A Forest of Corpses (24 page)

I moved straight north, all the time alert, to not only bear, but for gun-wielding pot growers. The jay grew more raucous and was joined by another one. A mated pair maybe. Which probably meant an occupied nest nearby. Bears loved eggs and young animals, almost as much as they loved honey.

I crept along, staying low, moving slowly, always aware of what was around me on all sides. A flash of blue overhead warned me I was close. If the bird saw me, it ignored me.

The bear posed more menace to it than I did.

I saw the cub first. A medium, dog-sized, animal, ten-twelve pounds tops. It was rooting around in the bushes 226

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ahead of me, scratching at the pine needle covered ground.

Every few seconds it would stuff its nose into the ground and snort and snuffle in its search for food. I knew it would still be nursing, and would keep on doing so for the next year at least, but it wouldn't turn up its nose at something sweet and luscious, like a fat grub. When I knew what direction the pair was heading, I cut in front of them, shredding one bar on the path I wanted to lead them.

The sow would smell me, but she'd be used to the scent of humans. All summer long humans trooped through her woods. She more than likely had been tagged at some point in her life. Maybe the cub had been, too. If she stayed in the park she'd be safe, if she wandered too far hunters might well find her. The same fate might meet her cub if it chose to extend its territory after its mother drove it away when it was time for her to mate again. If either one of them took to hanging out at human campsites, or went on garbage raids they'd be forcibly relocated. Or shot if they didn't stop being a nuisance.

None of that was my concern right now. I had to try to lure this pair close enough to the drug camp to attract attention. I was sure the armed thugs would react badly to a bear showing up in their midst. They'd either flee or shoot at it. I didn't like the latter option, but Alex's life was at stake here, and that overrode my dislike of putting the bear in danger.

I pulled out my half finished bag of trail mix and added some to my lure.

Come on, mama. Come and get it.

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I moved between dream and nightmare. It was impossible to know when I was conscious. I knew I was dying, that was no longer a vague concept, but a hardcore fact. The rare time I was awake enough to know it, the pain was overpowering.

It was easier to welcome the twilight world of my hallucinating mind.

But I couldn't ignore the cold, wet nose that snuffled loudly over my ear and cheek, followed by warm doggy breath and a wet tongue.

Normally, the gesture would have disgusted me. But now, dying, it became a welcome release from the overwhelming feeling of loss I had dying alone. Funny how being alone for years had never bothered me, until Jason came along. Then I found out how empty my life had become. I had thought those days gone. Now mine had come full circle and I was going to meet the end alone. The dog whined softly, then stretched out beside me, pressing firmly against my side, stilling the tremors that had become a constant. Pain lessened and some of my lucidity returned. Enough to know the dog wasn't the only thing that had returned.

There was more light around me. I must be in or near the opening the pot farmers had carved out of the forest for their plants. Wanting to feel the sun on my face one more time I rolled over, clenching my teeth together at the rush of pain that subsided slowly when I stopped moving. But it was there. Sun. Warmth and the gentle caress of sun-warmed air 228

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on my sweating, fevered face. I took as deep a breath as the pain in my side allowed, no longer caring about inhaling bugs.

The air no longer smelled funny. Now it was the sweetest thing I'd ever drawn into my lungs. Jason would be happy. He had wanted me to like this week so badly. Too bad I wouldn't be able to tell him that I was all set to do just that.

Something big flew overhead. At first I thought it might be a plane, flying low, until I saw the wings were too wide and rough-edged to be a man-made object. It had to be a bird. I couldn't tell what kind or even how big it was. It must be very close, nothing was that big right? It seemed to be circling.

Finally I did recognize it. I'd seen enough old Westerns to know a buzzard when I saw one. All the old jokes about buzzards hanging around, waiting for something to die came back. But did they always wait? Maybe some of them were willing to come in early to the feast. Or speed death along.

I shut my eyes, not wanting to see it if it came closer.

Hoping it would wait.

God, I didn't want to die. Was that so much to ask? To live a while longer? Jason and I hadn't had enough time. Both of us came to love late. It wasn't fair we lost now what we had found.

The dog nuzzled me again, pulling me out of my pity-fest.

Don't be a fucking pathetic fool. I opened my eyes again and rolled back over onto my stomach. I'll keep dragging myself if that's all I'm capable of doing. But I wasn't going to lie here and be some fat bird's smorgasbord. Not going to happen, now or ever. They could do whatever the hell they wanted, but they were going to have to wait until I was gone.

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I dragged myself forward, one inch at a time. At first the dog stayed beside me, but maybe my pace was too slow, eventually he started leaving me, sometimes ahead of me, sometimes going out of my sight. I couldn't pay attention. If he left, he left. Finally, he didn't come back. So that was that.

I thought of nothing then but pulling myself across the ground. As sorry-assed as the effort was, at least I was doing something.

The voices grew louder. Was that what had driven the dog away? Couldn't blame him for protecting his butt. He'd probably seen his master die, and been shot at himself. Hard not to get skittish when that happens. The Anglo guy was talking.

"Swear I saw that damned dog. How's he keep getting away?"

"
No manches, cabron!
" the Latino growled. "
Estas
chingado, guey
."

"Fuck you,
menso
. I know what I seen."

More muttered Spanish, then booted feet thudded over the ground near my head. I knew the minute they saw me.

"
Diablos
!"

"What the fuck? You think he's dead?"

A booted foot prodded my shoulder. In response I rolled away from it, onto my uninjured side. A pair of scruffy faces stared down at me. One white as paper, the other older and Latino. The white one looked like he was going to be sick.

"S
abe... esta jodido!
"

"He's gotta be. Shit, look at that." The boot touched me again, near where the bullet had grazed me. Pain unlike 230

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anything I had ever felt before shot through me, switching every nerve in my body on as though electrodes had been rammed into me. I screamed, but my throat was so dry and my lungs airless and all that came out was a weak grunt.

"Hey, it's alive. He the guy we shot? Told you we hit his sorry ass."

"
Se muere.
"

"Course he's dying. Shit, look at him."

Our eyes met, the Anglo smirked. He had his Beretta tucked into his waistband. His buddy came more heavily armed. An Uzi, with the sheen of long use, hanging over his chest. He couldn't seem to keep his hands off it. His eyes never left mine. Calculating whether it was worth the effort to waste bullets?

"
Matelo
."

Anglo's smirk grew broader. He was enjoying the prospect.

He fingered his gun.

"You don't look so hot." The Anglo broke into a grin.

"How'd you get hurt, mister? Run into a bullet someplace?"

"You really want to kill a cop?" I stuttered through my shivering, knowing the answer already. But thinking maybe I could slow them down. For what I didn't know. But I wasn't going to walk into death without kicking and biting all the way.

"
Policia? Usted policia?
"

"Santa Barbara PD," I gasped out my credential, knowing it wasn't going to make any difference to this pair. They'd crossed the line so far and so long ago, one more death wasn't going to faze them. Still, I tried, though my voice was 231

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barely above a pain-filled whisper. I infused it with as much strength as I could. "Detective Alexander Spider."

"
Es tira!
" One of them had brains enough to understand the mess they had just stepped into. Not so his partner.

"So, he's a cop? You think he's gonna arrest us,
idiota
?

He's already dead, look at him. I ain't never seen a more fucked up dude. We're just doing him a favor. Putting him out of his misery, as it were."

"
Si.
Somos filantropos, derecho?
"

"Right, Juan. That's what it is." The Anglo seemed to be enjoying himself. "We're just putting him out of his misery.

Cutting short his poor, miserable existence. Horse breaks his leg, you shoot him, right? Only thing to do."

Anglo pulled out his Beretta. He made an elaborate show of checking his magazine, making sure he had a round in the chamber. His grin showed tweaker teeth that desperately needed a dentist. Casually, his eyes locked on mine, he leaned over and spit. It might have hit me, I couldn't tell. I didn't really care.

I braced, staring at him as he took aim, refusing to shut my eyes. I wish I could have seen Jason one more time. But there was more comfort in knowing he was safely away from here. Probably down the mountain by now. Whether he got anyone to come back was moot. If they came fast enough, maybe they'd catch these clowns. I'd like to think so.

A scream rent the air.

Anglo jerked as though the sound had shot electricity through him. The barrel of the gun swung away from me.

"What the—"

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"
Estupido!"

Before anyone could do more, a shot followed the scream.

Before I could blink, both of them were gone. There were several more shots and panic stricken screams that mounted in terror. I heard the armed pair crashing through the underbrush, cursing in Spanish and English. Another scream.

What the hell was going on? Had the police arrived? Had they been that quick?

That had to mean Jason was safe, didn't it? If someone was making them scream like that, something bad was going on. Jason must have brought help.

* * * *

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The cub was the first one to find my treat. It vacuumed up the crumbs I laid out and snuffled along the trail searching for more. When it found the rest, it followed eagerly. It wasn't long before the sow came to find out where her cub had gone. Now I had them both moving toward the drug camp.

But did I have enough of the bait to keep them coming?

I doled it out, hoping they wouldn't come across something more enticing. We didn't have far to go, maybe a couple of hundred yards. But a couple of hundred yards where I had to avoid being noticed by the bears and the drug dealers.

The determined pair of jays followed the bears, and maybe that had something to do with their willingness to move away. As Alex had found out, even three ounces of bird could be annoying to something a thousand times bigger than they were.

The roar of the truck engine grew louder. I was getting closer. Close enough to hear the thwack-thwack of the machetes slicing through plant stalks. I swore I could smell the diesel, but that was probably my own stink. I've heard some hunters don't bathe before a hunt, on the principle that their fresh washed scent will spook the prey more. Me, I think they can smell me from further away. But what do I know?

Except for the birds I try to find, I don't hunt.

I almost stumbled and fell at the feet of the nearest cutter.

He jumped back with a Spanish oath and stared at me wild-eyed like I was an apparition. I probably was a sight to see. I 234

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hadn't shaved in days, my hair stood up in tangles of hair and forest debris.

"
Madre
." The Latino, an older guy with streaks of white in his hair crossed himself and nearly dropped his machete. We stared at each other across a space of less than a yard. I knew I had landed in some shit when the second Latino appeared clutching his machete in both hands, face grim with anger.

The older guy grabbed his weapon and took a menacing step toward me and I scrambled to my feet, ready to bolt.

But they were too close. I'd fucked up good this time.

"
Pendejo
!

I barely saw the machete swing toward me when a bolt of tan and black shot by me with a snarl. The Spanish curses turned to shouts of dismay and fear. I ducked and twisted, watching in amazement as the dog grabbed the bare arm of the nearest man. A scream ripped the air and man and dog both went down.

I almost didn't see the bear cub lumber toward me, head down as it concentrated on the granola I had put down. So intent on the treat it didn't see me until it was almost at my feet. It grabbed the remaining trail mix and scrambled away.

Dog and man were still rolling on torn up earth, neither one noticing the latest arrival. Then it all fell away as the sow arrived. She was not happy. I don't know if her annoyance was at her cub getting ahead of her, or because unlike it, she sensed trouble. But when she burst on the scene I made sure I wasn't the first thing she saw. That fell to the second, younger Latino who had dropped his machete and pulled out 235

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a handgun, which he was waving around, his face suffused with fury. He fired. I'm not sure if he was aiming for the dog or me, but the effect was instantaneous.