The Bodies Left Behind

The trick seemed to be working. He was now approaching cautiously.

Still no sign of Hart.

Good, she’d thought.

One on one, I can take you.

She’d risked his shooting at her from a distance and stepped into the moonlight to give him a brief view of her, then disappeared fast behind the blackberry bush, where she’d stripped off the clothes, and left them on the ground like someone hurt or hiding.

She’d slipped down the hill, circled back to this tree.

Praying that Hart’s partner would take the bait.

Which he had. Gun pointed up, the shadowy form started down the hill toward the effigy.

Bry

And she reflected too that this thought troubled her very little.

A faint snap, a rustle.

Then the breeze came up and blew hard. She momentarily lost track of his footfalls in the scampering of leaves and the hiss through branches.

Where? she thought in panic.

Then she could hear him again. The partner was still headed directly for the bait. His route would take him just past the tree where she was hiding.

Twenty feet.

Ten feet. The faint crunch of his steps.

She examined as much of the area as she could from her hunting blind, looking for Hart. Nothing.

Six feet, five…

Then he was even with the tree.

Finally, he walked past it.

Bry

Okay, now’s the time, she told herself.

Her body filled with a calm, almost euphoric sensation. This had happened on other occasions but usually at the most unexpected times. A triple-combination jump with her atop a speeding chestnut mare in a horse competition. A frantic pursuit of a weapons dealer down a county road, hitting 140 mph. When she and Keith, on vacation, defused a potentially fatal fight by two teenagers in Biloxi.

Times to fight…

She now thought: Stun him with the bolo and charge in fast. Jam the spear into his back as hard as you can. Grab the shotgun.

And get ready for Hart to come. Because come he would-at the first sound of his partner’s screams.

Bry

The ball arced toward him and clipped his ear. He cried out and dropped the gun.

Bry

She wasn’t a deputy now. Not a wife or mother.

She was the wolf, a primitive creature, survival its only thought. Ru

NOW THEY WERE GONE.

Hell. For ten minutes Hart had closed the distance between himself and the women, heading straight toward the clearing-the shooting zone, he thought of it-while he’d kept tabs on Lewis.

The other man had seen or heard something to the right, the east, and hurried down the hill to the flatter ground. He’d looked around but apparently it had been a false alarm. He’d returned to the woody ridge on Hart’s left. Both men had continued forward, sca

Where were they?

Had they spotted him or Lewis?

And if they had, what were their options for escape? The clearing was in front-to the north-and they obviously weren’t there. Lewis was now on a ridge to the west and Hart himself was facing due south. There was a band of trees around the clearing, which the women might be hiding in. Or they might’ve fled down a steep drop-off to the right and were making their way east into the thick of the park. That direction would take them back eventually to the Joliet but according to the GPS, the trail was a long way off now, and they’d have to cover miles of dense woods to get there.

What would Bry

He decided she’d gone down the incline that led to the streambed and then continued north toward the Snake River-only avoiding the exposure of the clearing. A longer route and harder, but safer.

She was like an animal with finely tuned instincts of survival, anticipating him.

He glanced toward the ridge, where Lewis had now paused and was looking around. Then he turned to him and lifted his arms. Meaning: They’ve vanished.

Hart pointed to himself and then to Lewis, who nodded. Hart began the climb to the high ground to join his partner.

WHERE?

Where was Michelle?

Carrying the Savage rifle in one hand, the spear in the other, Bry

Had she gone to the rallying point?

Bry

Then she spotted a configuration of trees that looked familiar. She paused, glancing around for the pursuers. None in sight. She jogged down a short hill.

Turning the corner behind a large rock, Bry

Startled, Michelle was reaching into her pocket to grab her knife. Her eyes were fierce, feral. Bry

“Shhh. They’re still around here someplace.”

“What happened?” the young woman whispered. “Where’d you get that?” Looking at the rifle.

“Come on. Quick. I hurt somebody.”

“One of them?” Michelle’s eyes glowed.

Bry

“What?”

“Somebody else. This way.”

They climbed the hill back to the blackberry tangle, where the bearded man was sitting on the ground, head low between his legs, nursing his torn ear. He looked up at Michelle, blinked. Then nodded, wincing.

Bry

She’d stopped just before she stabbed him, seeing his bearded face, realizing her mistake. Not expecting to find anyone else out here, armed and stoked by adrenaline, Bry

Bry

His name was Charles Gandy, he, and his wife and some friends were camping in a Wi

“Are you okay to walk?” she asked him. Bry

“Sure. It’s not bad.” He was holding the sock, from the bolo, against his injured ear. It seemed most of the bleeding had stopped.

Which didn’t mean he wasn’t going to sue the department. But that was fine with Bry

Control…

While Bry

“You’re hurt too?” he asked, nodding at the pool cue.