Northwest Angle

by William Kent Krueger

  “What is it, Henry?” Jenny asked.

  “Great death is in those woods,” he said calmly. “My death, I think, is coming.”

  “No, Henry!” Stephen said.

  The old man smiled. “It is no great thing, Stephen. We all walk the Path of Souls someday. I am ready. And if, before I make this journey, I can do a last good thing, that would please me greatly. Go, and I will keep them here until you are safe.”

  “Henry—” Stephen began.

  “Go now,” the old man said, sternly this time. “Take the child and go. Bimaadiziwin, Niece. You know the way.”

  Jenny hated the thought of leaving Meloux alone. She had no idea who these people were or why they wanted her child, but she understood absolutely they were the ones who had tortured and killed Waaboo’s mother. They wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to an old Indian. But Waaboo was her concern, and Meloux had offered the exchange of his life for the safety of the child and them all, and she would honor that gift and be grateful. She lifted the ice chest.

  “This is crazy,” Aaron said.

  “Don’t argue, damn it,” Jenny said.

  Rainy had lifted the pane of the back window, which overlooked the tip of Crow Point. The shore, no more than twenty yards distant, was lined with aspens.

  “Wait,” the old Mide said. He moved to the west window that looked toward the fire ring. He knelt and laid the rifle barrel on the sill. Carefully, he took aim at the man on the rocks. He breathed quietly and squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell with a click, but the round did not fire.

  In the wake of the failed shot, Jenny felt dread fill the silence of that small room.

  Meloux worked the lever, ejecting the bad round and sliding another into the breech. He took careful aim, breathed again, and drew his trigger finger back. The crack of the rifle startled Jenny, startled them all, including Waaboo, who began to wail.

  “Now,” Meloux said fiercely. “Go now.”

  They went through the window quickly. At their backs, the crackle of rifle fire broke out, and Jenny heard the shatter of window glass and the chunk of bullets embedded in the thick logs of the cabin’s front wall. The noise of the gunfire was a good thing because it covered the sound of Waaboo’s cries.

  They ran single file down a path worn between the aspens to the shoreline of Iron Lake, where a wooden canoe lay tipped. Two wooden paddles leaned against the hull. Rainy grabbed the stern and Stephen took the bow. They waded into the water and, together, righted the canoe, settled it on the lake, and steadied it for the others. Jenny put the ice chest and Waaboo in the center between the two thwarts, then climbed in behind. Aaron took his place in front of the ice chest. Paddle in hand, Stephen clambered into the bow, while Rainy did the same in the stern.

  “We’ll keep close to the shoreline,” Rainy called to Stephen. “The trees will give us cover. We’re going about a mile east.” She dipped her paddle and stroked hard, and Stephen followed her lead.

  Under a sky that was a brooding blue with the approach of evening, they left Crow Point and cut over the glassy surface of the lake, leaving the gunfire behind and headed, Jenny dearly hoped, for safety.

  FIFTY

  Bimaadiziwin. It was an Ojibwe word, Jenny knew, but she had no idea of its meaning. Whatever it was, this was where Rainy was guiding their canoe.

  In the bow, Stephen stroked powerfully, and Jenny marveled at his strength. She’d always thought of him as just her little brother, but in this terrible business, he’d conducted himself with courage and resolve, and now, to a degree, her life and the life of Waaboo were in his hands. In that moment, she loved him more than she ever had.

  At her back, she could hear the dip and occasional splash of Rainy’s paddle, and feel the glide of the blade whenever the older woman ruddered to bring the canoe to a new heading. This was a woman who, until last night, had been only a name to her. Now she was friend, ally, savior, meeting Stephen’s every stroke with her own, speeding the canoe away from the gunfire on Crow Point, doing her damndest to save Waaboo, to save them all.

  The baby had grown quiet, soothed, Jenny guessed, by the motion of the canoe. Her father had once told her that, in the old days of the Anishinaabeg, when a baby could not be calmed, a canoe ride was a well-known cure.

  “There it is,” Rainy said.

  Jenny looked where Rainy pointed, toward a gray wall of rock on the shoreline. The cliff rose a hundred feet above the lake. A quarter of the way up, across its face, grew thick blackberry bramble.

  “I don’t see anything,” Stephen called back.

  “A cave, behind the blackberry bushes. We’ll pull up to the right. There’s a kind of landing and some natural stairs in the rock.”

  Rainy guided the canoe to the south end of the cliff, and just as she’d said, there was a narrow shelf above the waterline. Rugged, natural stair steps led up toward the blackberry brambles. None of this was obvious, and if you didn’t know it was there, you’d have easily missed it. Stephen stepped out of the canoe and held the bow while the others disembarked. Last of all, Jenny lifted out the ice chest.

  “Listen,” Stephen said.

  Aaron cocked his head. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Exactly,” Stephen said darkly. “No more gunfire.”

  They all exchanged glances, but no one said a word of what they were thinking.

  “I’ll hide the canoe,” Aaron volunteered. “In that inlet over there. Then I’ll join you.”

  “Do you know how to paddle?” Stephen asked.

  “I spent five summers at Camp Winn-eh-bego. I can braid a lanyard, too.”

  “Just follow the stairs behind the brambles,” Rainy told him. “You’ll find us.”

  Aaron stepped back into the stern of the canoe, wrapped his hands around the paddle, and took off for the small inlet, which lay a hundred yards south.

  By the time Rainy led the way up the cliff, the sun was low in the sky. Its rays glanced off Iron Lake and lit the face of the rock with intense brilliance. They brushed against their own shadows as they climbed, and it seemed to Jenny that they were being paced by a column of specters, of the dark and the doomed, and she tried to thrust that thought from her. At the brambles, they had to press themselves hard against the cliff and edge their way carefully in order to avoid the thorns. Then Rainy bent and disappeared. A moment later, Jenny came abreast of the opening. She laid the ice chest on the floor of the cave mouth, and Rainy grabbed hold and pulled it inside. Jenny crawled in after, and Stephen followed.

  Except for the sunlight that lay at the opening, the cave was dark, and it took a few moments for Jenny’s eyes to adjust. The floor sloped down toward the entrance, so that any water that might have found its way in would have quickly drained. The chamber was small, fifteen feet in diameter, and edged with rock shelves. On the shelves lay many items, some that appeared to be quite old. Jenny could see no rhyme or reason to what had been placed there: a bow made of hard maple with a deer-hide quiver full of arrow shafts whose featherings had long ago turned to dust; a colorfully beaded bandolier bag; a rag doll; a muzzle-loader with a rotted stock and beside it a powder horn, still in good condition; a woven blanket; a coil of rope. There were knives and a tomahawk and what looked to be a collection of human scalps. There was, however, one item she recognized: a rolled bearskin. It had belonged to her father, but a few years ago had disappeared from the house.

  “What is this place?” she asked.

  “Bimaadiziwin. It means ‘healthy living.’ A healthy way of life.”

  “What are all these things?”

  “Symptoms of sickness,” Rainy said.

  “What do you mean?” Stephen said.

  “These are the symptoms of illness in some people,” Rainy said. “These are symbols of the burdens that they could no longer bear and that made them sick, in body and in spirit. Hate. Anger. Revenge. Jealousy. Even love, I suppose. These things, these are reminders of what they hoped to leave behind in this place. They wanted t
o lead a different kind of life, an unburdened life, a life of wholeness and spiritual health.”

  “Hoped to leave?” Stephen said.

  “There’s powerful energy here,” Rainy replied. “But even that power can’t work unless the desire to be healed and whole is sincere. That’s what Uncle Henry has told me anyway.”

  Jenny wondered what sickness it was that her father, in leaving the rolled bearskin, was trying to heal.

  “Henry,” Stephen said, and his voice was only a wisp of a whisper and full of sadness. “Do you think he’s really . . .”

  Jenny thought that her brother could not finish.

  But Stephen drew himself up and said, “Do you think he’s on the Path of Souls now?”

  “I don’t know,” Rainy said. “But if so, he was prepared to make that journey.”

  Waaboo began to fuss, and Jenny picked him up from the bedding in the ice chest. “He’s hungry,” she said. “I wish I had a bottle.”

  They heard a rustling from outside and froze. All except Waaboo, who’d begun to flail his arms and legs and emit unhappy little squeals. A moment later, the sunlight that filled the cave opening was eclipsed.

  “You in there?” Aaron asked.

  “Come in,” Rainy said. “It’s a little tight, but we’ll fit.”

  Aaron crawled in, dripping wet.

  “There’s no way to get to that little landing except by canoe or swimming,” he explained. “The lake’s pretty chilly. I hope we don’t have to hide out here for long.”

  Stephen shot his hand up, signaling them to be quiet. Again, they all held still, except Waaboo, who was becoming more vocal in his insistence on being fed. From outside the cave and somewhere above them came voices. Angry men.

  “I don’t know, but the signal was coming from somewhere around here. Then it was gone,” one of the voices said.

  “There’s nothing here, Josh. Unless they jumped off the cliff.”

  Waaboo fussed, and the sound seemed huge in the small cave and in its consequences. Jenny offered him her little finger as a pacifier, and she was thankful when he took it.

  Please, God, she prayed, let him be quiet.

  “They’re here somewhere,” the first voice said. “We’ll find them.”

  In the cave, they barely breathed.

  “How did they follow us?” Stephen whispered.

  A question to which no one had an answer.

  Waaboo pulled away, maybe sensing all the tension, and let out a cry.

  God, please, Jenny prayed and slipped the tip of her little finger back into his mouth.

  Stephen leaned near the opening of the cave. “They’re still above us,” he whispered.

  Aaron went to his hands and knees and crawled toward the opening. “I’m going out there.”

  “No,” Jenny said.

  “I’ll try to lead them away.”

  “Aaron, don’t.”

  “I’ll be okay. Never told you this, but I was a champion hurdler in high school.” He kissed the top of her head, then crept into the cave mouth and slipped outside.

  A moment later, Jenny heard a splash in the water.

  “There! See him?”

  “Yeah, come on.”

  For several minutes, everything was quiet. Waaboo had settled, and Jenny hoped desperately that Aaron was successful and safe.

  Then the evening stillness outside was shattered by gunshots. Several of them. Rainy took Jenny’s hand. Stephen put his head into the cave mouth and listened. They held that way for several minutes more.

  Stephen drew back suddenly, and Jenny understood immediately why. She heard the scrape of boots on the rock face outside and the rustle of blackberry brambles.

  Let it be Aaron, she prayed.

  “All right, you have a choice,” came a voice from the mouth of the cave. “You can come out, or we’ll just spray the inside of this place with bullets. You have ten seconds to decide.”

  They exchanged looks, and Jenny saw in the eyes of the others exactly what she felt, too: sudden and complete despair at the inevitability of what lay ahead.

  “Wait,” Rainy said, in a tired voice. “We’re coming.”

  One by one, they crawled out, Stephen first, then Jenny with Waaboo, and finally Rainy. Two men stood outside, one on either side of the cave opening, each holding a powerful-looking rifle.

  “All right, Josh is going to lead the way,” said the man to Jenny’s right. It was his voice she’d heard before. He was tall, with a sharp jaw, long nose, and eyes as blue as a cold winter sky. “You folks just follow him. And if you try anything, I’ll put a bullet through you as surely as I’m standing here.”

  “Aaron?” Jenny asked.

  “Your boyfriend?” said the man with the cold blue eyes. He shrugged. “Like shooting fish in a barrel.”

  FIFTY-ONE

  Just before sunset, the De Havilland approached Iron Lake. From above, the expanse of water appeared smooth and shiny in the late afternoon light, and the irregular shoreline gave it the look of a ragged piece of gold lamé torn from a dress. Cork saw the jut of Crow Point far ahead, and as they approached, Overturf put his hand to his headset, then lifted the radio mike and spoke into it.

  “I read you, Deputy.”

  He turned to Cork. “Says there’s a hostage situation in progress down there. He wants us to land on the northwest side of the point, well away from where the cabin sits. He’ll have somebody there to meet us.”

  “A hostage situation?” Rose said at Cork’s back. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Cork replied. But it wasn’t good.

  Overturf brought the Beaver down smoothly onto the lake. A uniformed officer waved from the shore, and the pilot motored the plane to where he stood. Cork climbed out, and the others followed.

  Overturf slid back the cockpit window and called, “I’ll stay here with the plane, Deputy. You figure you need me in some way, just let me know.”

  “Ten-four, sir, and thank you.” The deputy was George Azevedo, a man Cork knew well. They shook hands, and Azevedo said, “This way.”

  “What’s the situation, George?”

  Azevedo spoke as they walked. “A standoff at the moment. As nearly as we can tell, your daughter and son and the baby are inside the cabin. We think that Meloux and his niece are inside as well, but that’s unclear. How many of the bad guys are in there is also unclear. We’ve got the cabin surrounded, so no one’s going anywhere. The sheriff and Captain Larson are trying to figure how to handle this. They’ll be glad to see you, I expect.”

  They walked through the woods that edged the clearing until they came to the path that connected Crow Point with the county road. There they found Sheriff Marsha Dross and Captain Ed Larson, two of Cork’s old friends. They’d been his subordinates when he was sheriff of Tamarack County years before. Dross was in her early forties, Cork’s height, with a strong-boned look to her body. Like Azevedo and all the other officers present, she wore a blue Kevlar vest with TCSD stenciled on the back. In the cool evening light, he could see how drawn her face looked. The sheriff got immediately down to business.

  “We have them contained, Cork, but that’s about it at the moment. We’re trying to get some communication established. So far, I’ve had no response with my bullhorn. I’d love to get an open line into that cabin.”

  “George told me you’re sure that Stephen and Jenny and the baby are inside. True?” Cork asked.

  “Deputy Pender was first on the scene,” she explained. “He had instructions to wait before approaching the cabin and to observe and assess the situation until the rest of us arrived. He spotted several people coming along the eastern shoreline. He ID’d Stephen and Jenny. Hell, we all know them. A woman was part of the group—Rainy Bisonette, we believe, but haven’t confirmed. Two armed men escorted them. The group entered the cabin before we had a chance to intercept.

  “We were able to get two of our people into those rocks.” She pointed through the trees toward th
e outcropping around Meloux’s fire ring. “My guys found a body there, a male shot through the right eye. Driver’s license says his name is Able Denning. We’re assuming he’s one of the Seven Trumpets people. There’s another body lying on the path through the meadow grass about fifty yards out from the tree line. Male and there’s an assault rifle next to the body, so we believe it’s also one of the Seven Trumpets group. After I gave them the first call with the bullhorn, one of them attempted to make it to the rocks where my guys are positioned. They let him come and tried to subdue him when he got there. He resisted and they took him out. According to his driver’s license, he’s one of the Hornetts. Gabriel. If what you told us is accurate and there were five people who came from Stump Island, then there are only two left. We’ve got them penned in, and they know it, but they won’t respond to my attempts to communicate.”

  A man shot through the right eye. Cork knew that, before Meloux’s hands began to tremble, the old Mide might still have been able to make such a difficult shot. But now?

  “Any gunfire from the cabin?” he asked.

  “No. Nothing but silence. Oh, by the way, we’ve got an update from the Northwest Angle. Before the Lake of the Woods sheriff’s people arrived, there’d been a significant exchange of gunfire on Oak Island between the Seven Trumpets people and some locals. There were casualties, but the situation’s under control.”

  “Any ID on the casualties?”

  “Not yet.”

  Cork, of necessity, put aside his concern over those they’d left behind on Oak Island, closed his eyes, and thought out loud. “Three men down. That means Abigail Hornett is still alive and inside, along with the last man from Seven Trumpets. Did Pender get a look at the two guys with Jenny and Stephen?”

  “Yeah. Black hair, lanky, maybe six feet. Once we ID’d Gabriel Hornett, Pender confirmed that he’d been one of the men. Pender also said the other guy looked a lot like him.”