  Ray did, sliding out a thin metallic square. A tap of Farrell’s finger caused a red light to blink. “Is that your bomb?”

  He nodded. It was the same device that Keera had found in the pack. “Let me guess … It’s not a bomb. It’s a portable homing beacon.”

  Farrell smiled at him: teeth gleaming, eyes laughing, every pore exuding a sensuous hunger. For what, Ray wasn’t sure.

  “You’re a very good guesser,” she said. “And that’s precisely your problem.”