Recon

by David McCaleb

  He hadn’t considered that. The Jap was dead, but he was working with this Jamaican. If there were others, they needed to pay, too. “We’ll put her on the grass near the lake, but I still got something I’ve got to do first.”

  “They ain’t gonna let you leave, Lam. They’ve got checkpoints on this road near Cow Mountain. Hell, you know I can’t let you go.”

  “I told you, I’ll tell the FBI everything. You tell ’em we were just trying to get the truck workin’ and I took off. You’ve secured the scene. Sure your cell phone doesn’t work here?”

  “Hell, no. Not for another five, ten miles maybe. Once we’re clear of the valley. CB works OK. You need—”

  Red had warned him not to tell anyone where he was headed. “No! Don’t need the CB. Just need to talk to my wife, let her know I’m OK. Like you said, once I talk to the FBI, they ain’t gonna let me see daylight for a few more days. I need to let her know I’m fine first.”

  Elway tipped up the second can, draining it. Ten gallons. That’d get him a little over a 120 miles. Or sixty on steeper mountain roads. The driver’s door creaked as he yanked it open. Have to oil the hinges. Lam grabbed the steering wheel with his good arm, lifted a leg high, stepped on the nerf bar, and hoisted himself onto the seat. A burgundy smear of Andi’s dried blood streaked the tan vinyl bench seat. The key turned, and the Jeep growled a low, angry note. The Colt 1911 pressed against his skin as he leaned back. He stretched his arm and patted the dashboard. “That’s the spirit, girl,” he whispered. “Let’s go make that call.”

  Chapter 22

  Mother Nature

  Pain jolted Penny awake. Her nose stung like it’d been hit with a dodgeball. Her head had been bobbing in sleep, nose smacking her mother’s bony shoulder. She slurped up a line of drool like spaghetti, dangling to Mom’s collar. Penny had been riding her back, only being woken to climb the steeper ridges, or ones with loose rocks. She couldn’t remember traveling far, yet somehow sensed it had been a long time since she’d last been awake. The air was warmer, thicker, and the sun heated her neck. She stretched her arms and rubbed it. Ouch! Her skin hurt. Burned, like being at the beach.

  Dad was ahead, rounding a fat green bush, stepping up on a black-spotted rock. Moving faster now, with less of a limp. Maybe because it was easier heading downhill.

  “I can walk,” Penny said.

  Mom snorted like a winded horse. “I’ll let you…once we get to the bottom…of the hill.”

  After another minute or so, her mother let go of her legs, and Penny slid down to the path. Her skin tingled, and her feet were numb as rocks. “My legs feel funny,” she said, poking her knee with her finger.

  “They’ll be OK,” Mom panted. “They probably just fell asleep. They’ll feel like pins and needles.”

  She straightened and rubbed her palms on the small of her sweat-soaked back. This incline didn’t look too hard, and they seemed to be on a trail, though no tracks were in the dust. Penny stopped and pulled up her pant cuffs, just to make sure the tingles weren’t a troop of ants on her skin. Mom gripped Penny’s arm and held a finger to her lips. “Shhh.” Dad was kneeling on the side of the trail a few paces ahead.

  After a couple of minutes, Penny took a step, but Mom held her firm. How long were they going to stand here? She turned to ask but kept quiet when she glimpsed her mother’s face. So pale, and the black makeup around her eyes had smeared and run down, like a Halloween zombie mask.

  A few more minutes, and they slipped closer to Dad. He leaned against a tree, aiming his pistol down the trail. But his eyes were closed. He must be doing his stop, look, and listen. Penny shut her eyes too.

  “What’d you hear?” Mom asked.

  For a minute, he didn’t say anything. Was he OK? She stole a peek. When he finally opened his lids, the whites looked red. Hard, like he was angry. “Nothing.”

  “Why’d you stop?”

  He spoke through gritted teeth. “We’re being watched.”

  Mom knelt next to him. “Where?”

  “Don’t know,” he snapped.

  Mom scowled. “Then why’d you stop?”

  Her father cocked his head. “I said, we’re being watched. No, I can’t see them. Or hear them. Just trust me.”

  Her mother shrugged. “Maybe the Det’s got eyes on us? A drone?” She craned her neck and scanned the sky.

  “No.” He patted the ground. “It’s here. I don’t get this feeling when it’s cameras. We just stepped across a line, somewhere back near that holly tree. Into unfriendly territory.”

  Mom huffed and stood. Hauling Penny along by one arm, she started up the trail. “You need sleep. If you can’t see it or hear it, it doesn’t matter.”

  Penny’s feet raced to keep up, stumbling over loose rocks, sliding like skis on ice. When she glanced back, Dad was grimacing, his limp more like a quick skip. “Wait for Daddy. He knows about the woods.”

  Mom barreled forward. “All we need to do is get to the far side of that mountain. Only another mile or two before—” She froze.

  Now what? Penny peered around her mother’s waist. The narrow path was a gentle upward slope. Tan, sandy-colored rocks hung over one section, like a big anvil, striped in brown and gray. Sedimentary rock, her bug-eyed science teacher would say. Black insects hummed around a hole in the cliff, some shooting in and out on an aerial highway.

  Oh. So Mom didn’t want anyone to get stung. Well, they could just keep their distance and go around. Still, her mother stood frozen. Dad finally caught up.

  Her mother pulled the Jamaican’s pistol from her pocket and pointed it toward the hole, but higher. “That what you saw last night?”

  What was she talking about now? You can’t see bees at night.

  Just then, something flicked atop the sandy rock, the size of a chipmunk. It scurried back behind one of the tan pebbles. She studied the empty space it had left, then… Oh no!

  Penny couldn’t pull in another breath. Her stomach burned. The sandy rock stood upon four furry legs. A huge lion, but skinny, with wide padded paws, and no mane. The tip of its tail flicked back and forth. She’d glimpsed its tail, not a chipmunk. Penny shrieked, but Mom clamped a hand over her mouth.

  * * * *

  Red stepped in front of his wife and daughter. The mountain lion was small, maybe a hundred pounds; not fully grown. Skin stretched taut as a drumhead across its ribs. A young male, and hungry. Not a good combination. He raised his pistol. Damn it! He couldn’t use his weapon. He glanced at Lori. “Don’t shoot.”

  She was backing away, eyes stretched wide, Penny in tow. “That thing comes near me, I’m shooting it!”

  “You’ll give away our position.” He jerked his head toward a pine. “Get Penny up that tree.”

  Lori cocked the revolver. “Cats can climb.”

  He held up a hand. “I’ll draw it away. You’re defensible up there. Now, up the tree!”

  Penny jerked free and quickly scaled the trunk. Lori climbed after her, though not as nimbly. With a lazy bound, the cat dropped twenty feet to the path and stalked toward Red. It had been waiting in ambush for dinner, apparently. With cats, the trick was to look large. Time to test that theory. He tossed a thick branch the size of a pry bar up to Lori, then grabbed another. He ripped off his sweater and held it over his head, hoping to enlarge his silhouette.

  Each paw stepped carefully, deliberately in front of the other, as if it were walking a tightrope. The claws punctured small triangular holes in the trail’s dust.

  “He’s faster than you,” Lori called. “Beat the shit out of it if it gets closer.”

  The beast tucked its legs beneath, tensed to pounce, eyes on Red’s chest, not his sweater or the swaying branch. The same heat burned his belly as when the cat neared him last night. But that one had been smaller, and black, right? Or he’d dreamed it. No, this had to be the same one. Darkness
is deceptive, covering a thing’s true nature.

  Red placed the sight a few inches over his target. If the animal leaped, he’d be ready. Why wasn’t it moving? “Come on, you cocky little shit,” he taunted.

  Mountain lions were solitary, pitiful creatures. Leaving their family when still young to spend a life alone, on the hunt, ever in the shadows. Nothing in them honorable or loyal like a wolf pack. Such a team ascribed meaning, challenged individuals to stretch beyond their own limited significance. But mountain cats were ignorant of such nobility.

  He swung the stick again, and the creature yielded a retreating step, leaving four neat punctures in the trail. Progress. A cool breeze swelled, carrying the scent of wildcat piss. A few more waves of the branch and hushed shouting, and it lay its ears flat against its skull and slinked away.

  “Anytime, you skinny coward!” he called after it.

  He dropped the stick, tense shoulders slumped. He inhaled cool air. Half of him disappointed he hadn’t shot the thing, the other half relieved he didn’t have to.

  As Red turned back toward Lori, an enormous black bear, at least four hundred pounds, stood on hind legs and fanned fat paws behind Penny’s shoe, as if trying to swat a fly. Long black claws sliced the air.

  So that’s what scared the mountain lion away.

  Lori’s eyes widened in confused surprise as Red pointed to it. “Penny!” he called.

  His daughter glanced down and lifted her legs with a jerk. Losing her balance, she lunged to grab a branch. Lori clutched her shoulder to steady her.

  The bear dropped to all fours. Its fur was thick and long, with a shine that meant it enjoyed oily goodness from a trout stream. It shook like a dog coming out of water, sending waves of sparkly brown down its wide back. A short, tan snout punctuated a fat, wide skull. The beast was so large, if it had been brown, he could’ve mistaken it for a grizzly. It didn’t appear angry. Must’ve thought his daughter’s legs some sort of game. Hard to miss those fuchsia sneakers.

  It ambled up the trail toward Red. Shit, black bears were supposed to be timid. No way could he outrun it. Though bears could climb, a tree was his still his best chance. Holstering the pistol, he jumped and grabbed a low pine branch and pulled himself up, swinging his good leg over. He climbed one row higher, then drew the weapon again. Its barrel followed the lumbering animal’s progress.

  What is this, the Nature Channel? Maybe it’ll just pass.

  It stopped at the base of his tree, turned, and grunted. A great, earthy rumble. Twenty yards back, two black cubs trotted from behind the holly, eighty pounds each, healthy fat rolls undulating as their short legs pumped. The two caught up, and she ambled, apparently unconcerned, as if the three strange creatures in the trees had always been there.

  The bears slipped down the hill between rows of aspen, behind a short drop-off next to a thick mound of dark green shrubs. A gray boulder formed a berm on one side, keeping the earth uphill from eroding onto the bushes below. With delicate precision, the mother lifted to her hind feet again, stretched, and clamped a high cluster of red berries between both paws. The whole bush row shook and rattled as she yanked them down. The bottom four feet of the growth all around had been picked clean. A regular fast-food stop for the family, it seemed.

  The mother placed the berries on the grass next to the cubs. The young ones munched till frothy crimson dripped from their jowls like blood. Finally, she served herself. The larger of her offspring nosed in while she enjoyed the first taste. A growl and a snap of teeth sent it scampering behind the other. The whole scene was serene, peaceful. A mother, protecting, caring for, and disciplining her cubs. She stood to reach for another clump.

  Isn’t such a bad thing for Lori to see.

  Red glanced at Penny. Her leg was jiggling nervously, but Lori had wrapped one arm around her waist. He stooped to climb down the tree, but just then a low shadow passed across the holly, as if someone was on the other side, about to turn the corner of the trail. Lori and Penny’s eyes were still fixed on the bear family. He waved, trying to catch their attention, but their eyes were on the bear.

  He drew his pistol.

  Around the corner stalked a short young woman, long black hair pulled back in a ponytail so tightly it stretched the corners of her eyes. Yoga. She’d changed clothes since yesterday. Holding a Glock 19 in Weaver style, the sharp cut of her triceps was evident. Black stretch pants accentuated muscular calves. Weapon steady, she shuffled silently down the path, beneath Red, toward the bears.

  From her position on the road, he figured she couldn’t see the animals past the boulder. Next to her pistol, she held a large phone. Her gaze flicked to it, then to the shaking bush. A yellow blot glowed in the middle of the screen, otherwise filled with an aerial view of the surrounding forest. Looked to be thermal imagery, probably from a drone. But the picture display was grainy, so a low-quality camera. Certainly nothing military grade.

  Red slipped around to the far side of the tree trunk, hung from a low branch, and dropped, aiming his feet at a thick patch of grass to muffle his landing. Lori had caught his gaze now. She pointed to herself, then Yoga. She drew the .357 Magnum from her pocket and steadied her aim by leaning on a thick branch. At least ninety feet stretched between Lori’s tree and Yoga, so she’d need luck as much as a steady hand to hit her mark. Penny climbed to a higher branch, behind the thick trunk and out of sight.

  He gripped a bare gray stick the length of a baseball bat and headed toward the path. Ready to jump behind a tree should he crunch a pinecone or dry twig and alert Yoga. He shoved his pistol under his belt for fast access. If all went well, he wouldn’t need it. As a stiff gust rustled aspen leaves, he got in several long, bounding strides during the temporary clamor. Yoga was stalking now, pistol aimed toward the rock berm. Knotted calves winced at every step. She set pink Nike running shoes gingerly, picking her way between strewn cones and twigs too. Red crept to within twenty feet. Her musky perfume, or maybe a scent from the bears, wafted past in the breeze.

  The bushes shook again, and she froze. Almost at the boulder, she’d be able to see over it soon and realize her mistake—she was tracking three bears, not Red and his family. He risked a few more long strides, nearing to where he could almost reach her with his club.

  She inched forward, knees bent, crouching low. Red set his boot soles on the same crushed stalks of grass where her tiny feet had been. If they hadn’t made a sound landing there, his should be silent as well. He recalled how she’d threatened Penny on top of the mountain, had even took shots at them while he sprinted downhill on the bike. Now the bitch was hunting his family again. She had to die. He’d swat her head like a teed-up baseball.

  He concentrated on the best spot, just above her ear. Raised his stick. Yoga spun around, but the club was already on the downswing. He shifted its vector and swung past her scalp, crashing it on her wrist, breaking her grip on the weapon. The gun landed in a green patch of dandelions. He cocked his fist to strike and— What the hell?

  His head was slammed to the side, and his ear rang. She’d landed a punch! He turned back just in time to see the other fist flying from the opposite direction. It crunched into his jaw. The bitch was fast as hell. Her blows were light, but quick as a boxer working a speed bag. He sidestepped a kick to the groin and aimed a punch of his own, landing it on her chest. She stumbled backward, enough time for Red to regain his bearings.

  She jerked a black blade from a sheath on her belt and lunged for his belly. Red stepped back and sucked in his gut, barely dodging the attack. Well balanced, she didn’t overcommit and drew back for another. He slashed with the stick and managed to land a blow to her cheek. The telltale crack of bone, or maybe the stick, and her eye vibrated in a spasm. He thought about his pistol, but needed to take her alive, to find out who she was working for.

  Knife fights were the worst. They never went well. Most often, there was little difference in
the amount of blood spilled by victor and vanquished. Why hadn’t he taken the Jamaican’s blade?

  As she lunged again, he stepped toward her, closing the distance, and caught her wrists as she thrust the blade upward. A risky move, but one he’d practiced countless times. Before she could draw back, he raised his knee and connected with her chest. She stumbled toward the berm, flailing for balance, mouth agape, searching to replace the air that had just been forced from her lungs. She tripped over a thick branch and toppled just over the boulder, arms whirling.

  He reached for her. No!

  A squeal echoed. One of the bear cubs shot into view, galloping toward the trail. Yoga must’ve landed on the other one. A growl and a hollow thump were followed by a garbled scream. Red inched toward the edge of the berm and peered down. Eight feet below, the huge black bear stood over Yoga, one meaty paw pinning her bloody neck. Nose low, sniffing her face. The second cub cowered a few feet away beneath the cover of the picked green shrub, panting, crimson berry juice dripping from its teeth.

  Don’t mess with Mama Bear.

  He held his breath and backed away, careful to retrace his same soundless steps. Wouldn’t be good to attract the attention of the sorely vexed animal. He braced an arm on the rough trunk beneath Lori and Penny to rest for a second. Amber sap had poured from a jagged gash where a branch had been recently torn away. The sticky gel gathered into a frozen flow like melted candle wax. It stuck between his fingers. Drawing his lips back from his teeth, he tried to catch his breath, then lifted a hand and motioned to Lori. “Let’s get you down. Can’t get stuck here. Need to keep moving.”

  She pointed toward the gray boulder and whispered. “What happened to her?”

  He snorted and spat white froth swirled with black dust onto the ground. “Dead meat.”