In the trees, he caught a glimpse of old, rotting poles leaning together to form a circle at their base. He stopped. He couldn’t help it. It was a wickiup.
“What?” Pete said.
Patrick wished he had a camera and time to explain. But he didn’t. “I thought I saw something.” He started running again, fighting off a creeping sadness at the missed opportunity to explore the artifact. He tried to return to cataloguing, but it didn’t work for him anymore, so he just ran.
Less than ten minutes later, he spied water through the trees, looking greenish and smooth edged, like clay. Then he saw the distinctive shape of the fat teddy bear rock. As he broke from the forest and onto the rocky shore, his eyes cut to his right, where they’d stashed the canoes. His family was milling about there. The relief he felt when he saw Perry nearly buckled his knees. Thank you, God.
“Susanne,” he shouted.
She turned toward his voice. The expression on her face . . . something was wrong. Even from ten yards away, he could see the tears. Perry?
“Oh, Patrick.”
When he reached her, she threw herself against him. He threw his arms around her. “We have to get on the water. No time to explain. Can you tell me what’s wrong when we’re safe?”
She shook her head. “Trish. Bunny. They never came back to camp.”
He felt like all the blood in his body drained out of him in that instant. With all that had happened, this was the last thing he expected to hear. “What?”
“And Perry’s vomiting. His head hurts.”
Patrick’s pulse throbbed in his temples. His face felt like he’d stuck his head in an oven. It was hard to comprehend everything that was going wrong, much less figure out the best way to handle it.
Pete reached Vera. She collapsed into his arms, and he nearly buckled at her sudden weight. The sound of her sobbing tore at Patrick’s heart. Her little girl was missing. Both of their little girls were missing.
His father’s voice grabbed his attention. “I’m going back to camp for the girls.”
Patrick’s head cleared a little. Think. You have to think. “But they weren’t there. We just came from there.”
Joe hesitated, then strode toward the trail. “Well, they’re not here, and someone has to go find them.” In seconds, he’d disappeared from view.
Patrick studied the rocky ground in front of him. His thoughts were spinning. He couldn’t pin them down. His daughter. His niece. I have to find them. His son. I have to get Perry to the hospital. Then, something made him lift his gaze.
Down the riverbank, breaking from the trees, he saw a man. A very, very big man. Winthropp. Maybe he won’t recognize Pete. The group was good camouflage. But, to Patrick’s horror, the giant cocked his head, pointed at the Flints, and yelled something behind him into the forest.
Patrick shouted, “Pete, it’s them.”
Pete released Vera. She stumbled but stayed upright. The brothers looked at each other, then at Winthropp. Les appeared behind him, holding a rifle.
I can’t be everywhere at once.
Patrick said, “We’ve got to get everyone out of here. If we leave, Les and his gang won’t know about Joe and the girls. We’ll take four of the canoes and leave the fifth up in the trees for them. And we can come back for them. With the authorities.”
Pete frowned, but he nodded. They started running for the canoes.
Over his shoulder, Patrick yelled, “This isn’t a drill. Get the canoes on the river.”
He grabbed one and started dragging it to the water. He glanced out at the river. A tiny island—more like a large sandbar—split the river in two for a little way. The willows and trees on it provided good cover. “Susanne, get in. Take Bert and Barry. Cross the river. Paddle on the other side of the island. Then down to the guard station.”
“But—”
“No buts. You can do this.”
“Of course I can. I taught canoe at summer camp when I was a teenager.” Her eyes bore into his. “I just don’t understand.”
“Do you trust me?”
“You know I do.”
“I love you.”
“Okay. I love you, too.” She loaded the little boys, slipped off her backpack, and grabbed the paddle as she got in.
“Go.” Patrick shoved the canoe off the bank as hard as he could, and she shot into the middle of the river.
“Bert, Barry, put on your life jackets,” he heard her say.
Patrick whirled and returned for another canoe. Pete was pushing a canoe with Perry, Vera, and Annie after Susanne. Patrick manhandled another canoe to the water. He snuck a glance down river. Les and Winthropp were headed their way, waving, but Hector and Diego were nowhere in sight.
He turned away from the men. “Mom and Danny, you’re with me.”
They loaded up, Danny sitting in the floor of the boat behind his brother on the front seat, Patrick’s mother in the middle. All three of them were wide-eyed. Their grips on the sides were white knuckled as Patrick ran them into the current and vaulted into the canoe. He didn’t even waste the time to take off his backpack, just started paddling like mad for the opposite shore. He heard a splash and looked back. Pete was launching the fourth canoe. Brian and Stan were with him. Good. That’s everyone. At least, everyone except Joe, Trish, and Bunny.
Patrick sent up a prayer. God, please, help my father find the girls, and let them be all right. It was all he could do for now, and it didn’t feel like nearly enough.
Then a crushing realization settled on Patrick. He hadn’t warned his father about the gold prospectors. But maybe it was okay. The men wouldn’t know Joe and the girls were with Pete, even if their paths crossed. And, what his father lacked in pleasantness, he made up for in grit and situational awareness. Joe Flint could do this. Patrick had to believe that.
But he couldn’t think about it anymore. Not now. Now, he had to get the group away from Les and Winthropp.
“Life jackets,” Patrick said.
Lana helped the boys with theirs, then cinched hers on. Ahead of them, Susanne and Vera had their canoes upright and were about to pass behind the little island. The current was fast but not too rough, and there weren’t any mid-stream hazards that Patrick could see. Of course, not every hazard was as obvious as a patch of rapids, a drop off, a boulder, or a fallen tree. Sometimes the danger was invisible, beneath the surface. Again, not something he could think about now.
He paddled quickly and was soon covered by the island and only a few yards behind the women. Susanne looked smooth, but Vera was jerky. Her canoe was having trouble maintaining course. His stomach roiled. There was nothing he could do to help her until he caught up with her. He settled into a paddling rhythm, concentrating on quick turnover, and smooth, strong strokes. Behind him, he heard Pete’s voice and the sound of his paddle splashing into the water.
The women broke from behind the island. Patrick had almost caught up with them. He passed out from behind cover as well. He glanced at the riverbank and didn’t see the prospectors. Good. They’d passed them.
But then he heard something else. More voices. Les was shouting after them.
Patrick didn’t think it was possible for his stress to rise any higher, but it did. He paddled faster.
Chapter Twenty-three: Discover
Yellowjacket Guard Station, Bridger-Teton National Forest, Wyoming
Friday, June 24, 1977, 2:15 p.m.
Patrick
Pete pulled his canoe alongside Patrick’s. Patrick was a little surprised his brother had caught up with him, since Patrick thought he had been paddling pretty hard. Could running be robbing his upper body of muscle mass? Maybe he needed to add weights to his workout schedule. Or maybe it was just his ankle injury affecting him without him realizing it. At least paddling was a lot easier on it than running.
Pete said, “Do you think they’ll come after us?”
Patrick stroked in an even rhythm on alternating sides of the canoe, trying not to make it obvious tha
t he was putting more effort into it now. “I can’t imagine they would, not unless they have watercraft handy. Or steal ours. Plus, you’d think they’d be put off by how many of us there are.”
“We’re mostly women and kids.”
“It’s still a lot of humans to deal with. What are they going to do, kill all of us? That would attract some attention. I can’t imagine it.”
“When I heard voices and crossed the creek to look for the people because I thought maybe they’d have a radio, I walked right up on them. They had a fortune in gold. Plus they’d excavated a cave that they said was filled with Indian artifacts. Some people would kill for that.”
For a moment, Patrick’s mind conjured up a cave of Tukudika treasures. Never mind the gold. The artifacts would have lasting value. He hoped the gold-hungry men didn’t destroy them, carelessly or on purpose.
Patrick’s canoe bumped into Pete’s, so he ruddered to the left. “But chasing down a group of our size? It doesn’t make sense.”
“With normal people, I’d agree, but that Les was crazy.”
Patrick nodded. “I heard him.”
“Crazier even than he sounded, man. You had to see him up close to understand. The guy is scary. And Winthropp didn’t seem like he was all there either. He did whatever Les told him to do, like a robot.”
Patrick didn’t like the sound of this. “What was that they were saying about killing someone already?”
“You heard that, too, huh? Some guy named Jimbo who was their partner and got crossways with Les. That’s what has me most worried. They know that I know they murdered someone out here.”
And now, by extension, they’d think anyone Pete was with would know, too. The odds of them pursuing the Flints might be higher than Patrick had figured.
Patrick suddenly remembered the body that had come to the canoe shop on the trailer. “Jimbo. I’ll bet he was the dead guy that floated down the river.”
“That would be my guess.”
They crossed under the footbridge. Susanne’s and Vera’s canoes were side by side. Susanne appeared to be coaching Vera on paddling, and Vera’s canoe looked more under control. On the riverbank, a big-eared mule deer doe and fawn lifted their heads from the water to watch them. The doe bounded off. The spindly-legged fawn went after her, but with none of her grace or speed.
Susanne turned back toward them, and the nose of her canoe drifted in the same direction as her head. “Patrick, what’s going on?” She stuck a paddle in the water as a rudder and corrected her course.
Patrick dug his paddle in harder and increased his rhythm. He eased up when he reached the stern of her canoe and drifted in beside her. Vera’s canoe was on his other side. Sweat dripped down his forehead. He wiped it with his sleeve.
“Hey, guys,” he said.
Susanne said, “Who were those men?”
Patrick paused before answering her, eying Perry for a second to assess his condition. His face was pale and pinched. Patrick was worried. He didn’t want to think about the damage bleeding and swelling could be doing to his son’s brain at that very moment. All the more reason to move downriver as fast as they could.
He turned to his wife and lowered his voice. The kids might still be able to hear him, but they’d have to work harder for it. “They’re gold prospectors, and they’ve had a major discovery. Pete ran into them on Trout Creek. Unfortunately, they’re territorial about their find, and they’re nuts. When I came up on them, they were going to kill Pete so he wouldn’t tell anyone about it.”
“What?” Her tone was skeptical. He didn’t blame her. It defied logic.
Vera must have had hearing like an owl. “What did they do to you, Pete?” She did not choose to keep her voice low.
Pete, who was now right behind the other three canoes, said, “I’m fine.”
“It doesn’t sound fine. And this was over gold?”
Annie hugged herself. “Why would men want to hurt you because of gold, Daddy?”
“I don’t know, Annie Oakley. It doesn’t make sense, does it? But all they did was tie me up, and then they left. Uncle Patrick found me and cut me loose. That’s all. Really.”
Stan’s voice was grave and his eyes huge. “Were you scared?”
“A little bit.”
“But they’re still after you?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
Lana said, “They’re the ones who murdered the guy that floated downriver, aren’t they?”
“Oh, my God,” Susanne said. “Trish, Bunny, and Joe are still out there, and so are those men.”
Patrick scowled. “The prospectors don’t have any reason to feel threatened by Joe and the girls, though, even if their paths do cross. If Pete hadn’t seen the gold, he wouldn’t have had a problem with them, either.”
Bert piped in. “Will Bunny be all right?”
Patrick nodded. “Your cousin Trish is a smart girl. And Joe Flint is one tough hombre. He’ll find Trish and Bunny, and he’ll keep them safe.”
Perry spoke, but his voice was wobbly. “Those guys that were fishing are back on Trout Creek, too. The Hilliards. What if they try to hurt them?”
“I don’t think they will. And I don’t think they’ll hurt us either. We just need to get out of here and get Perry to the hospital.”
Vera started to cry again.
Pete reached across the water for her hand, letting his canoe drift for a moment. “Bunny will be all right, love.”
“But there are grizzlies out there.”
Pete smiled at her. “But lots of people. No bear is going to hang around this river. It’s like Grand Central Station.”
Patrick wouldn’t have gone that far, but there had been a fair number of people on Trout Creek. “Here’s our landing.”
They’d reached the pebbly beach that led to the guard station. He turned toward the shore and accelerated his paddling until the canoe beached. Then he jumped out and pulled it further up the bank, wincing when he stepped on the foot with the injured ankle, although the cold water did feel numbingly good.
His mother shifted her weight forward in her seat like she was going to stand.
“Just a minute, Mom. I’ll come back for you.”
Lana shooed him with her hand. “Your father and I canoed in the Ozarks every summer with you kids. I know my way around a canoe.” She exited with balance that surprised him. Then his memories surfaced. With chagrin, he pictured his mother—young and strong—paddling him and Pete as they fished the Mulberry River. His father wasn’t in the frame. That wasn’t unusual. Joe hadn’t changed much over the years. So, yes, his mother had always been a lot more capable than he gave her credit for.
Patrick hauled Susanne’s canoe in and shot a glance back upriver. He thought he saw movement on the far shore where they’d last seen the prospectors, but they were too far away to be sure what it was.
As some of the kids started to get restless, he said, “Everybody stay put until we get all the canoes in, then Pete and I will help you out.”
Pete beached his and Vera’s canoes. Then, the brothers lifted the smaller kids and helped them through the shallow, rocky water and to the firm ground. Susanne got out by herself. Vera tried, but she lost her balance and fell backwards. When her tush hit the icy water, she screamed. Not the “having fun, gosh the water’s cold” kind of scream, but an “I’m at the end of my rope” kind. Pete hurried over to her. He hauled her up, then in for a hug, even though she was sopping wet. Her scream had ended in a strangled sob.
Patrick joined Susanne. He whispered into her hair. “It’s going to be all right. We made it back to the cars. Now we just have to drive down the mountain.”
She turned to him and put her arms around his waist. She fit so perfectly, it was like they had been made for each other. Two halves of a whole. Patrick pulled her close. Her heart beat so hard he could feel it against his own chest.
“Patrick, I’m scared about Trish.”
“Dad will find her.”
“And Perry.”
“We’ll get him to the hospital.”
“And the men.”
“I just checked, and I don’t see them coming after us.” He rocked her from side to side. “But I still think we should get moving.” He released her but grabbed her hand. “Come on everyone.”
Susanne stopped. “Do we have the keys?”
Patrick’s stomach dropped. “I sure hope so. They were in the front pocket of the Army surplus backpack.”
“That one was in our canoe,” Susanne said.
Patrick went back for the pack, waiting until he had it on the shore to check for the keys. He dug in the pocket and found both sets.
He grinned and held them up. “Got ‘em. Now, last one to the cars is a rotten egg.”
His teasing fell flat, and no one except Danny ran to the vehicles. The boy was a little speed demon, and he slapped the hood of the station wagon while the others were still twenty yards away. Patrick cocked his head as he looked at it and then the Suburban. Something seemed different about the vehicles. They were lower. Like they’d sunk in the mud.
Scapegoat: A Patrick Flint Novel Page 11
