Chapter Five #2
“See?” the younger man says to his partner. “I told you it was a dog.” He looks at us. “We thought we spotted a gray wolf. Then someone whistled and it ran off.”
“Ah. Yeah, that’d be ours. Half wolf.”
“Cool. Okay, so we’ll head back and let, uh, Mr. Rogers know.”
The older man nods. “If you could track whoever it is for a couple of miles, that’ll make the boss happy—as long as those miles are in the other direction. I’ll call the rest of the guys in.”
Dalton grunts in what could be agreement, and we watch them go before setting Storm back on the trail.
We do follow the trail farther. Dalton grumbles about that, but he doesn’t actually suggest we lie about doing it, so I know he’s only grumbling.
On the one hand, I’m ready to get back to my baby.
On the other, going farther might be wise, just so we aren’t back in town wondering whether we did enough to ensure the hikers really were gone.
We don’t track the full two miles. After about half that, we swing north. We agreed to speak to Mr. Rogers, but we also need to talk to someone else—the real owner of that “dog” the guards mistook for a wolf.
It was almost certainly an actual wolf, one belonging to the woman who calls herself Lilith, our resident nature photographer.
Why is there a woman living with a wolf in the wilderness?
Because it’s the Yukon. People come here for all kinds of reasons, and unless they’re living in one of the towns, you don’t ask why. That’s none of your damn business.
So far, Lilith has managed to avoid catching the miners’ attention, but it makes us nervous, having her out here alone near a camp full of men. It makes her nervous, too, though she’d never admit it.
Her cabin is on the edge of our territory, and that’s where she hunts and fishes and hikes, having self-declared everything west off-limits.
I can only imagine how frustrating that must be.
Two years ago, she had this endless wilderness to herself.
Now she has two settlements sharing her land, and only one of them is friendly.
We need to speak to her—both about the miners seeing Nero and about the hikers. So we leave the trail and head onto a route that will take us her way, and from there, we can go south to the mining camp.
I also consider letting Dalton and Anders handle Rogers, while I go back with Storm.
Yes, having a baby means my priorities are split these days, but it’s a matter of splitting them the right way.
Having me along on this part of the excursion—and talking to Lilith—is important, but with Rogers, I’d probably just hang back and let Dalton handle it. Anders can watch his back.
Getting to Lilith’s requires a bit of mild mountaineering.
We’ve gone north, which is where Anders had gotten some elevation earlier.
It’s the foothills of a mountain. Honestly, I’m never really sure what qualifies as a mountain versus a foothill up here.
Mostly, if it’s really tall and has snow on the top at this time of year, I call it a mountain.
If we can hike to the summit without gear, it’s a foothill.
I’m sure the distinction would have a geologist rolling their eyes.
For the “foothill” we’re on, it’s about a two-hour climb to the summit and tough going but well worth it for the views.
We’re sticking along the edge now. We aren’t talking as we walk—we don’t want to alert Rogers’s men again.
It’s a silent trek east, and when Storm slows, sniffing the air, we notice right away.
I bend beside her. “Smell something?”
She keeps sniffing, with a look I recognize as wary puzzlement. She smells something, but either it’s faint or she’s not sure whether it’s a concern.
Dalton peers around. “High enough for grizzlies,” he says. “Maybe a den? We haven’t climbed this way before.”
“Haven’t we?” Anders says. “I thought the cave system was just up ahead.”
“Over that way.” Dalton points up the hillside. “That’s the path we take to the caves.”
“Huh. You sure?”
“Which of us has the better sense of direction?”
“Casey.”
I fist-pump the air.
“So who’s right?” Anders calls forward.
“Not getting involved,” I say.
“Afraid to contradict your husband?” Anders says.
“No, just don’t feel like dealing with the gloating from the one of you who is correct.”
“Hey, at least one of us is correct.”
“Me,” Dalton says. “Because your sense of direction sucks. The last time we relied on your—”
Storm lunges in front of us so fast we all jerk back. She stands there, hackles raised as she growls. Before anyone can speak, a roar from below has us all reaching—Anders for his big-ass .45 and Dalton for the rifle on his back and me for my bear spray.
“That’s a bear roar, right?” Anders whispers.
“Yep.”
“A happy bear, miles away, romping through the fields?”
Dalton snorts. The bear is not happy—nor is it miles away—and Anders knows that.
“Tell me it’s a black bear then.”
“Lie to you?”
“Fuck,” Anders says.
“We’re fine,” I say. “We have three handguns, one rifle, and three cans of spray.”
“I am aware that you are ahead!” Dalton calls to the bear. “Be aware that we are here.”
“I’m also aware!” Anders chimes in. “Bear aware. Taken all the training.”
“Here, too,” I call as I lay my hand on Storm’s head.
My gesture asks her to stay quiet. Dogs can aggravate bears, and while she’d be helpful in a fight, we intend to avoid that.
We keep talking so the bear knows we’re here and that there are multiples of us.
The roar told us that the bear is somewhere up ahead.
We want it to know it still has time to retreat.
That’s usually all they need. An exit strategy.
The bear roars again, and that is a clear signal that it is not giving way. It also doesn’t necessarily mean we’re in danger. Just as we warned the bear we’re here, it’s extending the same courtesy.
Back the fuck up, little humans.
“Guess we aren’t going this way,” Dalton mutters. “Sounds like it’s protecting a kill.”
“Go higher or lower?” I ask.
“Higher. I’d rather be above it.”
“Good call.”
We back up until we see a clear way up the side of the foothill. Then we climb. Anders takes the lead. I fall into the rear with Storm—no one wants to be caught under a hundred-and-forty-pound dog if she slips. Also, Dalton wants the middle spot so he’s free to watch and listen for the grizzly.
Anders finds a path, and he’s walked along it for about ten paces when he whispers back to Dalton, “You win.” Dalton grunts. Yes, this is the path we take to the cave system. It’s familiar and relatively easy to traverse.
We’ve gone maybe fifty feet along it when Dalton says, “Hold up,” his voice low.
I lean left and see what he’s talking about. Movement behind bushes maybe twenty feet below. I frown. We’d climbed at least fifty feet before we found the path. That can’t be the bear, which had been farther down the hillside—
A tawny rump comes into view, one with a white scar on the haunch.
It’s a grizzly’s backside, which has my frown growing, until I see the bear’s jerky movement.
It’s pulling something. Dragging prey to higher ground so it can eat at leisure.
This time of year, it won’t want to share with scavengers.
“Retreat?” Anders whispers.
“Yeah,” Dalton says, obviously annoyed. “Head back to the lower path.”
We turn around. Then Anders says, “Uh, guys?”
I glance back down the hillside toward the bear. It’s out in the open, and I think that’s what Anders means—don’t turn our back on it. Which is correct, but the bear is paying us no attention. It’s too busy dragging its kill, now that those pesky interlopers have left.
What it’s dragging is a leg. A human leg.
Attached to a human body.