The Headhunters Race (Headhunters #1) (14 page)

McCoy stops me before I take another step. “Avene, I’m sorry,” he says, gripping my shoulders firmly, like he can squeeze the forgiveness out of me.

I shake myself free and return to camp. I don’t want to think about McCoy. I’m too tired to expend any more energy on him. In fact, I’m so exhausted I could probably sleep for two days. But unfortunately for me, the clock is ticking and so is my collar.

When I reach my pack, Jake looks like he’s settled in for the night. He’s next to the fire, staring up at me anxiously when I approach.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “He’s still alive.”

“Thank you, Avene,” he says. “He likes you, you know.”

I dig through my pack, pretending I didn’t hear him. Pretending I don’t like him. I don’t, really. Not right now anyway. It isn’t until I yank out my blanket that I realize I left my canteens by the pool. I stare up at the sky and exhale. I’m not about to go back and retrieve them. Not until tomorrow. I find a good spot by the fire, covering myself with my blankets, even my head. If I’m still awake when McCoy returns, I don’t want to see him.

***

I couldn’t be happier that it’s morning already. I throw off the cover, eager to get on with the day. I trip on something behind me. My canteens. I reach for them and find each one is full. I look for McCoy. He must be at the waterfall with Jake because he’s gone too, although their packs are leaning against a tree, ready to go.

I wolf down a bar and down it with water and then finish packing my things as McCoy and Jake arrive from the pool.

“Ready?” says McCoy, pulling his pack over his shoulder.

I nod as I finish tying my hair into a ponytail using yet another strip from my poor flannel. We head to the gulley and march out the opposite way we came in. The air is still cool. The sun is currently hidden behind the mountains, but it won’t be long before we’re roasting. We push on at a quicker pace than is normal for McCoy. It makes me wonder if he’s trying to make up for his lie.

The gulley leads us into the floor of a narrow canyon. I stare at the rock walls jutting up from each side as we enter. Sand covers a dried-up riverbed. It isn’t until we wind along for several yards that I notice the unnatural quiet. It’s eerie, to say the least. No birds chirp. No trees with rustling leaves. No water splashes into a welcoming lagoon. There is only the sound of our steps wading through a foot of sand and the wind occasionally shrieking past my ears.

Jake runs ahead of McCoy and then stops and yells out. “Hello!”

I halt when I hear his echo. I wasn’t expecting it to be so clear, so emphatic. Although it does show me how isolated we are.

McCoy laughs and joins in and together they answer echoes back to each other while we continue ahead. After a while it gets aggravating or maybe it’s just an excuse to be mad at him since I’m still angry about my knives and his lies. “Are you sure you guys should be announcing our location?” I ask.

I hear McCoy sigh ahead of me, like he knows it’s not just about giving us away. “Avene’s right, Jake. We should cool it.”

Soon after McCoy and Jake halt their echoing, we come to our first fork in the canyon. McCoy seems to know where we’re going and takes the trail to the left. I’m still trying to figure out why we went left and not right when not a minute later we come to another split. Once again McCoy doesn’t hesitate. This time he follows the path to the right.

“How do you know which way to go?” I ask because I’m dumbfounded and don’t see any logical method to his choices.

He turns and grins at me.

Jake leaps in front of McCoy and then turns and walks backwards. “Yeah, how do you know we’re going the right way?”

McCoy doesn’t say a word until we come to a place where we are presented with three new options. A path to the left. One to the right. And another sort of in the middle. I really don’t have a clue as to which way we should proceed, but I know McCoy will not steer us wrong.

McCoy stops near the head of the left path. “Which one do you think it is?” he asks.

“Left!” yells Jake.

“Avene?” says McCoy.

I crinkle my mouth like I think it’s going to help me figure this out. Left is too obvious. That’s the one he wants us to pick. I sweep my gaze across all three to see if I can guess which one is correct. I do a double-take when I see odd markings on the rock that leads into the middle trail. “Middle.”

“You got it,” says McCoy and he points to the marking. “This carved circle with a dot in the middle is the way to Millers Creek.”

Well good. I’m glad I got that right. If nothing else it shows McCoy that I’m perceptive and he’s not going to pull anything over on me. We advance through the middle path with Jake in the lead because he wants to be lookout for the markers. I fall in behind them like usual, sipping water occasionally, but being spare about it. At one point we have to stop when we come to a section of the path where the canyon wall has collapsed. Boulders are piled on top of each other almost halfway to the top. The fallen debris leaves only a slim path that we have to partially climb over to reach the other side of the trail.

It turns out to be a good place for a break. We finish off the remainder of the rabbit. McCoy has the thighs left which he divvies up between us. I pass around some of the nuts to go with it. We guzzle down water and five minutes later we’re ready to go again. My calves are beginning to cramp from the extra effort it takes to walk through oceans of sand when I hear what sounds like coyotes, or worse—wolves. Jake looks at us with wide eyes but McCoy tells him it just sounds like they’re close because their howls are echoing.

The reassurance does the trick to settle Jake’s nerves, as well as my own. Although the howling doesn’t let up as we continue straight for an eternity. We must go another hour before McCoy finally stops us.

“Hold up.” He raises his hand to halt us and I see a fleeting glimpse of concern in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask and I’m already on the alert, looking down the trail ahead of us, behind me. Above me. But I see nothing. I hear nothing, except the wolves.

“Jake, did you miss a turn? We should have turned by now. Boom said it was almost constant turns once we made the first one.”

Jake is shaking his head. “No. No, McCoy, I was watching the whole time. I ain’t seen no marks yet. None. I promise.”

McCoy bites his lip and I can literally see him thinking. “I think we missed it.”

“Maybe Boom forgot there was a long stretch,” I say. At least I’m hoping that’s it. “It’s been a while since he’s come through here.”

“He wouldn’t forget something like that.” McCoy blows out a long breath. “Let’s just keep moving.”

I don’t think the decision should be as easy as that. Not when he thinks we might have missed a turn-off. “How do you know going forward is the right way? I’m not really fond of walking ahead for another hour only to realize we need to backtrack two. I sit on the edge of a boulder and drop my pack on the ground because I feel a lengthy discussion coming on about our predicament.

“Yeah, me neither.” says Jake. He comes around and sits next to me. Clearly he’s on my side.

“Well do you guys want to walk back an hour to double check that we didn’t miss the mark? And if we didn’t miss it, come all the way back again?”

Now it’s my turn to exhale a long breath, only it comes out more like a frustrated huff. We’re in what Verla would call “between a rock and a hard place.” I never knew what that meant until one day when she gave me the choice between letting her lop off the end of my right foot’s pinky toe, or losing my entire leg to gangrene because of a brown recluse bite. When the toenail fell off I knew what needed done, even though I pleaded with Verla to wait because I was sure it would heal. Needless to say, I chose losing my little toe. It’s barely noticeable anyway.

“You’re both awfully quiet,” says McCoy, who has taken up residence on the rock across from us, arms folded expectantly across his chest.

Time is not in our favor either way and neither choice is desirable, but unfortunately we have to choose. “I’ll do whatever you think is best.” I can’t believe I’m saying this, letting him make the choice, but there really isn’t any good one to make. I’d rather put it on him.

I can tell by the way McCoy’s expression goes from one of impatience to one of surprise that he doesn’t want to make the decision either. He thought I’d make it. That way he can blame me when things go wrong. I can’t fault him since that was my plan.

“Let’s take a vote!” says Jake.

“Okay,” says McCoy, taking a swig of water from his canteen. He smacks his lips and twists the cap back on. “Who wants to go back?”

McCoy is the only one that raises his hand.

I laugh. But I rein it in when I remember I still want to be mad at him over my knives.

“Who wants to keep going forward?”

Jake and I reluctantly raise our hands.

Now we all laugh since everyone picked opposite of what they originally said.

“Forward it is,” says McCoy.

We move out to the eerie sound of wolves howling again, like they were stopped too, listening to us. This time we decide we all should scan every opening, every pathway, every ravine for the mark that will lead us in the right direction. Two ravines later I’m in the lead and I see something on a rock ahead that looks promising. I head toward the entrance to a new path to take a look.

Then I halt. Two yellow eyes stare back at me from the new pathway. The animal is skittish. He leaps back and then comes forward again. Dagger-like canine teeth protrude from his narrow snout. It seems small for a wolf, and thin. I’m not sure he is a wolf. I am certain he’s hungry.

“Do you see the marker, Avene?” asks Jake, stepping up beside me.

I put my arm up to stop him. Which he obligingly does, but not before I hear a tiny gasp.

“McCoy,” I say as calmly as possible while sliding out my hunter’s knife.

“It’s a coyote,” I hear McCoy whisper behind me.

The animal runs back a couple of feet which makes me think he’s not so sure of himself, until he circles toward us again. Jake jumps behind me, causing my heartbeat to accelerate.

I’m hoping McCoy knows what to do when the coyote starts yipping and yapping at the sky. “McCoy?” I say cautiously, not sure if the coyote is simply declaring his territory or if it’s a precursor to an attack.

McCoy steps in front of Jake and me. “Get out of here!” he yells, while swinging his pack at the scrappy animal.

The coyote runs off down the path and disappears around a bend with his tail between his legs. “Let’s move,” orders McCoy, and we make quick time away from what must be the entrance to the coyote’s den.

“That was crazy,” says Jake.

“He was a lone coyote, which is good. It’s easy to scare them off when they’re solitary, although they are known for being relentless stalkers,” says McCoy, pulling into the lead.

Funny how he talks about relentless stalkers; sounds like someone I know. I glance behind me to make sure the loner isn’t following us. I’m relieved to see he isn’t.

“And when the odds are three against one,” continues McCoy, “no coyote is gonna take that on.” He rests a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “He was just curious. That’s all. Now if it was a pack of coyotes—that would be something to worry about.”

“What do you do if that happens?” asks Jake.

“Run.” McCoy doesn’t even hesitate when he says it.

I’m thanking the forces of nature that we’ve only seen one when I hear light steps behind me. A chill zips down my spine. “Stalker” might be an understatement. I think the coyote wants a meal.

I’m scared to turn my head around, but I know we need to scare off our curious pursuer. I slide off my pack, intending to use it just like McCoy did to send him packing. I whirl around, my plan in place, but instead of remembering to swing my pack, I scream.

A coyote collective with at least seven members stands behind us. They spring back a few feet at the sound of my scream, all except the largest one. The alpha. He advances, his mouth open, his beady eyes trained on me. This time I remember to swing the pack. He leaps back and immediately comes forward again while the others regroup behind their leader.

McCoy takes position on my left. “Jake, go find high ground! But don’t run!”

The coyotes scatter at the sound of his voice, then quickly regroup.

Jake gasps. “I thought you said to run!”

“Never mind what I said. Now go.”

That’s exactly what I was thinking. That running didn’t seem like a good idea. Although the animals are so skittish, I wonder if we couldn’t get away with it. “What do we do then?” I ask.

“Walk backwards; keep them at bay until we find high ground. Follow my lead.”

We step backwards, slowly, cautiously. McCoy starts growling and swinging his pack.

I look at him like he’s lost his head. “Don’t you think growling might antagonize them?”

The alpha male advances on me. I swing my pack at him. He doesn’t leap back though. He stands his ground. I’m thinking we may have to take him out when I trip on a rock and fall. My pack smacks my chest, taking my breath away and disrupting my ability to get up quickly. The alpha leaps at me. He snaps at my boot a couple of times, but I don’t give him the chance to take hold. I kick at him.