Timberline Trail (15 page)

“Stop!” ordered the
heavily accented voice, but Tia paid him no mind, bolting for the square pine shed like a homing pigeon. With a sudden burst of speed she managed to lunge behind the wall as a shot blasted the wood paneling directly beside her. Jon pulled the rifle to his shoulder and squeezed off a quick shot and she heard an answering curse in French as Jon ducked behind the tool shed wall.

“Get behind me girl!”
Jon ordered and she obeyed, peering over his shoulder. She could only make out the husky form of a man in a bright red parka. Another shot crashed into the small shack and Jon pushed her back.

“We’ve got to cut and run for it.”

“But what about the Jeep and Sugar?”

“Damn! I forgot about Sugar!” cursed Jon. “And now he’s between us and the car.”
He lifted his rifle. “I take it you know how to use one of these?”

“Of course.”

Suddenly a loud whine and squeal permeated the cold air as Sugar leaped out the driver’s door of the Jeep and ran straight for the man in the bright red parka. The Canadian shrieked and lunged backward, falling into the soft snow. Sugar leaped lightly, almost as if he’d never been injured, easily clearing the frightened man before making an abrupt left and tearing off into the forest. The sandy-haired French-Canadian slapped his rifle to his shoulder and began firing wildly, heedless of the shouts coming from the house. One shot hit the parked Jeep, while another ricocheted to hit Tia’s blue Chevy Blazer.

It was a fluke shot, one the Canadian never meant to make
, and a loud explosion boiled smoke into the air as the spare gas tank strapped to the rear of the truck burst into flame. Debris and metal slammed into the Kia Sorento parked not far from the side of the house and the Canadian leaped under the cabin’s overhang to protect himself from the wildly flying metal. Steve materialized behind the Canadian and ducked. Immediately he recovered and shouted something and both men, using the house as shelter, fired rapidly at the tool shed, the bullets zinging out of the black smoke like tiny assassins.

The hail of bullets
forced Tia to the ground and she covered her head with her arms as the bright Scandinavian cap fell onto the snow.

“He’s got me pinned down Tia and it’s just a ma
tter of time before he connects with one or both of us. We’ll have to split up and strike for the woods. Head northwest into the forest and I’ll meet you near the creek in a few minutes.”

Another shot splintered the wood of the tool shed as Tia ducked again.
She had no choice but to obey Jon’s order. After another clunk and twang she bolted through the snow, hoping the shed would prove enough of a protective barrier as she followed the tracks of the gray loafer wolf.

Zigzagging awkwardly through the snow, she headed straight for the tree line.
Tia had no sooner ducked behind a large Sitka spruce when the tell tale thud of a bullet struck close enough to fling pieces of bark at her and she plunged headlong into the dark forest heedless of any noise she’d might make. A loud flurry of several rifle shots belched and Tia knew Jon returned their fire. She finally paused behind the white bark of a paper birch and observed Jon making a low fast run for the trees behind the house directly opposite from her. She swore he raised his rifle at her, his message clear; keep running!

Much l
ater, out of breath and shivering, she huddled next to a white spruce. From the position of the sun she realized she’d headed west from her cabin, whereas Jon had bolted east. The stream had to be directly north from where she stood. She labored through the soft snow, hoping to meet up with him, her ears alert to every little sound. She remembered how Jon had warned her about Steve and hated that he’d been proven right! Steve had blatantly lied to her and then apparently tried to kill her. It showed once again how easily she could be duped by seemingly ‘nice’ people.

A large group of boulders
, their edges smooth and bubble-shaped, nestled on the other side of the slow-moving stream. Tia had a sudden brainstorm and stepped into the water in the oversized boots and bounded across the six-foot-wide creek. She deftly scaled the back of the largest rock, her huge boots making squelching sounds, and lay flat so she could view the way she’d traveled. The sound of the stream murmured enchantingly and Tia, realizing the bright blue parka made her an easy target, ducked down into a small hollowed-out section between two large boulders to wait. A narrow vertical slit between the rocks allowed her a window into the forest.

Soon, methodical footsteps crunching on the new snow alerted her to someone’s presence.

With a sinking heart she recognized Steve. He held a rifle casually by his side and examined her tracks. He then searched the surrounding forest, so close Tia could observe the extraordinarily handsome lines of his tanned face and cheeks burned red by the cold. He’d donned a heavy dark purple parka and she inwardly seethed. That was her father’s jacket and, she realized belatedly, his hunting rifle! Had the man no shame?

She recalled their pleasant conversations and his sad story about his unfaithful wife.
That, like everything else had probably just been a lie engineered to gain her confidence. Steve paused, appearing puzzled. Her trail had seemed to stop abruptly at the stream and he cocked his head to one side, listening intently. Tia held her breath. Only the wind through the pines and the tinkling gurgle of the small creek broke the silence of the chilly morning.

Steve hesitated and then headed into the creek, c
hecking for evidence that she’d leaped onto the other side. At the absence of tell-tale footprints he paused, and then followed the stream in the opposite direction searching intently for exit tracks on both sides. Tia waited until he was well out of sight before edging around the rocks to search for an escape path. A large fallen log jutted upward and she carefully tip-toed across it to where other rocks peeking out of the snow protruded like awkward steps. She managed to jump from rock to rock without disturbing the snow upon the ground for the next fifty feet in the opposite direction from Steve, often teetering as she searched for another ‘stepping stone.’

Tia
finally crouched behind another large shielding boulder and listened intently. Nothing but the incessant bickering of two noisy jays and the tumble of the distant stream broke the forest’s calm serenity. For the first time in the last twenty minutes she felt safe but uncomfortable. While it had warmed up a couple degrees, the day still felt cold and she’d lost her Scandinavian ski cap at the shed. Tia pulled the hood of her parka over her head, pulling the laces tight under her chin. Her lips felt chapped and burned with cold, and a blister was rising on her right heel from the oversized boots. Shoving her discomfort away, she tried to formulate a plan.

First and foremost sh
e had to connect with Jon, who’d promised to meet her at the stream. Warmth flooded her midsection at the thought of his quiet serious face. Tia visualized his steady green eyes, suddenly anxious to see him again. The location for their rendezvous was west of here so she moved cautiously, sticking to the tree line to avoid being seen. As she trudged through the often hip-deep snow, she speculated upon the voices she’d heard.

One had belonged to the sandy
-haired French-Canadian and another to the duplicitous Steve.

But the
other male voice had been wildly pitched, indicating he’d risked a great deal to warn her. The more she thought about it, the more she suspected either Tory or Paul were prisoners in her cabin. At least two men searched for Jon and her, armed with high-powered weapons. She recognized the rifle Steve carried as one of her father’s favorites; a high caliber hunting rifle able to take an accurate shot from fifty yards away and worse yet, equipped with a very sophisticated sighting mechanism. Steve appeared very comfortable with the rifle so she was certain he’d used one before. Once again she chided herself about how she’d been so misled by his jaunty smile and witty comments.

Tia’s attention shifted to the problems at hand.
Already her boots were soaking wet and while thankful for Ben’s oversized ski pants, the baggy bottoms were already sodden. She felt chilled and tired and very hungry. A sudden movement to her left caused her to pull up short. A Sitka black-tailed deer peered back at her, his head topped with amazingly sharp curved horns. His black tail twitched as he examined her before suddenly bounding away to leap effortlessly over rocks and boulders. At least the sighting of the deer suggested Steve hadn’t remained in the vicinity and Tia relaxed somewhat as she continued her methodical pace in search of Jon.

She veered south in hopes of moving closer to her cabin and after a few arduous minutes of plowing through the heavy snow
spotted the small hill she’d affectionately dubbed “Anthony’s Lookout’ after her father had shown her the special spot over a year ago. She zigzagged to the top of the rise and from where she stood, her cabin, surrounded by spruce and pine forest, loomed out of the clearing. Both chimneys billowed black smoke, and from this distance, Tia could make out a tall spare man clad in a yellow and green jacket standing before her door. He seemed to be waiting for something and Tia wished she had binoculars.

Unable to discern
his identity, she focused instead on Jon’s black Cherokee which rested lopsided in the snow, one or more of its heavy tires blown out. Someone rummaged through the bed, dumping out their first aid kit and other items. Tia twisted around, searching all four directions and praying she could pinpoint Jon. Only the flicker of a shiny black-winged bird against the dark bark of an Alpine fir broke the symmetry of the forest. Once again Tia shivered uncontrollably, realizing if she wanted to stay alive and warm she had to keep moving. So with deep reservation she headed away from her cabin and its beckoning warmth, praying her steps would lead her to Jon and safety.

Thirty minutes later,
no closer to locating Jon than before, she took a breather in a stand of Poplar trees while scanning the heavily forested horizon. The snow, though deep and powdery, had begun to melt under the bright sun and the temperature had risen a good ten degrees. Today was a good example of the fickle nature of Alaska. To her left Tia glimpsed the blur of a quickly moving figure loping like a wolf and prayed it was Sugar.

“Sugar,” she hissed out, afraid to shout too loudly in the cool crisp air, knowing sounds carry a long way in snowy conditions.

If it
was
Sugar, the wolf didn’t nose her out and she sank upon a large splintery log. Her position was precarious. Cold, hungry, and without any supplies, she would surely perish if another blizzard arrived. Certainly by now she should have run across Jon, but no trace of either his or Sugar’s paw prints had surfaced. If Tia didn’t keep moving she would die, so she rose and headed in the direction of where the tiny creek meandered near its rocky bank. As she neared the water’s edge, Tia retrieved pieces of flaky bark shaped like a spoon and used it to scoop up the icy liquid. The cold water made her teeth ache but she immediately felt refreshed and revived.

Peering into
the clear running water she made up her mind. For the next two hours she’d continue searching for Jon. If he failed to turn up, she had to head south for the shelter of the rustic summer cabins at Crane Lake. Tia squinted at the bright sun. Her decision only left her three hours until sundown so she’d better get a move on. Tia started at the stream, her strategy to make slowly-widening circles in her search for Jon. The only tracks she came upon in ninety minutes were the delicate prints of two doe, the unmistakable scramble of ground squirrels, and of course her own and was forced to give up in despair.

Her serviceable wristwatch indicated it was now past twelve.
Sadly she turned toward Crane Lake to begin the long, lonely hike taking her farther away from Jon. So intent was she upon staying warm and focused that Tia almost missed the tracks running parallel to her slow-plodding path. The imprints were manmade and widely spaced apart, as if the owner had been running. It had to be Tory and Tia trailed the tracks until the vastness of her own stupidity stuck her. They led straight back toward the road and her cabin! How had she gotten so turned around?

A blinding reflection struck her eyes and Tia gasped in amazement.
There, hood crumpled against the huge cottonwood, rested the Ford pickup that less than 24 hours ago had crashed to the bottom of the embankment. On wobbly legs she approached cautiously, listening intently. Convinced no one lingered about, Tia managed to open the creaky door once again and slide inside. The seat was covered in glass, the interior as icy as the exterior so she wasted no time feeling around behind the seat. Nothing. In fact, the car appeared emptier than yesterday. No refuge or warmth was to be found here with the huge gaping holes in the front and rear windshields.

Her eyes stung from cold and fatigue though the hood of her parka
prevented heat loss from her head. She pulled down the visor to check her red eyes in the mirror and stared in stunned amazement. The vehicle’s second set of keys hung in a metal clip. Thank God for Roy’s ingenuity! Did she dare start the engine to check if the truck’s two-way radio functioned? A chilling thought struck her. What if the fuel line had been damaged and needed only a spark to set it off? Tia shivered in the cold interior of the ruined truck for nearly five minutes mulling over her choices before finally deciding to try and start the battered pickup truck.