by Ilsa J. Bick
After twenty minutes, she picked out a cluster of faraway buildings staggering along the east bank of the Flathead’s north fork. A little no-nothing of a place, Lonesome was hemmed by mountains and water and then even more mountains, the long spine of the Black Wolf with its crags, couloirs, and high peaks running away to the north. Skipping her gaze over the Wolf, Sarah picked out the far-off slide and slumped half dome of Dead Man, a mountain that came by its name honestly.
“You know, I’ve lived here nearly all my life, and that thing still gives me the heebie-jeebies every time.” Josie dialed down a Sirius blues station to a soft burble of trumpet and sax. “Reminds me of that Mount St. Helens, the way it blew its top? Blast flattened trees almost twenty miles away.”
“At least with St. Helens, there was some warning.”
“Oh, those miners at Dead Man had all kinds of warning. It was 1920, not the Dark Ages. The Kootenai and Salish called that thing The Mountain that Trembles. Never made camp within that box canyon or Dead Man’s shadow on account of the shaking. The mine owners got greedy, that’s all. Gutting that mountain’s innards, hauling out car after car of coal. It’s a wonder the mine lasted ten years before the mountain came down.”
And buried almost four hundred people. Although there were stories—relatives who initially refused to leave their dead and wilder tales of ghosts haunting the ruins—Sarah had never felt the urge to explore. Visiting Pete in Arlington had been hard enough. That acre of perfectly spaced white stones, decorated with mementoes—photographs, pictures done in rough crayon and thick magic marker, stones, beer caps, small toys—hurt her heart. When she finally found Pete, she stretched out full-length, embraced his headstone, and talked for hours. Eventually, all cried out, she dozed off only to be gently shaken awake at dusk by a guard.
So, she knew about being haunted. Finding her way to what amounted to a mass grave at Dead Man wasn’t high on her to-do list. Though she understood why people might be drawn to explore. Tourists wandered Pompeii after all. Death had a pull the same way drivers rubbernecked at a wreck, hoping for a glimpse of blood and guts. Part was awe, a little thrill. Part was thank Christ, better you than me.
“You ever been there, Josie? Up to Dead Man?”
“Before they made it all protected wilderness?” Josie considered. “Thought about it more than once. Kind of macabre, I know, but I’ve always been kind of curious to see if that old mansion is still there. Owner copied some old Scottish thing. Bell tower, the whole nine yards. Rumor is he squirreled away a pile of money, too, and you can bet that brought out all the treasure hunters, especially in the beginning. The problem is the original slide took out the railroad and wiped out most of the supply lines, and no one’s ever been able to carve a way in. The whole area around that mountain is unstable. Been more than one expedition to that place ended in someone getting killed in a rockslide. Tell you what, I think the state’s just as happy to let that whole place crumble into dust ’cause every now and again, the ground around here will kind of tremble, like Dead Man’s reminding you that it’s not really dead, if you know what I’m saying… And here we go.” Hanging a left, Josie pulled the Expedition off the main road and into the gravel parking lot of Lonesome’s only restaurant, a rustic log cabin affair called Chuck’s Wagon. “Home, sweet almost-home.”
Several cars, many with out-of-state-plates, as well as a sheriff’s department cruiser, nosed up to a sagging wraparound porch. To the left of the restaurant entrance, the male half of a well-groomed couple, both of whom looked as if they’d stepped out of a sporting goods catalog, studied the menu with all the concentration of brain surgeons, while the woman poked at a cell phone and scowled. “Pretty busy already,” Sarah said.
“Folks always want to get a jump on that Friday night buzz.” Sparing a quick look, Josie barked a laugh. “How much you want to bet those two LL Bean types are trying to look up Chuck’s on TripAdvisor?”
“At least you guys kinda sorta get cell service down here.” There was none at the lookout. Even a sat phone was, for whatever reason, iffy up there, which meant, in an emergency, she couldn’t expect a cavalry to come charging to her rescue.
“I’m not the one who decided to rough it in an old lookout’s cabin all summer.” Slipping the Expedition next to Sarah’s red Ram, Josie butted her vehicle into park, turned off the ignition, and made a face as the Expedition chugged a few times then burped and finally grumbled into silence. “So, you up for next Friday, or you want to try for Wednesday and Friday seeing as how your time is kind of short? Unless you’re thinking of staying on? Maybe find yourself a nice place here, farther down?”
“We already talked about this, Josie. You’re being pushy.”
“Yes, I am. First off, I like you, like your dog. You’re not a quitter. Second, I’m a little selfish. Not as if we couldn’t use a decent veterinarian. I get you want privacy. All us locals do, or we wouldn’t live where you have to drive forty minutes to get a gallon of milk that doesn’t cost a week’s pay. Lonesome’s got lots of elbow room for those who want that.” Josie paused. “Honey, you could do a lot worse.”
“I do know that, and I like it here, too. I just need some more time to think about it.” Though moving anywhere, even back to Kalispell, felt like such an effort. Could she convince the park service to let her stay on? And then what? Spend a winter alone, with only the dogs for company, at a defunct fire lookout in deep snow? Granted, the hike down to her Ram, which she parked in a small turnout where the road petered out, was only eleven miles from the lookout. So, not that far. She’d had supplies packed in four times this season, courtesy of a donkey team that made regular stops at those lookouts which were still manned. Anything else she needed—perishables, mostly—she packed in herself. So, if she got herself a pair of good snowshoes and chopped a helluva lot more cord wood, she might be just fine.
Or she could be a touch delusional.
“Tell you what, why don’t we train next Wednesday and Friday just to be on the safe side?”
“Suit yourself. You have time for a glass of really cheap wine or something at Chuck’s before you head on back? I’m buying, and I wouldn’t even dream of talking about this sweet little ranch on the west side of—”
“Stop.” Laughing, she held up both hands. “Promise, cross my heart, you’ll be the first person on my call list if I stay, okay? And I’d love to hang, but I really can’t. It’s getting on to four.” The valley was swamped by shadows now, though the setting sun fired the high peaks to the east, turning even the snow a bright, luminous orange. Popping the lock, she bullied open the Expedition’s balky passenger door which protested with a long, almost indignant squeak. Across the lot, James’s Toyota was just growling to a stop. “If I don’t hustle, I’ll be hiking the last six miles in the dark. See you Wednesday, okay? Thanks for the lift.”
She slammed the door, only remembering at the last instant how much Soldier hated loud noises. Crap. And, sure enough, the dog was going nuts, barking and carrying on. Oh, come on. A stone settled in the pit of her stomach. It was only a car door, for crying out loud.
As she went around to the Expedition’s cargo hatch, a long, metallic screee sounded. A moment later, James unfolded from his 4Runner, stretched, turned her way, and waved.
“Hey.” Waving back, she pushed the word through a rictus of a smile. Hi, hello, please don’t come over, James, and ask me out. It wasn’t that she wanted to avoid James exactly. She just didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Why is nothing ever easy? Turning quickly aside—hoping James might get the message—she wrestled with the Expedition’s equally balky cargo door. Jesus, she wished Josie would put as much money into maintaining her car as she did her various search and rescue dogs. Throwing her weight into it, she wrenched the protesting cargo hatch open by degrees. As she did, the dog’s barks ballooned.
“Soldier, cut it out.” Dropping the tailgate, she snapped, “Hey! Enough already!”
“Take it easy.” Eyeing her from th
e Expedition’s rear view, Josie clucked her tongue. “He’s just a touch high-strung.”
Thanks. Now tell me something I don’t already know. Behind, she heard the thunder of a lumbering eighteen-wheeler. “Soldier, please calm down.”
“Hey.” A crunch of gravel, and then James was shuffling up, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, a camo baseball cap with the grizzly paw logo for the University of Montana football team squared on his head. “You heading back right away?”
And she almost got away, folks, but no cigar. “Yeah, I’ve got a long hike back.” She busied herself with digging out the dog’s lead and gathering up gear. “Don’t want to be humping along in the dark any longer than I have to.”
“Well, stay in town.” He waited a beat. “You could bunk down at my place. I got the guest cabin.”
She knew this. His hundred-acre spread of mixed pasture and woodland was gorgeous, too. James would probably be a perfect gentleman about it all. Still. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t. Daisy’s back at the lookout.”
“But you gotta eat.” James had to shout over the roar of another logging truck speeding past. “Sure I can’t talk you into a beer and quick burger?”
She liked James. Really. A sweet man in whom she was completely and thoroughly uninterested. She reached for the kennel’s catch. “That’s so kind, James, but maybe another time? A rain check?”
“Sure. Ah...unless...ah...” James scuffed stones. “You know, I could come up, see you. Bring dinner?”
James might need CPR by the time he made Chaney Peak. If he made it. Rattled, she flipped the catch to the dog’s kennel. “Tell you what. Why don’t we—”
Just then, a family of four wandered out of the diner and headed for a Subaru. The boy, a bucktoothed kid of seven or eight, was harassing his older sister with a toy six-shooter—bang, bang, bang, you’re dead!—while his sister whined, Quit it, Douglas, quit it, quit it, Douglas, quit it, and their parents, each looking as if they could not possibly drink enough, ignored them both.
On their heels, two other men—one in a deputy sheriff’s uniform—stepped from the diner. At the sight of the deputy, her pulse skipped, and she forgot all about the fact that not only was the dog’s kennel door unlatched, she’d not yet snapped on Soldier’s lead.
At that moment, a passing logging truck backfired with an enormous, explosive BANG. Jumping, heart bolting up her throat, she went into a half-crouch before her brain caught up.
“Jesus.” Splaying a palm over his chest, James gave a breathless laugh. “Give me a damned—”
In the next instant, the kennel door blew open.
3
Whipping back on its hinges, the kennel door crashed open, and then Soldier rocketed through. Skidding on the tailgate’s slippery surface, the dog scrambled for traction, nails scraping metal. Then, regaining his footing, Soldier launched himself out of the cargo bay in one powerful bound. At the last second, she made a grab but missed.
“Hey!” James reeled, arms crazily windmilling, boots slip-sliding out from under him. He landed on his backside with a hard wham that sent his cap popping off like a Champagne cork.
The backfire. Jesus, if Soldier takes down a kid... “Soldier!” She dashed after the dog. “Stop! Heel! Heel!” What’s the command? What’s the right command?
The men who’d just come out of the diner were closer to the family than she, and now she shouted to the deputy, “Hank, Hank! Grab him!”
Hank was already vaulting down the steps, but she could tell he was going to be just a fraction of a second too late.
Damn it. Digging in, she sprinted after the dog. She just had time to see the parents’ turn at her shout. So did Douglas, his toy gun still clutched in a fist but now aimed at Soldier.
Eyes bugging behind her glasses, the sister took a stumbling step back. “D-Douglas!”
Too late.
Teeth bared, Soldier leapt.
With no sound at all, Soldier plowed into the boy. The boy’s gun went flying upon impact, clattering against the Subaru as the dog brought the kid down. As soon as the kid hit the gravel, the dog lost his grip and went sprawling as the boy screamed.
“No!” Before Soldier could scramble back, Sarah threw herself over the shrieking boy. “Don’t fight me, Douglas! Don’t fight!” Beneath her, the boy yowled and thrashed. “Stop! The more you fight, the more the dog thinks you’re a threat. Just stay still!”
There was a shout and then the squawww of a car door, and a woman screaming, “Jerry, wait, wait, you’ll hit...”
Then Hank’s deep baritone riding over the woman: “Don’t do it, sir, don’t do it, don’t. Put it down!”
Oh, shit. Of course, the dad would have a gun. “Hank! Don’t let him–” She broke off with a gasp as Soldier, snarling, teeth clashing, rammed his snout under her arms. “Soldier, no, it’s me! Stop!” Turning her face away, she laced her fingers behind her neck and brought her elbows in to protect her face. In the next instant, Soldier’s teeth snagged her jacket, ripping the thick cloth. Jesus. Beneath her, the screaming boy still squirmed, and using her weight, she flattened the kid, hard. “Douglas, stop moving! Stay still. Do what I say and everything will be—”
The dog let out a sudden oof and then, all at once, his weight was gone. Heart thumping, she waited a second. When Soldier didn’t come back snapping, she inched up and risked a look.
Hank sprawled on his side, legs scissored hard around the dog’s middle. Soldier’s sides heaved; ropy saliva smeared the dog’s muzzle and ruff. After another moment, Hank rolled and pinning Soldier to the ground. Swooping in, James snapped on the dog’s lead a s Hank clamped his left hand to the underside of Soldier’s jaw, forcing the animal’s head back. Using his right hand, Hank quickly wrapped Soldier’s lead twice around the dog’s jaws to hold them shut and shouted, “Out, Soldier! Out!”
That’s the command. She huffed out a breath of relief as the dog stopped struggling. How could I have forgotten?
“G-g-get o-off.” The little boy’s hiccupping gulps helped her focus. As she slid off, Douglas, red-faced and sweaty, pushed up on his hands. “He’s a mean d-dog.” Douglas’s lower lip trembled, his left cheek raw and angry-looking from where his face had kissed gravel. “He should be shot.”
Given what she’d heard from the kid’s mother and then Hank, she bet Douglas’s dad would certainly agree. Examining the rip in the left sleeve of her sheepskin, she thought it could have been so much worse. If the boy hadn’t been wearing a heavy jacket, for example, or if Soldier’s aim had been perfect instead of just a little off.
If Hank hadn’t been in the right place at the right time.
Pushing up on her knees, she got a leg under her and offered the boy a hand. “Can you stand?”
“Don’t you touch him!” Douglas’s mother gathered the boy up. “Oh, honey, oh, baby, Mommy was so scared!” Sobbing, she smothered the kid with kisses. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? Did that bad dog—”
“He almost ate me!” Douglas wailed. “I almost could’ve got ated!”
“Yeah, he could have died.” Douglas’s sister’s tone sounded just a tiny bit wistful. “Maybe Douglas’ll get rabies. My teacher said if you get bitten on the face, you’re a goner.”
“I don’t want to be a goner!” Douglas bleated.
“Hush, Emily,” their mother said.
“Our teacher said you don’t even need to get bitten.” Emily’s lips stretched in a grin. “All you need is to get slobbered on.”
Oh, for God’s sake. “The dog’s had his shots.” Clambering to a stand, Sarah brushed grit from her palms. “Your brother won’t get rabies.”
“How do you know?” Emily’s jaw thrust in a defiant jut. “He might. Maybe the dog has it, and you don’t know yet.”
“Not if his shots are up to date . It doesn’t work—”
“I’ll see you in court.” Still clutching a pistol, the father, red-faced, puffed out his chest. “That animal is vicious. I’m going to
see it put down.”
“Sir, you keep waving that thing around, permit or no, I’m going to take you in.” Shifting his weight, Hank got a boot planted then pushed to a stand, Soldier’s lead still wrapped tight in a fist.
“Me? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Well, sir…just hold that thought a second, would you?”
“What? Hold that—”
“Yes, sir, if you wouldn’t mind.” As the father spluttered, Hank looked at Sarah. “Where’s his muzzle?”
Douglas’s father’s face purpled. “You can’t talk to me that way!”
“Muzzle’s still in the kennel, Hank.” Josie, who’d hung back, hooked a thumb over a shoulder. “I’ll get it. Sarah, stay with your dog. Let him see you.”
“What’s your name?” Leaning in, the father squinted at Hank’s name tag. “Cooper? Well, look, Sheriff Cooper, I’m within my rights to shoot this animal right here, right now.”
“First off, thanks for the promotion, but it’s Deputy Cooper. Second, that’s not how we do things here. Third, you got two seconds, sir, and then you’re in handcuffs.” Hank’s uniform shirt was streaked with dirt, and his trousers had ripped over his left knee. His brown hair was mussed and speckled with grit. A thin comma of crimson showed from a scrape under his chin. A few feet away, his deputy’s hat lay, brim-down, on gravel. “Sarah”—he nodded toward Josie, who’d come running back with a wire basket muzzle—“time to pack him up.”
“Awww no, she’s not going anywhere,” the father said.
Ignoring the man, Sarah took the muzzle from Josie then turned to her dog. “Soldier, sit.” As the dog instantly complied, a surge of bitterness flooded her chest. Now you listen. Eyes burning, she focused on strapping on the muzzle and cinching it down. Now, you decide to mind.
“There you go.” Pressing Soldier’s lead into Sarah’s left hand, Hank wrapped his fingers around hers to make a fist. “Take him home now.”
