Chapter 9
SCOTT
The rain didn’t last long, but heavy clouds told Scott that it would be back.
He was sore, hungry, and scared, worried that the rescue beacon might go unnoticed.
Did Justin get our message? Can he locate us from the beacon?
I don’t know if the tracker survived the wreck.
There’s a lot of territory up here if they have to search everywhere.
His stomach rumbled. His coyote sniffed the air and didn’t register any people nearby, so they ventured from the cave.
Still like the idea of sleeping out here in our fur? Scott asked his coyote side.
It wasn’t too bad, although the bed is better, his coyote allowed.
Hungry, Scott thought.
That, we can handle. Watch this, his coyote replied. Every sense seemed sharper, letting him hear faint rustling in the brush and catch the scent of small creatures. Before the human side of his mind could react, his coyote was in motion, running at full speed and taking down a rabbit.
Lunch, his coyote said with pride, standing over his bloody prize.
Thanks. Scott did his best to retreat into his mind and shut down his human senses as his coyote swallowed the raw meat. We need energy to stay warm, he reminded himself. And if we have to walk out of the woods, we’ll need more than one rabbit.
Fresh rain puddles supplied water. They glanced up at the sky and figured it must be a little past midday, more than an hour since their crash.
If Justin got our text, he’d let the sheriff know. He’ll join the search party. Maybe they’ll see the smoke if the rain didn’t put out the fire completely. I hope we make it out of here so we can move to Fox Hollow and settle down with Justin.
Stop, his coyote side interrupted. We’re going to make it back and claim our mate. We’re ready for our happily ever after.
Scott did his best to focus on the growing connection with Justin and sent a silent, psychic call for help. He hoped it had grown strong enough to carry across the distance.
Our mate will know something is wrong, his coyote assured him. It’s part of being fated mates. We’ve been together enough our bond should have started. But we need to finish it.
Now that some of the shock of the crash had worn off, Scott assessed his injuries.
His whole body felt bruised, his left leg ached, and his head throbbed where he had hit the inside of the plane.
Several cuts oozed blood. Scott realized that being in the back had saved his life, since the nose of the plane had absorbed the worst of the impact.
Is it better to wait for a rescue party, and maybe have the bad guys come back, or try to make it out on our own and not be able to go the distance? Scott wondered.
His coyote lifted his nose to the air and sniffed. A new scent reached him, just before he heard the rustle of footsteps trying to be stealthy.
Cheap aftershave, sweat, hair oil. Definitely not the business suit guys who shot us down.
We have to hide! He slipped deeper into the brush and waited. His human side wanted to run far away from this new threat, but his coyote knew that he needed to know what he was up against and staying still was better.
Two rough-looking men outfitted in camo jackets, flannel shirts, and canvas pants came from the south. They carried rifles, and one of the men had a crossbow.
It’s not hunting season, Scott reasoned. Are these poachers?
“I don’t see anyone. I think the bosses are just paranoid.” The speaker was shorter and huskier than the other man and didn’t look as enthusiastic about being there.
“They wanted us to clear out anyone who got too nosy.” The second man looked several years older and carried himself like he was used to being in charge.
“For what they’re paying us, I don’t care if we have to boot my grandma.
” He paused. “And if they really are mobsters, I’m not going to tell them ‘No.’”
“You’ve been watching too many movies,” the first man argued.
“They sure act like mobsters.”
“Those guys knew about shifters,” his companion said. “At least if we shoot one of those, maybe we can keep the fur.”
“The pelts should be worth enough to pay for beer money,” the leader replied. “And if there’s one ‘kai-ote’ around, there’s probably a whole pack.”
Pelts. Bad enough they’d kill us, they want to skin us and steal our fur, his coyote repeated, and Scott’s stomach turned at the thought.
“Then let’s get hunting,” the second man said. “The sooner we get what we came for, the quicker we can go home and get warm.”
Two other equally rough-looking men joined the poachers.
“Hey, Paul,” one of the men hailed the leader. “Where do you want us?”
“Dave and Rich. Fan out. Work the brush. The boss said to get rid of anyone poking around, whether they’re human or shifter,” Paul told the others. “Jon, work with me. We’ll drive whatever comes from the bushes toward the other team, so it can’t escape.”
Scott knew a lot of people who hunted, and he had heard them talk enough to know they followed the rules and hunted in season. More than once, they had complained about the people who made things worse for everyone by breaking the law, and that included a particular disdain for poachers.
Real poachers were bad enough, but Scott realized that these were hired guns sent to clean up any survivors from the crash or maybe those investigating the accident. Hitmen.
They are looking for us, his coyote confirmed. That’s bad.
Scott knew he couldn’t stay where he was. But moving posed a different risk. He froze, and just then Jon looked right at him through the bushes, raised his rifle, and fired. Instinct took over. The bullet missed, and he bolted from cover. Paul gave a war whoop and shot again, his aim going wide.
Paul went left, while Jon went right, trying to box Scott in. He didn’t know whether the other two would circle around to cut him off or stick to the original plan. Panic drove him, and he let his animal mind keep control.
Another shot fired, and the bullet hit a tree far too close for comfort. Scott dodged and wove. He didn’t know this area, which put him at a disadvantage if this was home territory for his pursuers.
Are they driving us into a dead end? If we knew where we were, we’d know shortcuts. We’re running blind.
Heart thudding, they kept moving, Scott was glad to trust his coyote’s instincts. From the angle of the sun, he knew it had been several hours since the crash.
If we run deep into the woods, we might get away from the hitmen, but if Justin does mount a rescue, they’ll never find us.
Hoping instinct held true, his coyote led the pursuers in circles around the crash site. Scott knew they couldn’t keep up the pace forever, and that as soon as they tired, the poachers would close in on them.
It’s a damn shame to survive a plane crash and get shot to be skinned for a fur collar.
Scott heard other animals in the forest, but they didn’t attract the hitmen’s notice. Heart thudding, and panting, they couldn’t run much farther. By now, they had circled all the way around to just beyond the crash site.
If the bad guys shoot us when we’re like this, will we turn back before they can take our pelt? At least anyone who finds the plane might find what’s left of us.
Too late, Scott realized that he had been suckered into a trap. A wall of rock cut off his escape, and the four hired guns closed in.
“Got you now.” Paul raised his rifle.
Not without a fight.
They launched with a howl at Paul, all teeth and claws, making a last, desperate stand. They knocked the rifle from the man’s hands, and Paul stumbled, falling into Jon and ruining his shot.
Before Dave and Rich could regroup, a full-grown wolf sprang from cover and knocked Jon to the ground.
The wolf bared his teeth and locked onto the man’s gun wrist, causing a scream of pain.
In the next instant, a brown bear broke from the brush at a full run and let out a roar that made the other two hitmen freeze.
The bellow of a bull moose shook the silence of the forest as the huge creature closed menacingly on Paul and Jon, casually trampling their fallen rifles and leveling his antlers as if daring them to challenge him.
“Drop your guns.” Justin came up behind the bear and moose, carrying a rifle. “On your knees.”
Paul bled from deep scratches on his face and neck. Jon cradled a badly bitten wrist when the wolf stepped back. Dave and Rich looked poleaxed, clearly never expecting to be caught.
As the bear, wolf, and moose glowered at the hitmen, Justin used the men’s belts to bind their wrists and took a length of rope from his backpack to tie their ankles.
“You can’t just leave us out here,” Paul protested.
“Sure, I can,” Justin replied.
“That’s illegal,” Dave argued.
“So’s poaching, or being hired killers,” Justin answered, unperturbed. “Don’t worry, we’ll report you to the authorities. They’ll come to pick up the trash. If something doesn’t eat you first.” He secured their ankle rope to a tree.
The wolf, bear, and moose stood near Scott, looking mighty pleased with themselves.
Justin. Russ. Brandon. Sheriff Armel. Thank you. Coyote Scott dipped his head to show gratitude. He led the others to where he had buried his clothing but stumbled as the trauma of the day caught up with him.
“Hang tight, Scott. I’ve got you.” Justin held out the kind of backpack used by hikers to carry dogs. “Figured it would be easier to get you out as a coyote.” Justin held the dog pack open for Scott. “Hope you aren’t offended.”
After the crash and evading two sets of killers, Scott thought being carried out sounded wonderful. They stood still while Justin strapped them in, grabbed Scott’s clothes, and hefted the contraption onto his back.
“We’ve got a couple of miles to get back to the SUV,” Justin told them as he started walking. Russ kept pace beside him, as did Brandon. The sheriff, still in his bear form, melted into the tree line, staying close but less visible in case there were more threats.