Hunters (39 page)

Sheldon got on his knees in the snow next to
Ned, and tucked the barrel of his rifle under Ned's chin. His lips
felt dry, and he licked them. "Ever hear of the kiss of death,
Officer? Well, I got it. And you're gonna get it." He looked at Ned
carefully. "It won't be hard. Hell, you're bleedin' all over, ain't
ya? See, what I understand, all I gotta do is get some of my blood
mixed in with yours, and that's it. Few months from now, you're
HIV-positive. Few years, you got AIDS. And you'll be waitin' for it
every day you live. See, I don't wanta kill you for what you done
to me. I just want to make your life more interesting."

He unsnapped the bottom three snaps of his
coat and reached inside. When his hand came out, he was holding the
deer skinning knife that his father had given him. He had honed the
blade to razor sharpness.

Sheldon positioned himself so that his
solemn, unsmiling face was right over Ned Craig's chest. Then he
brought the knife up to his own lips, and cut himself a smile, an
upraised slice an inch long on either side of his mouth. When he
opened his mouth, he could feel the wounds widen, and he began to
bring his face closer to Ned Craig's, baring his teeth, wondering
where to bite first.

Then the rope slipped over his neck, and he fell
back, choking.

M
egan pulled with
all her might. The ache in her chest was tremendous, and she
thought her muscles would rip apart, but she kept dragging the
man's body backwards. She was only two feet from the kicking,
gagging madman, and she held the rope tight, shuffling backwards
through the deep snow as fast as she could, giving him no chance to
free himself.

She bumped into a tree and nearly fell, but
yanked the slack out of the rope and went around the tree, too far
away for the man to grab it. He still held the big knife in one
hand, and was stabbing at the snow as though the blade would sink
in and hold him.

The flare illuminated everything around her
with a bright pink light, the color of blood on snow, and when she
glanced behind her she saw two pines that had grown so closely
together they seemed to share a common trunk, making a
V
three feet wide at the level of her shoulders.

When she tried to step between them, she
tripped and fell, but still managed to hold on to the thick rope as
she plunged through the wooden
V
. On her back, she kicked
with her feet against the trees, continuing to move away from
Sheldon Lake, until she heard the thud of his head and shoulders
hitting the twin trees.

He was wedged against them now, his shoulders
unable to pass through the narrow V near the bottom of the trees.
He was trapped, turtle-like, on his back, unable to get up or to
relieve the dreadful throttling of his neck as long as she kept
pressure on the rope.

Then, with a shock, she saw the hand with the
knife come up, slashing at the rope, cutting through the strands of
hemp.

Fear made her grip relax, and in that instant
she heard something other than gagging from the man's throat.
Words, words that she could not understand, words spoken in the
nearness of death and at the apex of hatred, words like the ones
she had heard Butch speak as he fell through the air when her grasp
could have saved him.

"
NO!
" she shrieked, and dug in her
heels and pulled harder, killing Butch again, pulling against the
tender cords and tissues of the man's neck, pulling until his knife
stopped cutting and waved futilely in the air and fell, pulling
until his gloved fingers stiffened in a spasm, pulling until the
hands dropped to the snow like heavy, rotting fruit.

And even then she closed her eyes and pulled
until someone put an arm around her shoulders, and she dropped the
rope and fell against Ned, sobbing, taking in deep, shuddering
breaths.

"You're alive," he said as though he couldn't
believe it. "Oh my God, Megan, you're alive..."

She couldn't talk for her crying, and she
felt Ned shaking too, his body racked by sobs or cold, she wasn't
sure which. She didn't want to take her head away from his chest to
see if there were tears in his eyes. Finally she said, "You're
okay, you're okay," and looked at him.

He was bruised and bleeding, but he smiled at
her and nodded. "I'm okay. We both are." He shook his head in
disbelief. "I thought you were dead. I thought they shot you."

She laughed and cried at once. "They did. It
hit the mute." She reached into her pocket and showed him the
one-inch piece of heavy brass, bent beyond repair. "It knocked me
out, it hurt so much. But then I opened my eyes and I was still
alive, and I heard explosions and saw fire, and I dragged myself
into the trees...I thought I'd hide, and then I just...blacked out
again from the pain. A shot woke me up. When I...could stand up
again, I came out of the trees and saw you. And him. And the rope
was there..."

She thought of the others, and looked around
wildly. "What about them? Where are they?"

"They're dead." He nodded at Sheldon's body.
"He shot Chuck. The others fell with the tower."

"How did you get down past them?"

"I...rappelled. With that rope you
found."

She looked at him as though he had suddenly
gone insane.

"I didn't have a choice," he said. "I had
to."

She nodded and squeezed his hand.

A sudden sharp noise made them both jump, but
it was only Pinchot, tail wagging, tongue lolling. "So you're back.
A fat lot of good you were," Ned said, but neither of them laughed.
She felt it would be a long time before they laughed again. But the
time would come.

"What'll we do?" Ned asked her. "We could
stay here until morning, then try and get out."

"No," Megan said. "We've got to get out of
here now."

Ned got to his feet. "Think you can handle
it?"

She nodded and rubbed her chest. "Maybe some
ribs are cracked, but I can make it. How about you?"

He winced as he put his weight on his left
leg. "I think I've got a few breaks myself, but we can get out.
Let's see what shape those snowmobiles are in."

The flare by Chuck's body was almost burned
out. Ned picked up the flashlight, and slowly and painfully they
made their way to the snowmobiles. The snow had slowed to a gentle
fall, and even the wind had died down. One snowmobile was out of
commission, since one of Ned's shots had gone straight into the
engine. But the second machine was in working order, and they
siphoned the gas from the first into it.

"No headlight," Ned said. "We'll have to use
the flashlight all the way."

"There are extra batteries in the cabin,"
Megan said. "We'll fill our pockets. Is there enough gas?"

Ned thought. "Three miles to the road,
another five to Aurora. We take our time, we should get there."

"You think Pinchot's up for an eight-mile
run?"

Ned smiled for the first time. "What else has
he been doing? Not playing Lassie, that's for sure."

They bundled up and got fresh batteries.
Then, just before Ned started the snowmobile, Megan leaned against
him and said. "Do you think this is it. Do you think it's over
now?"

He looked back at the base of the fallen
tower. "It's over. For us anyway."

Then he started the engine, Megan aimed the
flashlight ahead, and they drove out through the deep snow, the dog
running behind them, barking excitedly.

N
ed and Megan and
Pinchot arrived in Aurora just after midnight, and stopped at the
first house they saw. Frank and Laura Gustafson, the couple who
lived there, bundled them in robes, made them hot soup, and called
the Aurora police chief, who talked to Ned and then called the
state police.

The police decided that it would be difficult
to get back to the tower site before morning, and after what Ned
and Megan told them, they felt there was no hurry. The police chief
drove Ned and Megan over to the office of Aurora's sole doctor, who
examined them both. He bandaged Megan's ribs, two of which were
cracked, sewed up wounds and contusions on Ned's scalp, chin, hip
and hands, and set his right shoulder and left leg, which had small
fractures. Then he gave them both heavy sedatives.

For what was left of the night, and far into the
morning, Ned and Megan slept in the Gustafson's guest room, and
Pinchot dozed by the dying embers of the living room fireplace.

J
ean Catlett thought
that day was coming. The snow above her eyes, when she opened them,
was slowly growing brighter.

She wondered how much snow was lying on top
of her. Probably only a few inches, if that. But she could do
nothing about it. She could neither move nor speak. She could open
her eyes, and that was all.

Her back hurt terribly, all the way from the
base of her spine to her neck. She wondered if the paralysis was
permanent. At least her clothes were keeping her alive, although
she wondered if she had frostbite on her face. It didn't feel cold.
But maybe that meant she
did
have it.

She felt warm enough, though. She didn't feel
like she was dying. She didn't want to die.

Someone would come eventually. If he lived,
Chuck would come and save her. And if Ned Craig got away, he would
tell the police, and people would come and search for the bodies,
and they would find her then.

Maybe it wasn't permanent. Maybe she could
move again. And if the others were dead, she could tell the police
that they had done the killing. Good lawyers could get you out of
anything, and there were hundreds of them in L.A. She would tell
them that she had done it for the animals, and that she had never
intended for anyone to get hurt. She wanted to save the animals,
that was all.

Then she heard it. Thank God, she thought,
that she could still see and hear. It sounded like heavy footsteps,
like a man in boots, someone official, someone coming to search for
the bodies, someone who would find her.

Yes, the footsteps were coming closer. He
would have to see her form in the snow, see where she had fallen.
Or maybe they had dogs that would find her scent.

Oh God, thank you God thank you. Before her
eyes the snow was growing lighter. Someone was scraping it away,
yes, she could see a big hand, heavy, wearing a mitten, moving the
snow from over her face, and more and more, and the light was
coming down like a blessing, and—

Something cut her face, raked across her
cheek and mouth like long sharp nails. She would have screamed from
the pain if she could, told the man that she was here and he had
found her, and to be gentle as he scraped away the snow, but still
she could neither move nor speak.

And now something else came down through the
snow, something big and black and covered with fur, and it pressed
against her face, cold and wet and snuffling. A dog?

The snout withdrew, but it had moved enough
snow so that she could see now, see the face of black fur just
inches above hers, see the mouth split to reveal the dark tongue
and white fangs.

The bear growled down at her, licked her face
once, and began to feed.