Bones (25 page)

He didn't wait to see if he was being obeyed. He moved after the noise, once glancing back to see Jack behind him. The dogs took up the chase, and moved ahead of him, but stayed within sight.

There was a strange thudding sound, and then the man screamed--a scream of pure, unadulterated terror. Frank ran faster.

A few moments later, the man came into view. The dogs had halted, ears back, tails tucked down. The man was still screaming, and batting wildly at something, like a child whose face had been caught in a large spiderweb--batting at strange shapes dangling from a tree.

Christ! he thought, they looked like dogs--no, no, not dogs. Coyotes. They were jerking and swaying, bouncing off the man and swinging back, until the man suddenly dropped to his knees, huddling beneath them, curled up in a protective ball.

For a moment, Jack and Frank stood frozen in place, horrified by the sight of a dozen dead coyotes swaying and thudding into one another, some breaking as they collided.

It was Dunk who moved ahead, while Deke stayed back with Frank--Dunk who whined and cautiously sniffed at the huddled man.

The figure raised his head, and Frank saw the haggard face of a young man--a terror-stricken man, but one who had not just this moment become afraid. He wasn't looking at Frank or Jack, but at the dog.

"Bingle?" he asked, as if experiencing a miracle.

Frank relaxed a little, but still approached cautiously.

"That's Dunk," he said easily, moving a little closer. "But I know Bingle. I've worked with him. I'm Frank--what's your name?"

The man glanced up at Frank, seemed to catch sight of the coyotes, and quickly looked away, back at Dunk. He reached out and touched the dog, began to stroke his fur. Dunk leaned in for more; the young man held on to him.

"Jay. Jay Carter," he said, his voice shaking. "J.C."

"J.C.," Frank said. "Is that what your friends call you?"

J.C. nodded.

Frank moved closer still and reached out a hand. "J.C., why don't we move a little ways away from here? Give me your hand, J.C., and we'll get away from them, okay? Come on."

J.C. took his hand, let himself be led away from the tree, keeping his face averted as they passed it. He was watching Dunk and Deke, who were sniffing his shoes.

"They smell them," J.C. said.

"The coyotes?" Frank asked.

J.C. shook his head, didn't answer. His face drained of color, and he swayed on his feet. Frank put an arm around his shoulders, and with Jack's help, led him to a fallen tree.

"Here, have some water," Frank said, but J.C. fumbled for his own water bottle, then drank deeply.

"I'll let Stinger and Travis know we're okay," Jack said. "And I'll bring back some hot coffee and blankets."

"Thanks," Frank said.

Jack hesitated. "Should I take the dogs?"

"No!" J.C. said.

"Okay," Frank said easily. "We'll keep them here."

It wasn't until Jack left that Frank had the time to notice something about the man that he had missed before.

"You're with the Forest Service . . ."

"Yes, I'm a ranger," J.C. answered dully. He put the water bottle away, then moved from the tree to be closer to the dogs. He hugged them, buried his face in their fur. Frank wondered if the dogs would resist a stranger confining their movements, but they seemed more inclined to nuzzle and fuss over him than to try to escape him.

"And you know Bingle?" he asked.

"I knew Bingle," J.C. said softly, and tears began rolling down his face.

Frank felt his stomach clench. "You know David Niles, then? Ben Sheridan?"

"They're dead," he whispered.

"What are you saying?" Frank asked, unable to keep himself from shouting it. "Who do you mean?"

"They're all dead," he said.

"No . . ."

"I left them here."

"No!"

"Yes . . . I . . . left them," he said jerkily. "I promised them . . . promised them I would be back. But I was late . . . and he . . . he killed them."

"Irene--" Frank half-asked, half-called out.

"All of them! He killed all of them! I don't know how--a gun--in their faces! And an explosion, I think. They're in little pieces! They're--they're on my boots! I couldn't help it, I stepped on them. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to be late!"

"You're crazy!" Frank said, angry and wanting to slap him, wanting to make him say it was a lie, that he had made it up.

J.C. looked up at him. He said calmly, "Yes, I know."

And then, as if earlier introductions had only now registered with him, J.C. said, "Oh, Jesus. You're her husband. I'm so--oh, God, I'm so sorry!"

Frank took a deep breath, and somehow found his self-control. His own voice was quiet again when he asked, "J.C., when's the last time you had any sleep?"

He was petting the dogs again. "I don't remember."

"It's Friday. You hiked out with Newly on Tuesday, right?"

"Yes, I think so. I don't know. It was a long time ago."

"You hiked back that same day?"

"No, I slept a little that night, hiked back the next day."

"Wednesday. What happened that day?"

"They were already unburying her." He shut his eyes.

"Julia Sayre?"

He nodded, looked back at Frank. "I haven't slept much since then."

"The rest of the group hiked into the meadow on the other side of this ridge?"

"Yes."

"You came looking for them today, J.C.?"

"The helicopters won't work."

"What helicopters?"

"Ours, at the ranger station. I was already late. I promised I would come back."

"And you kept your promise. You did the best you could. But Parrish--listen to me, J.C. This is really important. Could you actually identify bodies?"

"Merrick. Manton." His face twisted up. "I--I saw parts of the others."

"You must have been really upset, anyone would be."

"Yes."

"Did you run from there, then? It--it sounds horrible. I think anyone would run. Did you?"

He nodded, and, too tired not to be literal, said, "I walked, too. I got a little mixed up, I think. I was going back to the ranger station. I wanted to get help. Then--then I realized it was too late. And I heard a dog--I thought it was Bingle, because I hadn't seen him--I wasn't sure, but I hadn't seen him, and he might have been a little bit away from everyone, with Irene, like before. And then--then I thought he was out there, and--the coyotes--and--"

"Shhh, shhh. It's okay."

A little bit away, with Irene. Frank held on to it.

They heard the sound of the others moving through the trees. J.C. looked up at Jack as if seeing him for the first time, and then at Travis, but when he saw Stinger, his eyes widened. "Stinger? They sent for you after all?"

"You know each other?" Frank asked.

But Stinger was down on his knees, eye-level with J.C. and wrapping a blanket around him, hugging him hard, then holding him by the shoulders, looking into his face. "My God, J.C.," he said, "next time you play pinata with a bunch of dead coyotes, use something besides your face for a stick--you're looking as fucked up as I am."

J.C. laughed, then said miserably, "I was too late, Stinger."

Stinger hugged him again and said, "Poor old J.C.--Fremont, get with the fucking program. Let's have some of that coffee. Can't you see this man is in need of it? And Harriman, where the hell do you think you're going?"

"To find my wife."

"Shit--"

Frank cut him off, telling the others, in a few short sentences, what J.C. had found. Jack and Travis registered shock, then, sharing Frank's anxiety, were all for going down to the meadow right away.

"Hold on, hold on!" Stinger said, but this time it was J.C. who interrupted him.

"I'll show you, if you--if you really want to see where they are."

"Thanks," Frank said, "but Stinger's right. You need to rest a little, get some warm liquids into your system."

J.C. reached into his daypack, and pulled out a small black rectangular device. This time, Frank knew it wasn't a phone.

"A GPS device--did you--?"

"It was foggy and I wanted to make sure I could get back," he said, handing it to Frank. "Yes, I marked it. I knew--I know I'm kind of--well, I'm half out of my head. You're right. I'm crazy."

"No, I was wrong," Frank said, feeling ashamed. "And it was wrong to say it."

J.C. didn't say anything.

Frank hesitated, then asked, "J.C., just one more question. You think this is something that just happened a little while ago?"

J.C. shook his head. "It had rained on them. And--Merrick and Manton were cold. I--I couldn't touch the others. There wasn't enough--there wasn't any chance they were alive."

"Drink a cup of coffee, J.C.," Stinger said. "Then we'll walk back to the helicopter and outfit these hotheads here. They haven't figured out yet how they're going to signal me if they find his wife down there."

"You aren't coming with us?" Frank asked.

"Think on it a minute. You got a man who knows aircraft running around out here. I don't exactly want to walk off and leave my girl at his disposal. If it starts to clear down there, I'll fly in a little closer to you."

"What if he finds you first?" Travis asked.

Stinger smiled. "He won't be needing that lawyer."

** CHAPTER 27

FRIDAY AFTERNOON, MAY 19

Southern Sierra Nevada Mountains

He handed the GPS unit to Travis not long after they had hiked down into the meadow. He heard the sound of vultures fighting, began to smell the decay. He asked Jack to stay with Travis and the dogs, near the trees, while he walked into the fog to have a look.

Jack understood--he knew Frank didn't want Travis to see what was undoubtedly waiting out there in the mist, to have to live with some of the memories J.C. was living with. He also knew that Frank depended on him to protect Travis, just in case Parrish was still around. In addition to his knives, he was carrying one of Stinger's shotguns now. Like Frank, Jack and Travis were also supplied with flares and radios.

"Don't panic if you hear gunfire," Frank said. "I may have to fire a couple of shots to clear the buzzards off."

The gunshots worked for a little while--although they didn't seem to bother the insects much. He knew the vultures would be back--probably before he walked away. He couldn't think about that now.

He told himself, as he looked through the field of remains, to treat this as if it were a job. He told himself that she wasn't here in this mess, that he wasn't looking at anything that had been part of her.

He managed fairly well by telling himself that, until he found Merrick and Manton. J.C. must have recognized their clothing--there was nothing recognizable left in their faces. Frank looked in their pockets. He had known both of them, and while neither were his close friends, he had worked with them at various times. He made himself move away from them, but he could feel himself losing a battle not to become overwhelmed by what he was seeing.

He checked in with Jack and Travis, just to hear living voices, just to reassure himself that there was more to the world than fog and stench, soft tissue and bone, buzzards and insects.

A light breeze had picked up. He could see Jack and Travis now, which was more than he had been able to do a little while ago. The fog might lift enough to bring Stinger down here after all.

He figured the dogs would give them plenty of warning if Parrish was still around. He doubted Parrish was anywhere near them now; Parrish would have made his escape as soon as possible. And Irene was probably his hostage. Or worse.

He wanted very much to be wrong about that; it was another possibility he didn't want to think about. But that thought returned to him again and again.