Double Blind (22 page)

“We ain’t paid to think. We’re paid to hunt. Burt wants whatever or whoever is up here and we’ll damn well give it him.”

Ted spit a stream of tobacco. He stared toward the calf’s mutilated carcass. “You think he ate them? Those missing parts?”

“Probably.”

“This is creepy, man,” Ted said. “I don’t like this shit.”

Walt tugged his hat down. “Let’s get going.”

They remounted and headed up the slope, winding through the trees, and drifted a couple of hundred yards apart to widen their area of search. For the next two hours they zigzagged up and down the mountain, working their way to the west, searching the ground for tracks.

The rain slackened, the wind died, and the day began to warm as the storm moved to the east. Walt pulled the poncho over his head, shook the water off, and crammed it into one of the saddlebags.

Though he hadn’t seen Ted for the past hour, he knew where he was. A few hundred yards below and slightly ahead. They had hunted together so often that they knew each other’s movements. He could occasionally hear the sound of Ted’s horse pushing through the brush or clapping over a rocky area.

Entering a clearing in the forest, he reined his horse to a stop. After dampening his kerchief with water from his canteen, he wiped sweat from his face and then massaged his neck, attempting to relax the taut sinews.

A squirrel scurried up a nearby tree, barking a warning, alerting others that an intruder was present. Walt fired up another Marlboro and gazed up at the bright blue sky, broken only by a few clouds that straggled behind the storm. The sun hung high overhead. Time for a bite of lunch, he thought.

A rifle shot echoed through the trees followed by a heavy silence.

He turned his horse toward the sound. “Ted,” he hollered. Cupping one hand around his mouth, he shouted again. “Ted.”

Silence.

He crushed the cigarette against his metal canteen, tossed the butt aside, and urged his horse forward. He snaked his way through the trees toward the gunshot until he rounded a large rocky outcropping. Before him, Ted lay face down on the ground, unmoving. He yanked his horse to a stop and jumped from the saddle. He pulled his rifle and cranked a shell into the chamber, but caution prevented him from approaching his friend. Instead, he remained near his horse, shielded by the animal’s bulk. “Ted?”

No response, no movement.

He looked around. Ted’s horse was nowhere in sight and his rifle lay near his body.

An odor wafted toward him. Thick, harsh, animalistic. Hunched behind his horse, he couldn’t determine from which direction the stench originated. Then, he heard a scrapping sound. Above him.

 Looking up, he saw something along the flat top of the rocky mass, scurrying away from him, into the trees, up the slope. It appeared to be a large man-like form. He sidestepped to his right, away from his horse, attempting to draw a bead. He couldn’t see the assailant, but he heard him, thrashing through the trees, heading higher.

He pointed the rifle toward the sound and fired. The bullet snapped a tree branch fifty feet ahead of him. He levered the gun and fired again. The slug slapped through the foliage before thudding into a tree trunk.

He listened, but now heard only the gentle rustle of the trees as the breeze pushed against their branches.

He rushed to where Ted sprawled face down on the forest floor. Kneeling, he shook his friend, but got no response. He rolled Ted’s limp body over and recoiled. Acid rose in his throat. The killing blow had split Ted’s skull, revealing the underlying brain tissue, and had crushed left side of his face, exploding the adjacent eye from its socket.

Jesus.
He swallowed hard. A wave of nausea rose in his gut and a cold sweat slicked his skin.

He picked up a thick tree limb that rested against one of Ted’s boots. Fragments of flesh and streaks of blood clung to a fractured segment of its coarse bark.

He stood and backed away, attempting to control his grinding stomach. He lost the battle. Leaning against a nearby tree, he gagged and heaved, but expelled only hot, bitter bile.

He wiped the dribble from his mouth and climbed back into the saddle. He looked down at Ted’s body. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll run this son-of-a-bitch down and blow him the fuck away.”

He yanked the reins to the left and spurred the horse forward, toward the fleeing form. He charged through the trees, brushing aside branches with the sweep of one hand. The horse churned up the slope with powerful strides, its hooves digging into the dirt and gravel and pine needles, tossing them in its wake. The animal’s breath came in great sibilant whooshes.

Near the tree line, the forest thinned, revealing a rocky slope that led up to the long abandoned Old Watkin’s Mine. As he ducked beneath the last spruce limb, he caught a glimpse of his prey, disappearing into the mouth of the mine.

He urged the horse up the slope to within 50 feet of the opening where he tugged on the reins and leaped from the saddle. He cautiously approached the entry, standing to one side, just in case his prey was armed. He hadn’t seen a gun and the assailant hadn’t bothered to pick up Ted’s rifle. Maybe he didn’t have time. Maybe he was already armed.

“Come on out,” he shouted.

No response.

“Don’t make me come in after you.”

Silence. He swung his rifle around and fired three random shots into the darkness. He waited for the echoes to die away.

“Goddamn it,” he said under his breath and, staying low, darted into the dark throat of the mine.

Hollis awoke with a start. Initially disoriented, he blinked his eyes clear, and then noticed that weak sunlight pushed through the curtains and dimly lit the room. What time was it? Had he slept all afternoon? Or was it morning? He remembered stretching out on the bed to rest, but little else.

He rubbed his eyes and then saw Niki standing across the room, staring out the window. She wore a black silk shirt that hung just low enough to create the illusion of modesty where there was none. Niki didn’t know the meaning of the word. Her self-assuredness, despite her youth, was one of the many things he loved about her.

The soft sunlight silhouetted her lithe form through the flimsy shirt. The firm globes of her buttocks peeked beneath the hem.

“What are you up to?” he asked.

She turned toward him, the shirt falling open to reveal her breasts and closely trimmed triangle of blond curls. “I was out by the pool for a while. Then I took a long bubble bath.”

“What time is it? I dozed off.”

“You dozed three hours ago. It’s nearly five.”

He stretched. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed the sleep.”

“Come here.”

She walked toward him, the silk shirt slipping from her shoulders and floating to the floor in her wake. He never tired of looking at her. A feeling shared by the thousands men all over the world who collected her pictures. A dozen or so renegade web sites were dedicated to displaying her image.

She threw back the covers and straddled him, smiling. “You want something?” She reached for him, massaging, stimulating, arousing. At first he responded, but then, softened in her hand. “What’s the matter?”

“Tired.”

She rolled off and lay next to him, snuggling against his shoulder. “Are you bored with me?”

He turned to face her, his fingers cupping her chin. “Of course not.”

“Want to take a Viagra? I can wait.”

He pulled her against him. She felt so wonderfully warm. “No. I’m content.”

“But, lately...you’ve had more trouble. I thought maybe it was me.”

“Not likely,” he said. “I guess I’m just getting old. Maybe too old for you.”

“Don’t say that.” She hugged him tightly. “It’s just a down period.”

He laughed. “Down is right.”

She playfully poked a finger at his ribs. “You know what I mean.”

“Why do you put up with me?” Hollis asked. “I’m moody. I’m old. And I can’t take care of you like I should.”

“Because I love you. I always have.”

“Why?”

“I just do.”

They held each other, saying nothing, their breathing falling into a synchronized rhythm.

Niki spoke first. “When are you going to get your research started again? Get that wonder drug you were working on finished?”

“Soon.”

“You’ve been saying that for two months.”

“You can’t just call 1-800-SCIENTIST and get qualified researchers.”

“I know,” Niki laughed.

“We do have a line on a couple of people. One looks very promising.”

“Well tell them to hurry up and get to work.”

He laughed. “I told you, it’s not a fountain of youth.”

 “You also said it might help.”

“It might.”

“Good.”

 A knock at the door startled both of them.

“Yeah,” Hollis said.

Burt’s voice came through the door. “I need to talk to you.”

Hollis pulled the comforter over them. “Come on in.”

Burt stepped into the room. “Sorry to bother you,” he said. “But, something’s come up.”

Niki slid from beneath the covers, snatched her shirt from the floor, and threw it over her shoulder. She walked past Burt toward the bathroom. “I’ll let you guys huddle. I’m going to wash my hair.” She pulled the door closed behind her.

“What is it?” Hollis asked.

“Ted’s horse came back. Without him and without Walt.”

Sam stretched out on the bed, the phone cradled between her ear and the pillow. “You’re in Port Angeles, Washington? What on Earth for?”

“Working,” Nathan said.

“I thought you were coming here?”

“I was, but I had to swing up here first.”

Nathan had called earlier and left a message on Alyss’ answering machine, saying that he was leaving New York but couldn’t yet come to Gold Creek. He had to go to the Olympic Peninsula and would call later and explain everything.

“What is it this time?”

“Someone found some unusual tracks. Sasquatch, they say. Up here near Hurricane Ridge.”

Sam groaned. “Give me a break.”

“Don’t start with that. The pictures they showed me are impressive. Tomorrow, I’m hiking up there to see the site for myself.”

“We have our own Sasquatch here.”

“How so?” Nathan asked.

“Billy Bear Wingo. One of the biggest humans I’ve ever met.”

“Does he have anything to do with the body you found?”

“I doubt it,” she said. “But I bet his feet are bigger than your whatever it is. Size fourteen.”

Nathan laughed. “The ones in the photos look more like twenties.”

“OK, you win. So, when are you coming here?”

“Two days.”

“Two more days?”

“Maybe three.”

“Your job is a pain.”

“But, it pays well,” he laughed.

“I don’t care. I miss you.”

“That’s a mutual feeling.”

“It had better be.” She swung her legs off the bed and sat up. “My vacation is nearly half over and I haven’t seen you at all.”

“Don’t pout.”

“I’m not.”

“I’ll call tomorrow when I know more and I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

They hung up. Sam crawled beneath the covers and with little effort slipped into a deep, much needed sleep.

*

Earlier, after the lone horse returned, Burt, Hollis, and Carlos had mounted a search for the two men. On horseback, they had meandered through the forest, shouting, receiving no response. Nightfall slowed their progress and two hours after sunset, the thick darkness of the forest ended their hunt. They returned to Casa Grande where Burt called Wade and enlisted his help for a search to begin at first light. Wade said he would get Eloy Fuller to join them. Burt welcomed Wade’s assistance, but his tolerance for the simple-minded Eloy was nonexistent. Wade insisted on bringing him along, saying even Eloy’s misaligned eyes were better than none.

Now, well after midnight, Burt stretched out on his bed, his aching muscles welcoming the soft mattress. Fatigue pulled him into a deep sleep that lasted all of ten minutes.

The phone rang. Angry, he snatched it up. “Yeah?”

“Senor Burt. Senor Burt,” Carmelita shouted over the phone. “Fire.”

Burt was out of bed and into his clothes in seconds. He rousted Hollis and Conner and they jumped in the Range Rover. Even from a half-mile away, they could see bright orange flames leap from the stables high into the night air. The acrid smell of smoke burned his nostrils. By the time they drove to the stables, the structure was fully engulfed.

Carlos rushed up to them, his face blackened with soot. Carmelita stood well away from the flames, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

Carlos, with waving arms, rattled rapidly in half-English, half-Spanish about seeing the flames from his bedroom window. He and Carmelita lived in a log-style cabin midway between the stables and the main house. He said someone had apparently opened the stalls and released the horses into the pasture before the fire started. He had tried to douse the flames, but the fire had spread rapidly and the heat had forced him to back away.

Carlos hung his head. “I am sorry. It is my fault. I should have seen the fire sooner.”

“No, it’s not,” Burt said, clapping his hand on Carlos’ shoulder. “You did all you could.”

One wall of the stable wavered, buckled, and collapsed. The corrugated-metal roof fell, dragging the other walls with it. Hot flames and swirling cinders exploded skyward as the fire consumed the wooden walls and warped and blackened the roof. Everyone stood and watched, unable to do anything else.

Thirty minutes later, the fire abated enough so that they could approach with hoses and knock down the remaining flames. The fire hissed and spat, releasing clouds of thick white steam, but finally gave up.

After soaking down the cinders to prevent any flare-ups, they rounded up the horses and locked them in the nearby holding pen. Carlos broke up a bale of hay for them and Burt filled a portable metal trough with water.

*

For an hour, he had squatted in the edge of the trees, less than a quarter mile from the fire and watched the spectacle before him. Now, he munched on an apple, its sweet aroma mixing with the bitter stench of the water soaked ashes.