by Tate, Harley
Colt inhaled. Searching would take forever, but he couldn’t leave until they made sure. Even one blister pack of Z-Pak would cure a nasty infection. Aisle by aisle, Colt searched, losing himself in the job.
Halfway through, he stripped out of his jacket and dumped it on the floor before holstering his weapon. Two hands and no gear would speed up the search. As he bent to read the label of a forgotten orange bottle, he jerked his head up.
There was no mistaking the sound.
Someone fired a gun in the front of the store.
Chapter Three
COLT
Mountain Way
Truckee, CA
12:30 p.m.
Colt clicked off the flashlight and hurried to shove his things into the corner. A pack and parka would only slow him down. He pulled his Sig from his holster behind his back and gripped it with two hands. From back in the pharmacy, he couldn’t tell if the shot was from a shotgun, a rifle, or even a handgun. It could have been anything.
He eased toward the metal door and ducked beneath it. No lights canvassed the back of the store. No shouts sounded from down the street. Maybe Walter found a stray elk or deer wandering in the road and took advantage.
The hairs on the back of Colt’s neck disagreed, standing at attention like his world was about to crash down. But he kept the hope alive as he crept toward the light from outside. Over the last few months, whenever he’d expected bad results, he’d always stumbled across something worse. Maybe if he hoped for the best, whatever he found wouldn’t be so bad.
Part of him wanted to run toward the entrance, but he had to take it slow. If someone else was inside the store, Colt needed to stay silent and invisible. He couldn’t risk getting injured or caught off guard. He had to immobilize the threat by whatever means necessary.
Half crouching and half walking, Colt eased past each aisle, coming up on the cash registers and the front of the store. Pain lanced through his thigh in protest where a knife had stabbed deep a few months before. The skin healed with only a mild scar, but Colt’s quad never regained full movement without pain.
He shivered as a blast of wind hit his chest. Christ. I’ll never get used to this weather. Without his jacket, the front of the store would send the cold straight to his bones, but he couldn’t go back for it. He needed the visibility and the freedom of movement a sweatshirt provided. He would just have to suck it up and hope the shivers didn’t wreck his aim.
The front windows gaped ahead and Colt eased up behind the last checkout lane. He couldn’t see Walter anywhere. He scanned the street, looking for any sign of life. Nothing.
Damn it.
Colt clenched his jaw and sneaked forward in a quick crouch, skirting the bottom of the windows. He stopped five feet shy of the broken automatic doors.
In the kicked-up dust and snow in front of him, three drops of blood no bigger than a dime each glistened in the light. Deep red and glossy, they were fresh.
Colt crept closer. Too much disturbance to make out footprints. He turned toward the street. Another drop of blood, this time closer to the sidewalk. Whoever was injured didn’t stay inside the store.
With a deep breath, Colt tightened his grip on the handgun and stepped over the debris. The outside air blasted through his sweatshirt and he shivered.
Scanning first left then right, Colt squinted against the glare. Not a single person. Not a flutter of fabric or hint of lights or even a whisper of conversation on the breeze. It was like Walter disappeared.
Had he been shot? Had he shot someone else? It made no sense. Colt checked his watch. One o’clock already. With the sun almost directly overhead, now would be the best time to search. But he couldn’t do that without his gear.
Colt took a handful of steps toward the road and spun in a circle looking for more blood. There was none to be seen.
He frowned. Whoever was bleeding didn’t just take to the sky and fly off. There should be more blood. Colt checked the road and other businesses again before crouching at the edge of the road. A set of tire tracks were etched into the fresh snow. Had they been there when he crossed the street?
Colt couldn’t remember, but he didn’t think so. How had he not heard a car? Did it coast into the road? Was it running barely above an idle?
A wave of shivers almost knocked him off-balance and Colt took a final look around. He would have to search, but that required gear. Rushing back into the store, Colt once again ducked into the pharmacy and tugged on his jacket and pack.
He zipped up the front of the coat as he eased back through the broken windows. Without reliable tracks or a blood trail to follow, he was hunting blind. Walter could be anywhere.
Colt cupped his hands and shouted. “Walter!” He paused and tried again. “Walter!”
His cry echoed and died in the street with no reply. Colt was faced with two choices. He could set off on foot and canvass the street as best he could, or he could head straight to the Jeep and cover more ground in a vehicle.
One was slow and thorough, the other was loud and fast. He glanced up at the sky and opted for a middle course: an hour of searching by foot before turning to the car. If Walter was holed up somewhere, hiding from mystery assailants, he would find him. If they were tucked away in a nearby building pumping him for information, Colt could ferret them out.
He kept those options in the forefront of his mind as he set off on a search. Please let him be nearby. Please let me find him.
If Walter had been kidnapped via car, Colt knew the chances of finding him were slim to none.
2:30 p.m.
Colt caught a bead of sweat with the back of his hand before it dripped off his nose. A solid hour of searching and all he’d come up with was a feral cat, a pile of empty PBR cans in an alley south of the store, and a sweat-soaked undershirt.
He leaned against the wall of what used to be a frame shop and inhaled. No matter how much he hated to admit it, he couldn’t deny the obvious: Walter was gone. He couldn’t believe the man would run off in pursuit of someone or something without letting Colt know. He’d have written a note or given him a clue somehow. Walter wouldn’t disappear.
That left nefarious motives and unidentified strangers as the only rational explanation. Colt rubbed his face and pushed off the wall. The Jeep was three quarters of a mile away at this point and he needed to find it in a hurry. Colt planned to drive the street with the last few hours of winter daylight, searching for any sign of Walter.
Only then would he head home to break the bad news.
He eased out of the store and took off at a slow jog toward the south, hoping to reach the alley three buildings down without incident. First up, an abandoned restaurant. Vandals had torn the place apart, dragging tables and chairs out into the parking lot and setting them alight in massive bonfires. Only burnt scraps remained.
The next building housed a dry cleaner. Racks of clothes in plastic still hung in the windows, fluttering as the wind passed through the broken panes. Last up, the pharmacy Colt and Walter intended to search. From the front, it appeared secure. Metal sliding gates were lodged across the front doors and the windows were too high to climb through.
It would have been a good spot to investigate if Walter were still there.
Colt slowed. In the middle of the road up ahead, something caught the light, sparkling brighter than the snow. Colt crouched to pick it up.
A gold watch. His brow knit as he brushed off the clumping snow. How would someone lose this on the road? Colt turned it over and squinted. An inscription.
WJS: Congratulations on your retirement. Go get ‘em, pilot.
A burst of air whooshed past Colt’s lips. Walter. It had to be.
He slipped the watch into his pocket and stood up. The same tread from in front of the store cut through the snow down the middle of the street. The tire tracks were fresh; this time Colt had no doubt.
Without another thought, Colt turned west, ducking down the closest alley at a full-on run. The watch didn’t
guarantee Walter was still alive, but it filled Colt with hope. If Walter were conscious enough to drop it from a moving vehicle, it meant Colt had a chance. But he had to hurry.
Retracing their trek in from the edge of the woods, Colt crossed the next street and picked up the pace, running with his head on a swivel as he closed the distance between him and the Jeep. It wasn’t impossible. As long as the snow didn’t pick back up or turn into a blizzard, he could follow the tracks. He could find Walter.
Colt reached the Jeep out of breath and running on adrenaline. He started it up and peeled out of the cover of trees, intent on finding the trail and not letting Walter down. What took fifteen minutes to run only took three to drive and he turned onto the street where he’d found the watch.
The tire tracks ran straight down the road and Colt followed them, driving slow enough to make out any disturbance in the snow. Five blocks later, the tracks turned the corner and Colt followed. They joined in with a few older tracks, but thanks to the snowfall in between, he could still make out the fresh imprints.
He couldn’t tell what make or model car, but based on the depth of the tread, he guessed an SUV or pickup. Following them led him a half a mile down the road. The tracks wobbled.
Colt slowed. Signs for the highway stuck up like green sentries to his right and the road widened to four lanes across.
He squinted through the windshield, but he couldn’t make out the tracks. There were so many. After stopping the Jeep, Colt hopped out. He crouched to the left of the headlights, staring at the dirty snow. Tracks went everywhere. Some to the left, some to the right, some straight. He frowned. It was pointless.
Any one of them could be the right ones for all he knew. Colt stood up and looked around. The sun hung low in the sky, an hour before sunset. A handful of abandoned cars littered the gas station across the road, but otherwise, the streets were empty. The sun would set within the hour and searching for Walter without any idea as to his whereabouts could get them both killed.
Colt climbed back into the Jeep and dug around in the console. A single penny sat in the coin tray and Colt picked it up. Heads he kept driving, and tails he went home.
He held his breath and flipped the coin.
Chapter Four
TRACY
Clifton Compound
Near Truckee, CA
2:00 p.m.
It took three kicks on the door and a labored shout from Tracy for Dani to open the door to the main cabin. Housing the kitchen, dining, and communal living areas, it was almost always occupied. Which was a good thing today.
Dani pulled the door wide and her eyes followed, tracking the blood dripping across the wood as Tracy dragged Madison inside.
“What happened?”
“Injured fox. It attacked while Madison was checking the snare.” Tracy grunted as she lowered her daughter into the closest chair. Blood soaked the bandana tied around the wound. Thanks to the long, arduous walk in the snow, Madison had lost a fair amount of blood.
Pale skin stretched across her cheeks and her eyes struggled to stay open. Tracy shook Madison’s shoulder and she groaned in pain. “You can’t pass out. Stay with us.”
“How can I help?” Dani stood by the front door, lips pressed into a line.
“Find Brianna. I need her knowledge.” Madison’s friend from college wasn’t a veterinarian yet, but she’d taken classes at UC Davis on the way to a degree. Before Tracy cleaned Madison’s wound, she needed all the information she could get. Brianna might not have any, but it was worth a shot.
Dani nodded and rushed out the door, a blast of cold air filling the void in her wake.
Tracy squeezed her daughter’s hand. The salty tang of sweat in the room drew acid up her throat. Foxes were usually scared of humans. Would the fear of being trapped cause a healthy fox to lash out? Tracy didn’t know, but Brianna might.
If the fox that clawed Madison were ill, there might be nothing they could do to keep the sickness from spreading.
Rabies killed. So did a host of other illnesses and diseases. Tracy snuffed up the snot in her nose, now thawing in the warmth of the cabin. As soon as the acrid scent of Madison’s blood hit her, Tracy covered her face with the back of her hand.
I can’t sit here and do nothing. Waiting could get her daughter killed.
She pulled off her jacket and snow boots and layers of warmth until nothing remained but a sweat-soaked T-shirt and pants. With slow, careful movements, she did the same for her daughter. Madison’s boots came off with little trouble, but she moaned as the jacket brushed against her leg.
“Just hang in there, honey.”
Madison nodded and leaned back on the chair. “I’ll have to have stitches, right?”
“I don’t know.” Tracy gathered all of the clothes and gear and set them out of the way before heading into the kitchen for towels and alcohol and scissors.
As she set the stack of supplies down on the table, the door opened and Brianna and her mother crowded in with Dani close behind.
“Oh, no! Madison, are you okay?” Brianna rushed to her best friend’s side.
She managed a weak smile. “I’ve been better.”
“Dani said she’d been attacked by a fox?”
Tracy nodded. “It was caught in the snare. She thought it was dead.”
“I was an idiot. I should have shot it first to be sure.”
Anne crouched down beside Madison and inspected the bandana. Brianna’s mom was about her age, with shoulder-length hair fading into gray streaks. She’d been nothing but warm and welcoming to Tracy and her family ever since they showed up uninvited all those months ago. “There’s a lot of blood. How bad is the wound?”
Tracy glanced at Brianna’s mother. “I’m about to find out.” With the scissors in one hand, Tracy pulled off the bandana and gauze before cutting away Madison’s pant leg below the knee. From mid-calf down, her leg was a bloody mess.
Anne stood up and reached for the bottle of rubbing alcohol and a towel.
Brianna scooted into the space her mother left. “Is it a bite?”
Tracy took the supplies from Anne and popped the bottle open before handing the towel to Brianna. “Let’s find out.”
With a tight smile of encouragement in Madison’s direction, Tracy poured the alcohol over the wound.
Madison screamed and jerked in the chair.
Dani rushed forward and grabbed her hand. “Squeeze my hand if it hurts.”
Madison nodded as tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. “Thanks.”
Tracy leaned closer. The alcohol helped, but it didn’t remove enough of the clotting blood to get a decent look at the wound. She glanced at Brianna. “What do you know about rabies?”
“It’s nasty, I can tell you that.” Brianna leaned back on her heels, trying to remember. “I know that cleaning the wound is the most important thing. We should rinse it out with soap and water and then disinfect it.”
Tracy glanced up at Anne, but Brianna’s mom was already on it, hustling into the kitchen for a bowl, water bottles, and soap.
“What else?”
“It’s a long incubation process. Some animals are infected for months or even years before the virus reaches their brain.”
“Is that when the symptoms show up?”
Brianna nodded. “All the things you see on TV—foaming at the mouth, aggression, stumbling—that’s when the virus is in the brain. Until then, an animal might not be infectious. Their saliva might not have the virus.”
Madison leaned forward. “I don’t even know if it bit me.”
“We need to clean it to see.”
As Anne returned, she set a bowl of soapy water on the floor and handed Tracy a larger bucket. “Will that work?”
“It should.” Tracy lifted Madison’s leg and put it in the bucket before motioning to the bowl. “Brianna, you pour the water on the wound, okay?”
The young woman nodded and picked up the bowl, concentrating on not spilling. “I’m sor
ry if this hurts.”
“It’s okay. Just do it.” Madison braced herself as Brianna tipped the bowl. The second the soapy water hit the wound, Madison launched off the chair.
Dani grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her back.
Brianna kept pouring. Little by little, the wound irrigated and the damage revealed itself. It wasn’t a scratch. Not possible. From the puncture marks oozing blood, there was no mistaking it for anything other than a bite.
Madison must have seen it in her mother’s face. “That bad?”
Tracy flicked her eyes up for a moment. “Worse.”
“It probably wasn’t sick. Rabies isn’t common in the winter and I don’t think foxes are usually infected in this part of the country.” Brianna set the bowl down and leaned back. “But she should have the vaccine to be safe.”
Anne looked at her daughter with a frown. “We don’t have any. It wasn’t something we could get without a prescription or a veterinary license.”
“And we can’t reach Colt or Walter to add it to the list.” Dani let go of Madison and glanced at the door. “Should one of us go? We might be able to find a vaccine in town.”
Tracy glanced at the time. Already four thirty. Dusk would hit soon. She turned to Brianna. “How long do we have? If the fox was infectious, how long can we wait to give Madison the vaccine?”
Brianna hesitated. “I don’t know. My professor said right away, but we read a story about someone getting the vaccine two months later and being okay. It depends on how long it takes the virus to get to Madison’s nerves. Once it reaches the brain…” She trailed off and Tracy knew what that meant.
If the rabies virus reached Madison’s brain before she was vaccinated against it, there was no cure. She would die an agonizingly painful death.
She exhaled. “Do we close the wounds?”
“No. Leave them open to drain. We don’t want to seal the infection inside.”
