Chapter 10
By the time they were halfway to the cave, Spence knew a couple of things.
One, the shooter was either inexperienced with his weapon, or not at home out here.
Was it because he was used to cities with lots of buildings, not trees with branches that moved with the wind?
Used to more noise to cover his movements?
Crowds to blend into? That, he didn’t know.
And it didn’t matter. He only knew he was glad of it.
Otherwise, one of those shots might have hit.
They scrambled up a steeper slope, still sheltered by the thick trees.
He had only slung his pack over one shoulder initially, but now slid his other arm through the second strap.
And aimed a rather fervent curse at himself again at the lack of his rifle usually secured on that side.
If he had it, he could resolve whatever this was in a hurry.
The going was a bit rough, especially in spots where only a thin layer of earth covered larger—and more slippery—rocks.
He’d gone down on a knee once already and it had been an effort to bite back the yelp of pain.
But now that they were out in the open air, moving, any sound could easily carry to the hunter and betray their location.
He spared a split second to hope the guy had gone down a couple of times himself, but Spence never stopped moving. And Hetty, tough, stubborn woman that she was, kept up with him.
That last slip made him think of something else about the shooter. That maybe he was used to level ground—like asphalt or concrete—under his feet all the time. At this point, Spence would take any edge he could get, and that would definitely be one.
He paused to look around, to make sure he was headed in the right direction.
It had been a while since he’d been up here.
But if they made it to the cave, the situation would shift completely.
With its entrance mostly masked by a large boulder and a huge Sitka spruce, most newcomers to the area would never realize it was there.
The entrance was narrow, although the cave itself opened up quite a bit once you were inside.
That meant anyone coming in after them would have to present themselves in the restricted space.
Spence might not have his rifle, but he had his knife.
He’d never used it on a human before, but if it came down to the assailant or him, he would.
If it came down to the assailant or Hetty, he’d not only use it but tear him up like a grizzly.
A faint rustling behind them made him spin around. Hetty froze in place. Spence visually searched down low, where the sound had come from.
“Stoat,” he whispered to her, having spotted the small brown-and-white weasel in the underbrush.
Summer was definitely here, since the wiry creature had shed its winter-white coat completely.
It gave them a tilted-head assessing look and, apparently deciding they weren’t worth any more attention, scampered off into the trees.
They moved on, carefully, stopping to listen every few yards. They heard no more movement and, more importantly, no more shots. Had they lost the shooter? Spence didn’t know for sure, and he wasn’t about to gamble that they had. Not when the stakes could easily be Hetty’s life.
Cursing himself once more for setting the rifle down in the storage shed—and hoping he lived through this, so he could never repeat that carelessness—Spence started moving again.
The incline of the slope had lessened a bit, making the going easier, but the trees were also thicker, with branches barring almost every path, making moving silently and invisibly nearly impossible.
Practically crawling—actually crawling would probably be a good idea—was the only answer.
He didn’t stop to explain their pace to Hetty.
She might not be a hunter, used to skulking around in the woods, but she knew they were under serious threat and she would understand why they were being so cautious.
And why he was being so quiet. Besides, she knew this terrain almost as well as he did.
That had been a requirement of working for RTA; to know the crucial things about where you were taking people who didn’t know anything about it.
He thought of those days when he’d first been assigned—by his father, so he couldn’t say no—to showing her to and around all their various destinations.
One of the things he’d done was to teach her various hand signals.
At that time, they had been intended to be used to avoid spooking game, or in the case of some of the critters of the wild, to avoid drawing their attention.
Now he had to hope that she’d been paying attention to those lessons and remembered how to communicate silently.
The moment he had the thought, he almost laughed at himself.
This was Hetty, and if there was one thing she consistently did, it was learn and remember.
If that wasn’t true, he wouldn’t be here now.
They’d both be in the drink, along with a crashed plane, probably both dead.
But she’d pulled off a safe landing, saving them both.
And now here we are with some crazy person with a rifle trying to take us out, and I don’t have a single damned idea who or why.
He stopped again, scanning ahead, searching for any sign of movement, listening for any sound.
Then he felt a touch on his arm and quickly looked back at Hetty.
She nodded to their left and slightly lower, making a motion with her hands at her head that it took him a moment to figure out.
He couldn’t stop his smile when he realized it was from back on that day when she’d asked if there were signals for particular animals and he’d jokingly put his hands up on both sides of his head to signify a moose’s antlers.
He looked where she’d nodded, saw nothing at first. But Hetty also didn’t make mistakes, so he waited. And after another minute or so, he saw movement: a large, brown, antlered head reaching down for some no-doubt tangy green summer growth.
They waited, watching. Most people who had never encountered one didn’t realize the threat an angry moose could be. If he decided you were a problem he wanted to be rid of, you’d better get gone. And fast.
The big animal looked their way, as if he’d known they were there all along.
And he probably had, Spence admitted. This was his neighborhood, not theirs, and any and all intruders were likely noticed, assessed and either ignored or driven out.
And unlike their other pursuer, chances were good he wouldn’t miss.
He went back to his meal and Spence looked at Hetty and nodded up the hill. Once more, they started inching their way forward. The moose looked again, but this time seemed satisfied that they were vacating the premises and stayed where he was.
Spence glanced back at Hetty and saw that she was smiling. She’d always loved it when they encountered the various wild creatures that inhabited—heck, owned—this countryside. She would never hunt them, but she loved to see and watch them. And apparently that hadn’t changed.
Then again, Hetty didn’t change much. Even in high school, she’d been like this—smart, quick and endlessly patient when necessary.
She always had been that way with him, and he was sure he’d put quite a strain on those qualities, especially the patience, in those days.
Heck, he was sure he put a strain on them now, although it was for completely different reasons.
At the time, it had been because he’d been sure, with all the certainty of a teenager, that nobody could help him.
Hetty had proved him wrong, then. Now, it was because he had to keep some distance between them, otherwise he was going to say or do something utterly stupid and make it hard for them to work together.
And they had to work together, because they were one of the main supports RTA was built on.
And so he kept his distance, upheld the front of flirting with every receptive female who came along, telling himself he had to maintain that space between them.
He supposed it was the inner urge to do just the opposite that made him push the envelope, go further than he wanted to, which resulted in a weird feeling of both success and irritation when he succeeded in bringing on that disgusted eye roll of hers.
He shook off the tired old thoughts and speculation.
He needed to be paying attention here. Just because there hadn’t been any shots fired since they’d made it into the trees didn’t mean the guy had given up.
And wasting energy trying to figure out why wasn’t helping, either.
Right now that didn’t matter, the why would come later.
Assuming the shooter didn’t find them and finish the job.
He winced inwardly at the thought of his dad and uncle trying to figure out what had happened to them.
Once they were out of sight of the moose, he picked up the pace as much as he thought he could without advertising their presence.
This plan obviously wasn’t without risk, especially since they were essentially moving in the shooter’s uphill direction, but if they made it to that cave, they’d at least have time to think and figure out what to do.
He paused at a break in the trees, to assess the two possible ways past the small clearing in front of them.
He was trying to decide if they’d be better off heading to the left to get past that downed spruce or to the right on what looked to be a longer path that would keep them concealed among upright trees, when he heard… something.
His head snapped around and he held up a hand to stop Hetty.
She froze where she was, about five feet behind him.
He searched the direction of the sound—a faint snap, as if a branch had broken—had come from, but saw nothing; no movement, no moose, no human.
He heard a faint sort of chattering—an animal—and wondered if it was the stoat and his clan. It sounded kind of weasel-like.
The area had fallen back into silence and still he waited. Only when several minutes had gone by did he start to walk again. Hetty never protested, only moving when he finally lowered his hand.
At last, they reached the huge outcropping of rock he recognized. The cave was about midway along and he could see from their position that the huge Sitka spruce still stood. But the stretch from here to there was like the clearing down the hill. Too open for comfort.
He turned to Hetty and whispered, “I want to check and make sure the cave isn’t…occupied.”
It was unlikely, this late in the year and at this time of day, but still possible that some creature or creatures were sheltering there. The opening was too narrow for a bear of any size, but smaller wildlife had used the cave before, leaving evidence of nests, droppings and food debris behind.
“Okay,” she answered just as quietly. “I’ll go check on that little waterfall that was over there.” She glanced to her right.
He remembered the small rivulet that ran down the south side of the rocks.
He’d prefer she stay put, but he also knew they needed water.
He was already thirsty after the long hike and she had to be, too.
So, reluctantly, he nodded. Thought about saying, “Be careful,” or some such other warning, but stopped himself.
Hetty knew as well as he did to take care up here and not just because that shooter might still be in the area.
She was aware that with one wrong step, she could take a tumble she wouldn’t easily recover from.
Especially as completely out of touch as they were now.
And then she was gone, moving as silently as he had been. Jaw set, he headed toward the cave. It was awkward, doing it in a crouch, but safer in case the shooter had perhaps spotted or heard them.
He made it to the cover of the big tree and took his first full breath.
He edged around the slight outcropping of rock, hoping nothing had happened to block off their planned shelter’s entrance.
The narrow opening was just as he’d remembered.
He stopped, listened, but heard nothing from inside.
Still, he had his knife at the ready when he moved again.
He had to find the perfect middle ground between stooping and staying constricted enough himself to get through it.
It was, thankfully, empty. There were signs that perhaps a coyote or three had wintered here, including bones leftover from whatever the clever carnivores had caught for several meals.
As long as we don’t add any human bones to that pile…
His thoughts went immediately to Hetty and he turned to exit the cave. He needed to tell her they were good and to get her into the shelter. He didn’t want her out there any longer than necessary. He could use a drink of that clear, mountain water himself, if the little creek was still running.
The moment he got back outside, he heard something. A sound that was half gasp, half scream. His entire body tensed.
An instant later, he heard a sharp unmistakable crack of sound.
Another shot.
And another scream.
Hetty.