And the only thing getting Mr. White worked up is the idea of tracking down and capturing our target, Cole McAllister. I meet his pale blue eyes, brought back to life with the idea of tracking down a known killer. He’s so animated, so boisterous, you’d never guess that he’s almost fifty years old. Right now, I can almost see the whispers of the handsome man he must have been long before age chipped away at him. The ghost of his youth hovers around his wispy, white hair as this private investigation case reinvigorates his soul. I honestly don’t even think it’s the million dollar payday he stands to cash in on that’s got him so excited. The idea of tracking down a murderer in the Yukon wilderness like some kind of episode of Man Hunter has him buzzing like a kid who ate too much sugar.
“I’m sure with your expertise we will find him, Mr. White,” I answer with a smile.
The truth is, I have no idea if we’ll catch Cole or not. I have no experience with tracking people or any of this. With the sheltered existence that I’ve lived so far, I barely have any experience with life. The thought brings me back to my mother. Back to the hours I spent sitting on the side of her bed, watching cancer steal her beauty, then her words, then her mind. Until, it finally stole her from me forever. As a single mother, it was just her and me growing up. Over the course of my life she had to be a mom and a dad to me. A mentor and a friend. I lost everything the day she finally passed away.
I swallow hard to push away my sadness and my ears squeak. The pressure in the cabin is changing as we begin to descend on the Canadian Yukon. I fight back the tears that are always just under the surface, threatening to spring up, like a never ending geyser of mourning, every time I think of Mama.
“I told you, call me Cecil. We could be tracking this perp for quite some time, you don’t need to be so formal.”
I nod, “Cecil,” I repeat, but it doesn’t feel right. I was raised to call my elders by their last names, and that goes double for my employers.
I look past Mr. White’s unnerving icy stare, I mean, Cecil’s icy stare, and glance out the window at the sprawling woods below. They look much larger and much more intimidating than when we were just in the planning phase of this operation. Luckily, there have been rumors from locals that Cole has been spotted getting supplies from time to time in Whitehorse. I would think that means he’s not living too far inside the perimeter of that forest. It can’t be easy to haul goods through there under the best of conditions.
“You sure you’re ready for this? This is the big time. You don’t know how lucky you are. For a newbie like you to assist me on a big case like this,” Cecil sounds off on his favorite speech. He’s told me this before. Many times. I know he’s right, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying to listen to.
“Of course I am,” I give him a tight-lipped smile and go back to staring out the window as he blathers on about how I’ve been handed the opportunity of a lifetime on a silver platter.
I get it. I’m young. I’m inexperienced. This isn’t news to me.
Two years ago, if you told me I’d be doing this, I would’ve choked on my Chai latte laughing. Back then, I was in the thick of my political science degree at Midwestern State University. Life was predictable, stable and safe. Just how I liked it. I had a five-year plan. Hell, I had a ten-year plan and it was all unfolding exactly how I envisioned.
Mom couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes when I would tell her about my comparative politics courses and my plans to someday work in government. She would always say, “As long as you think you’ll be happy pushing paper, I guess.” It never bothered me. Not until she was dying and I dropped out of university to tend to her. As the cancer spread, her pleas began. She dropped the passive-aggressive acceptance of my career choice and began campaigning for me to live my life. To spend my youth living an adventure. To learn about life outside of the confines of a classroom. To explore many paths so I could find the right one. I still remember her frail hand holding mine and her oxygen machine whirring louder than her weak voice, but she still persisted. She still begged me to explore. To let myself be wild. She was convinced that I would never know myself until I was really challenged by life.
“You can’t go changing the world until you know who you truly are,” she pleaded her case, “and you’ll never learn who you are from a textbook.”
A month after I spread her ashes off a cliff she told me that her and her friends spent summers jumping from into the lake below, I was standing in Cecil’s office asking for a job. Never in a million years did I expect to have the luck of landing a position as his assistant on such a huge case. But life has a way of tearing up all your plans of what you expect to happen and throwing it up in the air like confetti at a wedding.
So, here I am. Nervous. Unsure of myself. But here. And for that, I know Mama would be proud.
“Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. White. I mean Cecil,” I quickly correct myself before he has another chance to. “I won’t let you down,” I meet his pale blue eyes and he stops me mid-sentence.
“I know you won’t, Abbie. You’re a good girl, I can see that. When I catch this guy, I’m gonna make you famous. Just the news coverage alone will be phenomenal. And the camera is going to love a pretty face like yours,” his gaze travels over my mouth slowly and then keeps sliding down my body, slithering over me like a snake until I wrap my arms over my chest and turn away.
The overhead speaker system crackles as the pilot’s voice fills the cabin, “We’ll begin our descent here, folks. We should be touching down at the Whitehorse airport in no more than twenty minutes,” he formally announces, as if he couldn’t just yell it over his shoulder at us.
“Perfect,” Cecil claps his hands together and I jump. He hunches over the plane window and watches as the landscape below appears to come up and meet us.
I drift deep into my own thoughts. I hope this isn’t all a mistake. I want to be brave. I want to experience adventures like my mother pleaded with me to do. I just can’t quiet the uncertainty. That tiny but powerful voice that whispers persistently in my ear, telling me that I’m in way over my head.
3
Abbie
“You’re telling me that you’ve never seen this guy in here?” Cecil holds up a picture of our target to a stranger in the store.
It’s not like any store I’ve ever seen. Not that Whitehorse has a wide array to choose from, with a scattering of restaurants and bars on one road, this Trading Post is the closest thing to a supply shop we could find. With fourteen-dollar jars of peanut butter piled on a shelf right next to shotgun shells, it’s not exactly a conventional grocery or hunting shop.
“That’s what I’m telling ya,” an elderly Native man with long, smoky wisps of hair falling from his neat braid around his deeply lined face replies. The man grabs some cooking oil from the shelf beside Cecil’s head and walks away from us.
“S’cuse me,” I jump and wheel around to face a burly beast of a man glaring down at us. His dark eyes are just slits in his face almost matching the crescent shaped scar on his thick jaw. I tilt my head back to try to meet his gaze, but he must be almost seven feet tall and built like a bull. I’m not sure how he got that scar on his chin, but I’m guessing it wasn’t a fight. If it was, I’d put money on the other guy being dead.
“Yes?” Cecil looks like he’s trying to stand taller, but the more he stretches his spine, the more he looks like a child next to the huge stranger. Although, if he looks like a child, I must look like an infant. Compared to me, Cecil is tall. And this guy is practically a giant.
“I’ve been getting complaints that you’re harassing my customers,” the man’s voice booms like claps of thunder.
“You own this place?” Cecil looks around the store.
“That’s what I said,” the lumbering man frowns at us. I shiver involuntarily, and it’s not from the cold.
“Perfect, just the man I’d love to talk to!” Cecil lights up, like this guy just extended him a warm welcome instead of a warnin
g. “I’m Cecil White, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he waits for the man to fill in the blank.
“That’s because I didn’t give it to you,” he answers with no humor in his voice whatsoever. He looks from my boss’s face to mine and sighs deeply, “The name is Dave. Now I’m going to have to ask you and your daughter to quit bothering my customers with a bunch of questions, understand? You’re making people uncomfortable,” Dave folds his large, muscular arms over his chest and it reminds me of the huge X on a barn door.
“This is Abbie. She’s not my daughter, she’s my assistant. Sure, sure, I won’t bother anymore customers,” Cecil nods and pulls the picture back out of his pocket. “Hey, you probably know just about everyone around here, right? Do you recognize this man?” He holds the picture up in front of Dave’s face.
“I don’t see how who I know is any of your concern,” Dave narrows his eyes and pushes Cecil’s hand down from where it hovers.
“The thing is,” Cecil steamrolls over him, “this guy is a dangerous man. He’s a bad guy. He’s a murderer,” he lowers his voice. Dave’s face doesn’t change. If the idea of a killer living in his town frightens him, his face would be the last to show it.
I pull my long brown hair over my shoulder and begin to twist the ends nervously. I can’t help but feel like I’m watching Cecil poke a bear.
In its den.
Protecting a cub.
From the size of this guy, he could easily pass for a shaved bear.
“Listen, I’ll tell ya what,” Cecil stuffs the picture back in his coat pocket and tugs his wallet from his pants. The Velcro rips open loudly and he tugs a hundred-dollar bill out. “How about this? I would be happy to compensate you for any information you might want to share,” Cecil dangles the money in front of Dave’s face like a carrot on a line.
“It’s time you go checkout,” Dave answers through his teeth.
“Pardon me?” Cecil blinks in surprise. I’m starting to wonder if all the stories that he’s told me about his great people skills and detective work aren’t bullshit. It’s hard to imagine how someone who clearly has no idea about how people operate could have the tremendous success hunting them down that he’s prattled on and on about.
“Listen, I don’t know if you’re deaf or stupid, and I don’t care. You said this girl is your assistant, well maybe she can assist you in pulling your head outta your ass, ‘cause no one here is interested in some outsider snooping around and tryna dig up dirt. Now get your supplies and get the hell outta my store before I pick you up and toss you out!” His voice rumbles. I can’t help but feel like I’m supposed to run for shelter, like his baritone is as powerful as an earthquake. And just as dangerous.
Cecil drops his hand and shoves his bill back in his wallet before stuffing it back in his jeans. His face drops to look at the things in the cart we’ve gathered for our hike. “Fine,” he mutters, without meeting Dave’s intense glare.
I follow him to the checkout and watch as Cecil keeps his eyes downcast on the items being rung in, like a puppy that was scolded for peeing on the floor.
Over my shoulder, Dave is still standing like a Paul Bunyan statue, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, forcing us out the door without moving a muscle or uttering a single word.
Cecil yanks the bag of supplies from the cashier's hand and stomps toward the exit petulantly. As he approaches the door an elderly lady blocks his way out. Clearly, she’s struggling to make her way into the shop. I gasp as Cecil shoves her aside, nearly knocking her to the ground.
“Get outta my way,” he sneers.
I rush behind him and offer the poor woman a hand as she struggles to maintain her balance. I can’t believe the nerve of this guy. He gets told to leave and he takes it out on an old, defenseless woman?
Mama used to tell me that people don’t really show you who they are when everything is sunshine and roses. It isn’t until life gives them a squeeze that you really see what they’re made of.
As we make our way out of the store, I don’t like what Cecil is showing me. This entire mission is beginning to look doomed. Between the entire town stonewalling us and Cecil’s tantrum-like behavior, I’m starting to think this whole thing might be over before we even take our first step into the woods.
4
Cole
“You might want to lay low,” Big Dave told me. He pulled me aside this afternoon as I was grabbing some whiskey and food.
When I first arrived in the Canadian Yukon, I knew this was the place. With a backdrop of nature so beautiful, you’d swear it was a postcard come to life, it felt serene. Then, once I met the locals, I knew I’d found my new home.
Almost everyone here who isn’t a native is running from something. We all have something in our past we’d rather not have exposed. We know that about each other and we have a silent agreement to live and let live. When I showed up here, bleary eyed from exhaustion and carrying nothing but my old army rucksack with me, it didn’t take long for people in this town to realize I was one of them. I wasn’t some tourist looking to take a rafting tour up the river to Dawson City. I clearly wasn’t here on any kind of government business.
They say wolves know each other by scent, well they could smell it on me that I was one of them. And, lucky for me, they accepted me into their pack.
“You should hang back for a few days, you can stay with me if you need a place,” Big Dave continued.
I knew this day would come. It didn’t take a genius to realize that the authorities would eventually search for me around here. When I first arrived, I spent months building my place. Even though it was the dead of winter, I fought through the blistering cold days and created the perfect little spot for myself.
With town less than a half-day’s hike, I thought I’d scouted the best of both worlds, a cabin with complete seclusion and privacy, but with civilization only a few hours away. It made supplies easy to manage and if I ever got too squirrelly from spending so much time alone, company wasn’t far. I knew the bag full of old army rations I brought with me wasn’t going to last forever. Tinfoil pouches of beans and wieners and toothpaste tubes of peanut butter would only stretch for so long before I’d need to top up.
“Nah, I’m good. I’ve got a plan,” I answered Dave and grabbed a pair of binoculars to add to my cart.
It was nice of him to make the offer to stay at his place. The truth is, I’m not afraid of many men on this earth, but Big Dave is one of those few. He’s a great guy to know and his store is an essential part of the community, but he’s not someone I’d want to share quarters with.
“Suit yourself,” he shrugged.
Instead of making myself comfortable on Dave’s couch, I’ve been following the dynamic duo who have come to the great white north to track me down. I’m hunting the hunters.
Not that there’s any challenge in it. These two make their way through the woods like a couple of drunk moose. It’s been easy to stay on the periphery and keep tabs on them, except for when they got turned around and spent forty minutes walking back toward town. I already knew from the looks of them that they weren’t law enforcement, but their shitty navigation skills sealed it. There’s no way any self-respecting officer of the law would be trudging around in the forest in figure eights all day.
Once they decided to set up camp for the night, I scouted a suitable tree and climbed up under the shelter of the branches and leaves to hide out for the night.
I’m not sure if these two jokers have the skills to find my place, but if they do, I’ll be watching them from a safe distance. Then, once they clear out, I’ll grab the supplies I need and move on out. Now that the weather is warm, it’s not a problem to explore the woods deeper until I find another place to call home. Not that I think I’ll ever find anything more perfect.
I watch the middle-aged man and young lady through my binoculars as they sit by a Coleman stove. Neither of them could make a fire to save their lives, so they finally decided to use their propane camping
stove for heat. Brainiacs. Next, they’ll cut open their backpacks to use them as blankets.
They’re drinking. From the looks of it, they’re swigging back vodka. Well, he is. She’s been politely declining and holding onto the same glass he poured her hours ago. I know because I’ve been watching her.
Closely.
It’s been months since I’ve spent a night with a woman. Not since before I shot him. Sure, I could’ve hit up some random chick in Whitehorse, but I don’t think the best way to stay in a community’s good graces is by burning through their women. Of course, I always have the option of hiring out by the hour for my needs, but even on my longest, loneliest deployments I never scratched the itch with hookers. Plenty of guys did, and that was fine for them, I’m not judging, it just wasn’t for me. What’s the fun in fishing when they just jump in your net?
Anyway, this girl is much prettier than any woman I’ve encountered in town. Any girl I think I’ve ever seen, to be honest. She’s striking in her natural beauty. Her long brown hair hangs loosely over her slight shoulders. Right now, she has her back to me, which is a damned shame, because when I did see her face it was a sight for sore eyes.
Her creamy skin has a light smattering of freckles, and she’s been too far away to see the color of her almond shaped eyes, but it’s been easy to see how expressive they are. She looks like she’s a lot more in her element out here, easily jumping over fallen logs and bounding up hills with her toned body. Unlike her partner, who has been thumping and bumping into everything, signalling his presence to every living creature within a fifty-mile radius.
I stuff my binos in my pack that’s hanging from the branch beside me and lean back against the trunk of the tree.
Calm washes over me as I let my heavy eyelids droop down and settle in for the night. I love the familiarity of sleeping like this. When I was a sniper, I hated being bugged out like this. Clinging to tree limbs, or laying on sizzling hot roofs for hours or even days at a time. My muscles would be exhausted from lying in prone position, tensed up, ready to fire. Birds would shit on me, the heat would bake my skin and I had to endure it all as I waited for the perfect moment. For the perfect shot.
The Woodsman's Baby Page 27
