The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5) (22 page)

Thirty-Two

Gu
ilt
slowed my speed. I hated leaving Deed, not knowing the extent of his injury. At the sound of the shot, Buckshot had torn out of the tent and after a second’s hesitation, I ran after her. Not wanting to give my position away, I killed the flashlight’s beam. Into the cold, dark woods I stumbled, afraid of calling out to the dog and attracting the shooter’s attention. Lost in a sea of trees, I had no sense of the bunkhouse or Deed’s campsite. The gloom magnified every stirring. My heart could have raised the dead with its wild thumping, and my bumbling gait had a thunderous quality I couldn’t quiet.

As I slashed my way through cobwebs and tangles of Virginia Creeper, I sorted through the confusion. Had the shooter heard our conversation? Were they Deed’s accomplice? Did Deed intend to contact the shooter by walkie-talkie? Another B.S. activist more disgruntled with humans than Deed? One who wanted more than funny videos, but wanted to exterminate Bass? Had Lesley and Abel gotten in the way of their diabolical plan? Was it someone in our party besides Peach? Another mysterious stalker in the woods? Or had Peach escaped?

Somehow the thought of Peach as evil genius filled me with more dread than an anonymous stalker. The depth of a zealot’s conviction terrified me. Particularly with a rationality skewed enough to sleep with someone like
Bob
Bass.

Peach Payne made Mata Hari look like Snow White. Pre-dwarves.

I crashed through a bush, tripped, and fell into a pile of sodden leaves. I lay there, panting and staring overhead into the murky canopy. Dawn had come without a sunrise. Dark clouds had shouldered past my Georgia sunbeams, walling us into a dank, stygian prison.

Lord, how I missed the sun.

A rustling sounded beyond the azalea at my elbow. I tensed, seizing the flashlight in both hands. Curling my body toward my knees, I rose to a crouch, glad for once that the ground was soggy and could muffle my movements. I waited, wondering what caused the swish of branches and squish of wet terrain.

The shuffling movement drew closer. Beneath LaToya’s thermal coveralls, my skin grew clammy. I clenched my jaw, puffing short pants through my nose, and considered my options. Running was out. A kindergartner could catch me. Climbing a tree also out. I had no hops and the branches of any hardy-enough hardwood towered above my head. I could spring into attack, which might scare the intruder, but more likely tick them off. Or I could hide and, if necessary, fight them off with a flashlight.

I hoped a better idea would emerge before the being did.

The trampling grew louder. I hunched forward, resting on the balls of my feet and gripping the flashlight. The overgrown azalea shook. I held my breath. A dinner plate-sized snout pushed through the branches. The slimy nostrils quivered and the snout tipped up to reveal protruding razor-tipped, curved tusks. Not as big as Rick’s arm as he claimed, but certainly as long as my hand.

This was much worse than a diabolically insane Peach Payne.

The slight breeze shifted and my stomach gripped, seized by the putrid, musky odor. Gagging, I scrambled in the slippery leaves and backed into a hemlock. The azalea’s branches cracked as the long snout flexed like a vacuum hose, seeking his next dinner. The great, sloping head broke through, splintering the large evergreen shrub into twiggy detritus. Sharp piggy eyes blinked. He considered me.

I clutched the tree, trying not to vomit or scream.

Behind the monster pig, something crashed through the branches and weeds. A low growl accompanied a string of sharp, excited barks.

“No.” My voice pitched in horror. “Buckshot, go home.”

The super swine shifted to glance behind him. His ears flicked toward the sound and his jaw worked, scraping his bottom tusks along his flat upper teeth like a grindstone. The massive body turned, rotating like a jackknifed semi, the back end trampling the surrounding bushes. The hog swaggered forward to face the snarling dog.

My heart plummeted and chill bumps broke onto my goose flesh.

“Buckshot,” I hollered. “Come here, girl.”

I continued to coax and call, unable to see Buckshot’s position. The massive hog blocked my view.

The sight would have delighted Lesley Vaughn. The jumbo hog resembled a hatchback in size and could have flattened Alabama’s offensive line with its girth. Unfortunately for Lesley, there were no mystical qualities to this prodigious porcine. Unless you counted the putrid stench, which had the ability to knock a person unconscious.

Stiff-legged and body bowed for combat, Hogzilla studied Buckshot. Buckshot continued her litany of barks, ecstatic to have found our prey.

Born to bay, Buckshot had achieved her life’s purpose. She’d continue to alert us to this awful beast unless I did something to stop her. I had put the dutiful dog in this terrible position. Sweet Buckshot was no Beowulf to this rank Grendel.

“Buckshot. Come.” I gave up on commands, released my grip on the tree, and crept past the hog’s back end.

The thick tail swished.

I scurried.

At a cluster of loblolly pines, I swung behind their pencil-like trunks and peered out. Buckshot paused her alert, changed positions, and resumed barking.

The hog dropped his head and swung it side to side, eyeing us. The great jaw popped as he ground the tusks against the whetstone of his upper teeth.

The tension drove Buckshot wild with exultation.

My stand of loblollies offered no more protection than a grove of Q-tips. I had to cover my partner. Praying for the Lord to help this poor, dimwitted dog and the idiot who put her in this situation, I crept toward Buckshot’s barks. My boots held firm in the spongey forest floor, but the flashlight shook in my white-knuckled grip.

“Buckshot,” I pleaded. “Please come.”

By now the shooter would have heard our commotion and I figured the flashlight’s beacon would make no difference. I beamed the light on the mess of brambles, vines, and trees between me and Buckshot’s baying. She trotted in excited circles not twenty yards from the hog. A quick flash on the monster’s face revealed lather dripping from his jaws. I pointed the beam back on Buckshot and ran toward her.

The hog lunged, driving forward like a defensive tackle ready to sack the lithe brindle quarterback.

Buckshot leapt and dashed, ready for the game. Her barks grew frantic as she parried the behemoth’s attack. The terrible jaw opened and the hog swung his head to the side, aiming to drive a spiked tusk into Buckshot’s hide. Buckshot yelped, but dove away.

Tears blinded my dim vision. The flashlight’s beam bounced as my boots pounded the ground, obscuring my view of the attack. Jerking to a stop behind a thick hardwood, I shined the flashlight on the pair. Buckshot had backed against a thin pine, her tail tucked and ears pulled back.

A thin red line dripped off her side. The colossal swine’s jaw brushed the ground and its lip curled back, further exposing its tusks, ready to finish off the dog.

I leapt in front of Buckshot and shone the light in the hog’s face. Reaching behind me, I grabbed the dog’s collar and began to slide backward. The hog grunted and pushed forward.

I turned and ran, hauling Buckshot with me.

Twenty paces in, I felt a puff of air and a block of cement slammed into my back. I flew to the side. The flashlight sailed off. Buckshot’s collar twisted in my grip. We collapsed into a pile of leaves, the dog half beneath me. I blinked at the pain rocketing off my spine, shooting through my nerve endings and into my extremities. Beneath me, Buckshot whined and pawed at the mushy leaves, trying to wriggle out.

I lifted my head.

The monster had stopped, drawn toward the opposite direction. The ears flicked forward and back. It turned to glance at us and I dropped my head, hoping what worked for bears might also work on pork. A second later, the hog tore away.

I pushed up on my elbow and then dropped again as a shot rang through the forest and exploded above us.

Thirty-Three

B
uckshot could walk and I could limp, so we got the hell out of Dodge. I couldn’t tell if the shot was meant for the hog or us. We didn’t stick around to ask.

Morning had dawned with or without the sun, and that meant hunters could be seeking to eradicate the forest of the vile monster. For that I was glad. But not while I was tooling around in LaToya’s camouflage.

My specially designed Day-Glo forest bling was all for naught.

“Buckshot.” I staggered forward, massaging the mammoth-shaped bruise on my back. “I believe we have escaped with our very lives. Lucky for you, your scratch isn’t a gash. Although I’d worry about pig germs. Who knows where those tusks have been.”

She bristled, unamused.

“No time to be sensitive. We are not out of the woods yet. Figuratively and literally. There’s a killer on the loose and it is up to us to stop them. And now I have to worry about protecting
Bob
Bass, of all people.”

Buckshot glanced up and returned to her shambling walk.

“Can you smell the woodsmoke?” I sniffed in demonstration. “It’s not a very good plan, but it’s all I’ve got. We follow our noses and find the bunkhouse. You know that score. Once there, we might lay low a bit and scout out the doings. Remember, the shooter could be one of us.”

One brown eye peered up at me as she continued her dogged creep forward.

I dropped to the ground and gathered her into my arms. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess. Never should have taken you with me. I promise you, I’ll figure out what happened to your owner. I’d swear on my love of bacon, whoever shot Deed and killed Lesley also murdered Abel Spencer.”

She licked my neck and I rubbed her ears.

“I bet you knew that all along, didn’t you, girl?”

We
found the bunkhouse almost by accident. The woodsmoke scheme didn’t work as well as I thought, but the rhythmic thunk of axe on wood caught Buckshot’s ear. Once agreed on avoiding pigs, I allowed her to lead. We followed the sound of the axe blow to the side of the small shed on the east side of the bunkhouse. The two guides, Big Clem and Lil Joe, shared the chore of firewood stacking. Deep in conversation, they took no notice of our peeping from the edge of the woods.

“Let’s hurry up, they’ll be ready to go in a minute,” said Big Clem. “This should hold the rest over until we get back.”

“What about the girl who’s missing? The artist. Aren’t we supposed to take her with us?”

“Shit, we can’t wait that long if we’ve got to turn around and get back to pick up the next group. She’s probably lost. What kind of fool goes out in the middle of the night? I’m sore pissed she took Buckshot, but that’s likely the only way she’ll find Team Three’s stand.”

“Don’t you think it’s funny she took off like that? Especially after all that’s happened?” Lil Joe heaved a chunk of wood onto the pile and turned to face his older counterpart. “Do you believe that Peach when she says the girl’s the one doing all the pranks?”

“I don’t know what to think.” Big Clem spat on the ground. “I just want to get the hell out of here. I don’t even care about getting the hog anymore.”

I cupped a hand around Buckshot’s ear. “You hear that? Peach’s blaming me for all this. The nerve on that one.”

Buckshot replied by cleaning out my nostril, and I bit my lip trying not to sneeze. Shushing her, I resumed my watch.

Ensconced in thermal camos and a knit skull cap, Jeff Digby swaggered from around the side of the bunkhouse.

I studied Big Rack’s head guide. Wasn’t he worried about my disappearance, knowing that Deed camped out in the woods?

He could have lied about giving him permission to camp, I thought
.
Although I couldn’t see a local outfitter supporting Ban Sapiens.

“You done here?” asked Jeff. “I got the tires switched. They’re loaded up and ready to go.”

“What about the artist?” said Big Clem.

“Let me worry about Miss Tucker.” He swiveled his gaze toward the woods.

Buckshot and I shrank back, hovering behind a stand of holly.

While his eyes roamed the dark forest, Jeff continued to speak. “I’m taking Viktor to check on a few things this morning. If Miss Tucker doesn’t show up at Team Three’s stand, we’ll hunt her down.”

I rounded my eyes at Buckshot and placed a finger on her mouth. She licked my finger.

Lil Joe tossed the last piece of wood on the pile stacked against the shed. “Mike’s staying with the rest of the party?”

“Yeah. It’s just Bass, Peach, and Rick until Team Three gets back. Tennessee’s going to find that lost Gator now that it’s light.” Jeff snapped his gaze back to the men and pivoted to leave. “Don’t think they’ll find the hog around here, though. At least I didn’t see it this morning.”

Jeff had been out in the woods earlier.

The three men strolled toward the bunkhouse drive. I nudged Buckshot and we crept toward the shed. Peering around the side, we spied the awkward bundle of Lesley wrapped in a tarp and bungee-corded to the rear bed. He hung off the sides like an overstuffed sausage in a too-short bun, a degrading end for someone so sure of future fame. I hoped he got plenty of airtime when the story of his murder finally reached the press. Maybe his book would be published.

Todd and LaToya had squeezed into the backseat with their bags. Big Clem and Lil Joe hopped into their seats and cranked the Gator’s engine.

“I sure hope Todd remembers to take all this to the police station,” I murmured. “He’s probably wondering why I took off without him.”

Buckshot licked my hand.

“Max is out there somewhere too,” I whispered. “Hopefully he heard I’m supposedly heading to his deer stand. Maybe he’ll put two and two together when I don’t show up. Although the Bear did miss out on all the real exciting stuff. I doubt he’s heard the tally of bodies.”

She whined.

“I think I’m becoming desensitized to violence.” I apologized for my tactlessness. “But who’s telling everyone I’ve gone to Max’s deer stand?”

The Gator backed away from the bunkhouse and began its bouncy ride over the water-filled ruts. The back hung low, loaded with Lesley.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to Todd,” I sniffed. “Boy, I’m getting down. Must be the lack of sunshine. I’m going to have to hit a tanning bed if I get through this.”

Buckshot pawed my leg.

“Now’s not the time for that lecture,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes.

She scratched again.

I glanced up and ducked around the wall.

Viktor strode straight toward us.