Zack doubled back, scanned the sides of the trail, found what he expected. "They left the trail, turned up the hill here."
Eagle Feather peered at the signs, nodded. "They expect followers." He grunted. "They didn't fool the assassin, though."
Zack tracked the men up the hillside. After a steep climb they came to a place where the grass was crushed, where the two growers had rested. "It must have been agony for the man with the bad leg."
Eagle Feather pointed to a sneaker print. "The assassin is still with them."
Zack's eye searched ahead. "They began a traverse over here, on a deer trail." He followed. The sun sent shafts of light among the scrub oaks that danced on the scuffed dirt and set the grasses glowing. The day was fading. When the sun sank behind the mountain ridge behind them, pursuit for the day would end. Zack picked up the pace.
An hour later their quarry led them on a steep descent down a hillside. They stepped out of the brush into a wide meadow, the bottom of a bowl shaped by the surrounding mountains. Their trail led to a huge oak tree, the centerpiece of the grassy tableland. Thick limbs reached out, almost touched the ground, rose again with a burst of branches. The growers had rested here. The shade at mid-day would have been welcome.
Eagle Feather studied the sun. "We ought to camp here. It'll be too dark to continue in an hour."
"Let's leave our gear and go on for a while. We can return when it gets too dark."
"Typical White Man; has to have it both ways." Eagle Feather grinned, shrugged, dropped his pack.
They kept only their weapons and a water bottle, followed their quarry on across the meadow. The tracks of the two growers were obvious. Where the meadow ended, their tracks led on a gradual ascent up an arroyo. The assassin's sneaker prints went another way.
Zack looked up at the mountain slopes. "The only way out of here is up. Why did the killer go another way?"
Eagle Feather studied the slopes. "I see two obvious ridges. The killer knew he was close, knew they had to climb, that they'd be slow. He decided to go up the other ridge. He figures he can pick them off from over there without exposing himself."
Zack stared at the two ridges. He could almost see the scenario play out. "So what now? Follow the victims, or follow the killer?"
Eagle Feather's face was grim. "Ten to one we'll find a couple of bodies up there. Best go see if anyone is still alive."
Zack nodded. "Your turn. Lead on." The better tracker, Eagle Feather would be faster. Time was critical now with the sun nearing the western ridges.
The slope steepened, narrowed into a tight ravine, a bone-dry slash up the mountain. Rocky outcrops and occasional stands of coyote bush impeded their progress. It was clear the injured man had struggled. Long grooves in the sandy dirt showed where he had dragged his injured leg up and over ledges. He must have been in serious pain.
The sun cast long shadows. Details of tracks became difficult to read. They'd have to stop, or risk missing an important sign. They had come a third of the way up the arroyo, turned back with great reluctance.
Under the great oak they emptied their packs and made camp. It was dusk, a fine soft evening. Zack collected wood, Eagle Feather built a small fire. They made a meal of beef jerky and Clif bars while they waited for the water to heat.
Zack glanced up at the disappearing ridges. "I can't imagine how those men feel tonight, cold, miserable, and hunted."
"They might not be feeling anything."
"Always the cheery one. On the bright side, I never heard any shots."
"I don't think we would, necessarily." Eagle Feather checked the water pot, put it back to heat some more. He peeked at Zack. "I'd be willing to call that a good sign, though."
Some stars pinpricked the dark blanket of sky. More and more appeared until it seemed they would join into a single glow. The men made tea, sat back, watched the display until the rising moon stole the stars and washed the world in its own beams. The near full orb, huge over the mountain ridge, climbed high and bathed the mountains in soft light. In the meadow, brush, fallen limbs, trees and stumps took on different lives as strange new shapes.
Zack placed his handgun next to his blanket. He lay back, tilted his worn Stetson over his eyes, prepared for sleep.
"Don't shoot yourself in the foot with that thing." Eagle Feather's voice came far away and drowsy from beneath his blanket. But for the hoot of an owl, all was still.
Zack drifted off to sleep.
* * * * *
A hand over his mouth, warm breath on his face, Eagle Feather's barely audible whisper in his ear.
"Don't move and don't make a sound."
Zack could see without moving, the jacket he used for a pillow elevated his head. The meadow was bathed in bright moonlight, the bushes and stumps grotesque creatures. The more Zack stared the less he saw. Each shadow move as his eye moved away, stopped when it returned.
There was a sound behind their tree, Eagle Feather pivoted that way. Zack sat up, his hand found his gun. Movement across the meadow caught his eye, a bush that wasn't a bush. Zack brought the handgun from under his blanket. Something separated itself from the bush, grew large, a shape, the figure of a tall man. It's long black shadow described a giant with two feathers, arms crossed. Zack looked for Eagle Feather; he was gone. He looked back at the figure, an indistinct form, blacker than the surrounding blackness. The shadow moved, raised an arm toward him.
Zack raised his gun, aimed.
His arm was pushed away. "Don't shoot, Zack."
It was Tomasa's voice. Zack turned his head, surprised. When he looked back, the shadow was gone.
Eagle Feather had returned with his headlamp. He cast its beam around the meadow. It illuminated the shadows, changed them back to the familiar snags and dead limbs. No giant.
"What the hell..." Zack lowered his gun, stared at Tomasa.
"I didn't want you to shoot him," she said.
"He pointed something at me."
"He protects these woods. If you fired, he would consider you his enemy."
Eagle Feather's headlamp shown on her face. "How do you know its rules?"
"He would not have harmed us," she insisted.
"It didn't feel that way to me." Zack said.
Tomasa shook her head. "He presented himself as a warning. He's letting you know he will protect this land."
Zack stared at her. "How––"
Eagle Feather grabbed his arm.
They listened.
Zack heard it now, a cracking of the underbrush beyond the meadow. They heard a snap of branches, the sound of running, a loud thrashing––silence. A scream pierced the night with a suddenness that set Zack's hair on end, a woman's scream, piercing and shrill. It was cut off. The sound reverberated off the mountains for long moments.
"Jesus Christ." Zack's eyes searched the dark.
"That may have been a deer," Eagle Feather said.
"Deer don't scream."
"Yes, they do. Rarely, but they do. Something caught it, killed it."
"Something like what?"
"A mountain lion, probably." Eagle Feather stirred the fire, threw on more wood.
"I'd have believed you about the mountain lion if I hadn't just seen what I saw," Zack said.
There was no more sleep that night. Dawn was close. Zack helped Eagle Feather build up the fire so that every nearby haunted shadow revealed its true self. Zack set water on to boil for coffee.
Eagle Feather stared at Tommy. "How is it you happen to get here just in the nick of time?"
"Just good luck." Her soft smile was disarming. The fire's stuttering light danced shadows on her face. "I found your trail on the river bank. I followed you. When it grew too dark to see, I came directly here. I know this place; I thought you might camp here."
"You came on in the dark?"
"I know these mountains quite well."
Zack watched her. She had fine, gentle features; an attractive woman, yet dressed as a man. "What about that giant Indi
an shadow creature? How well do you know him?"
She smiled, as with one too simple to understand. "He protects this land and my people."
"You already told me that."
Eagle Feather looked from one to the other. "In the dark, with the moon behind him, an ordinary person can appear large and ominous. Especially at a distance."
"You think that was just a man, nothing more?"
Eagle Feather shrugged. "We'll know better when it's light."
They stared into the fire, keeping their thoughts to themselves. Zack believed Tommy knew more than she let on. He waited, but she said no more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The first ray of dawn's red sun reached across the meadow, found Zack where he'd dozed off despite himself, warmed his cheek. He opened his eyes. The fire embers glowed red and white. Tomasa leaned back against the tree, her eyes closed, face serene. Eagle Feather was gone.
Zack pushed aside his jacket, stretched, walked to the trees to empty his bladder. When he returned, Eagle Feather was by the fire, stirring it back to life.
"Where you been?"
"I went to locate the assassin's trail."
Zack knelt beside him. "Any luck?"
"It's there. He headed up another ridge, as we thought." Eagle Feather poured water from his bottle into the coffee pot.
Zack stared into the fire. "I fear the two trails will merge sooner or later."
Eagle Feather nodded. He gestured across the meadow. "There's very little sign where we saw that giant, just some pressed grass."
Zack saw that Tomasa's eyes were open.
The water boiled. Eagle Feather poured coffee for them. The sun was full on the meadow now, the day warmed quickly.
Zack brought several Clif Bars out of his pack and offered them around. "Not exactly eggs and bacon but it'll keep us going." He took his coffee and strolled across the meadow to where he thought the giant had been.
Tomasa and Eagle Feather watched.
"Is this where he was?" Zack called.
"Right where you are," Eagle Feather said.
Zack studied the ground. As Eagle Feather had said, there was nothing but some pressed grass in two places, now springing back. "Yeah, not much here." He grimaced. "So why did I expect to find anything?"
"You just don't want to believe, White Man."
* * * * *
By the time they packed and saw to the fire, the sun was high and hot.
Zack looked at Tomasa. "You coming?"
"I might be able to help."
Zack made a gallant bow and ushered her ahead of him. They crossed the meadow, headed up to the arroyo.
Eagle Feather showed where the assassin's prints diverged from the others. "He went off that way. Probably up that ridge over there, where the afternoon sun would be behind him for his shot."
They retraced their steps up the arroyo. Tracking wasn't difficult. The steeper the terrain, the more obvious the drag marks from the unfortunate man's leg. The prints of the two growers moved steadily upward.
Eagle Feather gave a grunt, held up. A body lay across the gulch above them. The man might have been resting there but for his awkward position. One side of his face was gone.
They studied the ground as they approached, read the story. Eagle Feather peered at the ridge west of them. "Like we guessed, he had the sun behind him. Easy shot."
Zack looked at the man's legs. "This is the healthy one. There's no sign of a leg injury."
"The sniper was smart. He left the slow one to kill at his leisure."
Eagle Feather stepped around the body, eyes to the ground. "He twisted as he fell." He put his hand in some depressed earth. "I think he came down on top of Injured Man, who was right here." Eagle Feather stood straight, looked across at the ridge, eyes measuring. "The way I see it, the healthy guy was standing upright, head and shoulders visible above the arroyo. The sniper shoots him in the head, he falls"––Eagle Feather stepped to the side, angled his shoulders in pantomime––"right on top of Injured Man, maybe pins him to the ground."
"Good God," Zack said, horrified by his mental picture. "He must have been terrified."
Eagle Feather moved up the slope, intent on the story spelled out in the arroyo. "Injured Guy wasn't hit, no blood up here. He crawls along on his stomach, like a snake. He's desperate, knows he's in deadly danger. Look at those flat handprints where he pushes himself up to look around." Eagle Feather dropped on his stomach near the prints, raised his head. "He can't see anything. The arroyo walls are too high. He doesn't know where the killer is, can only keep worming his way up."
Zack and Tomasa followed, intent on the life-like scenario Eagle Feather demonstrated.
"He crawls, rests––see the deeper impression? Then crawls on again. He goes on, and on." Admiration crept into Eagle Feather's voice.
They were at the lip of the ravine. They climbed out of the arroyo, saw a swale where the man crawled to the trees.
"He crawled that entire way," Zack said.
"He had a strong will to survive. Question is, what will we find in those trees?"
They followed the trace, reluctant. Yet when they entered the tree grove, no body awaited them. They saw where the man had rested before moving on.
"He's okay so far. He managed to walk." Zack pulled out his phone. "I have to tell Barnard about the body."
Barnard did not sound pleased at the news. "What the hell are you stirring up out there? I can't get any work done."
"Believe me, I'd rather be sitting where you are right now."
Barnard sighed audibly. "I'll call the troopers and get back to you. Don't leave the body unattended. You got a good signal?"
"Right here I do."
"Okay, stay there. I'll get right back." He hung up.
Zack found Tomasa and Eagle Feather across the knoll at the far edge of the trees. Ahead an open slope descended to taller growth. The injured man made no effort to hide his tracks; his thoughts were on speed alone.
"I can keep going with you as long as I have a signal," Zack said. "Barnard's gonna call back."
They followed the man's tracks down the hillside. He made no attempt to hide them; speed was the key.
Zack's phone rang. "You two go ahead. I'll go back and wait."
He answered.
"Barnard here. The troopers will send in a crew in by helicopter. Have you got coordinates where they can land?"
Zack gave directions to the meadow. "What's their ETA?"
"One hour."
Zack spent the hour sitting with the body. Black flies swarmed and buzzed. He sorted recent events in his mind. Interesting that Tomasa seemed to know, and believe, the legend of the giant Indian protector. She'd been certain enough to risk pushing Zack's pistol aside. She appeared to know more than she was saying.
His ruminations were interrupted by the thump-thump of a helicopter. He heard it long before the tiny speck appeared over the distant range. He watched it land in the meadow below. His phone rang.
"Zack? This is Darby, from forensics. Where are you?"
Zack directed him up the arroyo, saw the little figures cross the meadow, three...no, four of them.
He called Darby. "Bruce, you're headed just right. Come straight up the arroyo. It's narrow up here; you can't miss the body. We're going on ahead to try to find the other man. If you need me, call."
Zack retraced his steps over the summit and down the open slope into the chaparral. Tomasa and Eagle Feather were not in sight. He followed the faint trail on a traverse of the mountain across several areas of rockslide. On the far side of the mountain he found Tomasa standing near a long exposed ridge.
"Eagle Feather went back to see if he could cut the trail of the assassin up there somewhere." She waved up the mountainside. "This poor man dragged himself all the way here. In places, he was flat on his stomach, pulling himself along. We think he was fired upon."
"He went out there?" Zack said, nodding toward the long narrow saddle. "There's no where else
to go."
Zack scratched his head. "Maybe he got a reprieve. I don't see a body out there."
They heard a shout behind them.
Eagle Feather stood high up the slope in some brush. "Bang," he said, pointing his finger down at them. "The sniper was right here. I've got shell casings."
Zack and Tommy watched him work down the slope toward them, slow and careful, eyes on the ground. They saw him stop near a solitary tree.
"You'll want to see this," Eagle Feather said.
They climbed up to look. In the pit of his stomach, Zack knew what they would find. He wasn't wrong. A large area of blood lay thick on the ground, the nearby vegetation splattered with it. This sniper had met the same fate as his comrade.
CHAPTER THIRTY
It was dark. Jesus was lost, struggled to orient himself to time and place. He moved, felt stabbing pain in his knee. It all came back. He was in a cave, injured, helpless, hunted.
Light came from beyond the cave mouth. It was day; his watch said nine o’clock. He had slept long. Pablo was gone, his rifle missing. He would be out there, on guard. For the first time in a long while, Jesus felt safe.
He didn't try to rise; more important to rest. Jesus recalled that first morning at the camp, when Javier insisted he rest for the day. Javier had been right, of course. That day of inactivity had done wonders for his knee. At the thought of Javier, tears came to his eyes.
There was food near the head of his sleeping bag: a snack box of cheerios, several sticks of beef jerky, some chocolate bars, water. None of it looked appetizing to Jesus yet he must eat. He unwrapped a chocolate bar and nibbled at it, felt a surge of energy, made himself finish it, sipped some water.
Jesus looked around the cave interior. He felt restless, wanted to move, to get away. He longed for the safety of the Reyes ranch, to be done with the Sonora Cartel, to go home. Somehow, he must find patience. It was more important to stay safe for his family.
A shot sounded, far off. It was impossible to tell how far. Another shot came, then another. They were sharp reports, powerful, like a rifle.
ZACA (Zack Tolliver FBI) Page 13