"Yes. We met down by the creek the evening Fedor died." She smirked.
"I think Fedor must have been suspicious and told Hendrik something. We saw him hiding. Eberhard went back to follow him, and saw him talk to you." She shrugged. "Hendrik was always a little clumsy. He slipped, he fell. Who is there to say it was different?"
"And that's when you decided it would be so much easier on everyone if Dieter died too, and the rest of them as well."
Senta beamed, delighted to prove Kate wrong yet again. "No, Eberhard had the idea first when he took the safety off Dieter's rifle."
"What--" It took Kate a moment to catch up. "You mean Eberhard clicked the safety off Dieter's rifle after he shot the moose?" Kate tried to remember. Dieter had constantly been handing things to Eberhard that day, and yes, the rifle had been one of them. "I guess it was bad luck he only shot himself in the arm."
Senta's face clouded. "Yes. And then Hendrik hears us talking about it, down by the creek, and about other things. And then Eberhard saw him talking to you, so Hendrik had to go. That was when we thought of turning Fedor's death to our advantage, you see."
"Yes, I see."
Kate did see, all too well. The conceit that comes with killing once successfully had intoxicated the killers to the point that any solution up to and including mass murder looked reasonable, even necessary to them. And, of course, foolproof. No annoying witnesses left to cloud the issue. The perfect crime.
Senta proved it with her next words. "What could be more believable than two deaths, accidents, of course, followed by a ride up to a high place in the wilderness, a depressed corporate officer loses his grip and they are all dead except for a few--a very few--fortunate survivors?" Senta smiled. "It happens in United States post offices all the time.
But this, given the international nature of DRG, would make headlines all over the world. And," she added, "think of the publicity, the sympathy it would generate. The investigation into DRG would vanish.
The stock would rise, too," she added. "You watch."
Kate didn't think Senta had any intention of letting her. Berg groaned again, louder this time, and began muttering in German beneath his breath, the same phrase over and over again, probably the words
"Ouch ouch ouch" repeated.
"Get up, Berg," Senta said sharply. She motioned with the rifle.
"Let's get in out of the rain while we wait for Eberhard." She smiled at Kate, and this time her teeth seemed sharper somehow. "I promised him a pet. You remember."
She looked disappointed when Kate didn't break into a sweat at the very thought. She looked past Kate, in the direction of Blueberry Ridge. A suspicion leapt into the blue eyes and she opened her mouth.
At that moment Berg began a lurching movement to his feet. When he was just coming up off all fours Kate kicked him again, this time right under the chin.
The force of the blow carried him backward into Senta.
The Weatherby went off.
Berg screamed.
Kate ran.
She felt like she'd been running for most of her life.
She ran straight past the squirming jumble of bodies, one of which had a spreading stain on the front of his shirt and was screaming in a hoarse voice. The other, swearing furiously in German, was punching and kicking and hitting to get him off her.
Kate ran, but not too fast, not so fast that Senta would lose sight of her.
It had worked once, why not a second time?
Besides, she'd had another idea, an even better one this time.
SEVENTEEN.
He's not dumb enough to starve his plaything.
THE TRESTLE TABLE SEEMED TO FLOAT BY AS SHE RAN through the yard, the table from which Jack had tossed the bullets into the fire. She scooped up a roll of duct tape as she passed and dropped it down the front of her shirt, Jack's shirt. It seemed the thing to do, somehow. Duct tape always came in handy; hadn't Jack said it bound the universe together?
Kate curled a hand around it through the flannel fabric of her shirt and ran.
She had run south this morning, south along the mine road, south to lure Eberhard to his death.
She ran east now, toward the first day's kill. She ran, and again she heard the sound of pursuit, and again she ran just fast enough to elude capture. She wasn't worried about Senta shooting her on the run; Senta could accidentally blow the guts out of someone at close range, always assuming she could manage to get the safety off first, but she wasn't a marksman. It was one thing to shoot at a bull's-eye, it was another to have an entire side of moose to aim at, it was a third and completely different thing to sight in on a much smaller target that kept moving out of your sights, especially when you had to move to keep them in those sights.
As if to prove her point, the rifle boomed. There was a thud as the bullet impacted the trunk of a white spruce twenty yards to Kate's right.
No, she wasn't in any danger, not at this distance and not at this speed.
Kate had led Eberhard away from Old Sam and now she led Senta away from the lodge.
She ran, an easy loping stride, arms pumping, chin up. It was almost habit by now.
After all the foot traffic of the first day's hunt the path was clear.
It was after noon by now and there was a brightening on the southern horizon; better weather coming. Better weather and the cavalry. She had to hurry.
Senta helped by staying on her trail like a hungry hound dog. Kate didn't ask for more.
She ran through stands of aspens, golden leaves drooping and falling beneath the weight of accumulated moisture. She ran through clumps of hemlock and spruce, of alder and birch, of berry bushes and diamond willow and devil's club and the eternal and endless fire weed and a hundred other trees and plants she lived with every day and which she didn't know by name.
She ran until she was too far ahead and had to stop and wait until Senta could see her again. Senta, like Eberhard, was angry. The anger spurred her past exhaustion. The humiliation of defeat at the hands of a lesser being could not be allowed. She had a clear trail to follow and a prey that didn't seem to be able to get that far ahead of her.
And of course, she had the gun. That made all the difference.
Another shot came, this one lopping off the limb of a quaking aspen fifteen feet to Kate's left. Her aim was improving.
Kate's stride didn't falter. She ran straight up the little ridge where Berg had met his bear and Dieter had been shit on by it and over the top. The instant she was down the other side she ducked into the brush and waited.
Senta came thudding along behind. Kate was pleased to hear that she was wheezingly out of breath.
She waited until the other woman was abreast of her and then she stuck out a foot and tripped her, as simple as that. Senta went sprawling on the path. Kate, knife at the ready, was on her in a single pounce, one knee in Senta's back, one hand knotted in Senta's hair, pulling her head back, the other holding the knife to her throat.
"Don't move or I will kill you," Kate said.
Senta believed her implicitly.
After all, it was what she would have done.
Kate pulled the duct tape from the front of her shirt and bound Senta's hands behind her back. Another strip went around Senta's mouth. She objected. Kate kicked her in the side, not too hard, just hard enough to get her attention. It worked.
The rifle had skidded partway down the path. She picked it up and checked the magazine. Two rounds left.
She held in her hands the weapon that had killed Jack Morgan. It was a heavy weapon with a smooth stock and flip-up sights.
She wanted to flip them up. She wanted to use one of the rounds in the magazine. She wanted to blow a hole through Senta's side and leave her guts to spill out onto the trail, to leave her lying there to the tender mercies of the jays and the seagulls and the ravens and the eagles. She wanted it so desperately her hands shook so she couldn't have drawn a bead.
Instead she motioned with the muzzle. "On your fe
et."
Senta's blue eyes burned over their silver gag, but she got up, maneuvering awkwardly because of her hands. Kate smiled without humor.
"Not very comfortable, is it? March."
Senta turned toward the lodge.
"No," Kate said. "Other way."
The blue eyes looked momentarily confused. "Other way," Kate said and prodded her for emphasis. Senta flinched and groaned behind her gag.
Kate remembered her burned back, burns it had been Kate's pleasure to give her, and prodded her again.
An hour and twenty minutes of forced march later they walked into the tiny clearing where Dieter had shot the moose. Senta stumbled over a long leg bone picked clean and fell heavily to the forest floor.
"Get up," Kate said.
Senta, moving more slowly now, got up.
Kate nudged her again with the rifle. Senta screamed behind her gag.
What a shame. Kate prodded her again. "March."
Senta marched.
Crazy Emmett had hid his trail well but not well enough, not today.
Half an hour later they halted just inside the ring of trees clustered at the edge of the clearing surrounding Crazy Emmett's cabin. It was built of logs, chinked with moss and roofed with what looked like a spruce thatch. A wisp of smoke rose up from a chimney made of weathered black stovepipe.
"Lay down," Kate said in a low voice.
Senta refused. Kate hooked a foot behind one of her ankles and shoved her hard with one hand planted in her back. Senta fell face forward.
Before she could move Kate had her ankles strapped with duct tape.
Senta was immobilized.
Kate leaned down and spoke, her voice flat and expressionless. "First off, Eberhard is dead. I killed him." Senta rolled over and stared.
"No one is coming to your rescue, Senta. In fact, no one even knows where you are, or that you're still alive. And I'm not going to tell them, so they never will."
It took a moment or two for the import of that statement to sink in.
When it did, Senta's face turned a congested red. Kate remembered Dieter's face turning that exact same shade. Must run in the family.
She said, "There's a man we call Crazy Emmett who lives in this cabin.
You can see for yourself, it's got a roof, but I don't imagine there's any hot water, or any running water at all for that matter, and certainly no electricity. He doesn't go hungry, but he doesn't have much time for any of the finer things in life, like, oh, I don't know, say baths, for instance."
Senta closed her eyes, and Kate nudged her again, this time even less gently. "This is important, Senta, so you'd better listen. We call Emmett crazy because he's hiding out from the feds and their black helicopters, thinks the United States is about to be taken over by the United Nations and a one-world government. He doesn't take to the idea.
So he hides out in the Bush, lives off the land. He doesn't see anybody if he can help it." Kate paused. "There are a lot of stories about the bodies buried on this place, stories of people who poked their noses in where their noses had no business being. Nobody's ever had the guts to ask him straight out if any of those rumors are true."
Kate slung the Weatherby over her shoulder. The unfamiliar weight settled against her back like it had found a home.
"One thing I can tell you that isn't a rumor. Crazy Emmett's been a long, long time without a woman. He made that real clear when I saw him last. I was lucky I had a rifle with me. Real lucky."
She patted the strap of the rifle. "You won't be."
She saw a dawning awareness in Senta's eyes, followed by a kindling rage and a faint but gathering fear. "You can fight him or not, it's up to you. He'll fuck you regardless, but he'll feed you, too, he's not dumb enough to starve his plaything. He might even let you go eventually, if you work hard and be real, real nice to him."
She shook her head. "I doubt it, though. He's had a long dry spell, and once he gets his hands on something as fine as you I expect he'll do his best to keep you.
"But you can always try."
Kate stood up. "I'll just let him know you're here."
She stepped into the clearing. Behind her she could hear thumps and grunts as Senta fought to free herself. "Hello the house!"
A thin husky lying next to the cabin woke up and began barking hysterically, lunging the full length of his chain. "Emmett, it's Kate Shugak. I've got a present for you."
It took a good five minutes before curiosity got the better of him and the door cracked open. "What do you want? What do you mean, a present? I skinned out that bull; you said I could."
"Doesn't have anything to do with the bull. I got a woman here for you.
No one knows she's here, and no one will know. You don't tell anybody, she's yours as long as you want."
The door swung wide and he stepped out, rifle held in two hands across his chest. He looked at her suspiciously. "I don't see any woman except you."
Kate jerked her head backward. "She's right here. Behind this stand of spruce."
He hesitated, took a cautious step forward, wanting enough to believe, not credulous enough to believe too quickly, too suspicious to move too fast in any case.
Kate moved down the trail about ten feet and turned to wait.
Before too long Emmett sidled into the trees. He saw Senta and halted, an amazed expression on his face.
Senta took one look and began loud grunting noises of protest, writhing to throw off her bonds and escape.
Kate wondered briefly if she should warn him. No, she decided. No need.
Poisonous as Senta was, Crazy Emmett hadn't spent all these years in the Bush without learning to watch his back.
She watched Crazy Emmett kneel and begin to unwrap the duct tape from around Senta's ankles. Over his head, Kate met Senta's eyes.
She smiled.
As she walked away, she could hear muffled grunts and thrashing sounds as Senta fought in vain to free herself before Emmett could lay hands on her.
Like Jack had said, there was no finer example of the mind of man at work than duct tape.
Ten paces up the trail she stopped as if she had run into a wall.
No, she thought. No.
She stood stock still, deliberately conjuring up the dead face of Jack Morgan, the memory of the life leaving it, the inanimate sprawl of his limbs, limp hands that had caressed her, cold lips that had kissed her.
Klemens, his head gone. Mutt, gut-shot. Old Sam, wounded, perhaps mortally. Dieter, staring lifelessly at the sky.
No, she thought. Kate, don't do this. Leave her. She deserves it.
Leave her!
Against her will, she felt herself turn around and head back down the trail.
Senta's charms were so overwhelming that Crazy Emmett's vigilance was not at its normal peak of efficiency. With a faint feeling of regret Kate hit him once at the base of the skull with the butt of the rifle, and he slumped down without a sound, his head lying on Senta's breast in a parody of repletion. Over the duct tape gag, Senta's eyes glared at Kate with a mixture of fury, fear and relief.
With one foot Kate nudged Emmett off her, and he rolled to his back, his mouth slack. At the cabin the dog set up a frenzy of barking.
"Get up," Kate said. Her voice was flat and expressionless.
Shakily, Senta rose to her feet. With rough movements, Kate pulled up Senta's pants and fastened them. She rose. "If you fight me, I'll kill you. If you run, I'll kill you. If you do anything but exactly and precisely what I tell you to do, I will kill you."
She took a step forward and went up on her toes, trembling with rage, and glared at Senta. "I want to kill you, you crazy fucking bitch, I want to kill you so bad my teeth ache, so I'm praying you're stupid enough to do any one of those things. Do you understand?"
Senta, cowed by Kate's wrath and her near escape from rape and lifelong slavery, gave a jerky nod. After all, Emmett wasn't dead, and this short, skinny little brown woman with the awkwardly cut hair and the crazy
eyes could change her mind again.
And of course, she now had the gun.
Stabenow, Dana - Shugak 09 - Hunter's Moon Page 23