She felt her dad’s hand lift off her back and shake something. She looked over her shoulder and saw her dad’s and Grandpa Joe’s hands were clasped. Grandpa Joe had Bunny on his other hip.
Her dad released her. “Dad, what happened to your face?”
Trish looked at Grandpa Joe. Blood had dried on his forehead.
“He hit himself in the face with the damn paddle,” Bunny said.
There was a moment of silence, then a laugh exploded from Patrick, so Trish joined in. Bunny looked confused. Grandpa Joe’s expression never changed.
“Well, thank God you guys are okay, except for that, um, paddle.” Her dad took Bunny from Grandpa Joe and hugged her, too, then handed her back. “I hate to do this, but I have to get us out of here.” He nodded back over his shoulder. “There’s, um, there’s a grizzly over there with, um, fresh kill. I’ll take one of those canoes and you guys can follow me to catch up with the others. But whatever we do, we have to do it very, very quietly.” He looked away from the river, frowning. “Then we have to get to town fast.”
“A grizzly?” Trish whispered.
“Do you have any life jackets?” Grandpa Joe said, keeping his voice low. “I’d like to get some on Bunny and Trish.”
Trish would love that, too. “I went swimming, Dad. In the rapids.”
“You’re kidding me? You went in?” Her dad’s throat moved like he’d swallowed a frog.
Grandpa Joe put his hand on Trish’s shoulder. “She scared us good, but she did what she was told, and lived to tell about it.”
Her dad hugged her again “You’ll have to tell me all about it when we get to safety. I’m just so glad you’re all right.” When he released her, he walked to the other canoes. He brought back three life jackets. “These will be kind of big for you girls, but there are three here you can use.”
“Don’t those people need them?” Trish said.
A funny look crossed his face. “No. They’ll . . . understand.”
“Okay.” Trish took the life jacket he handed her and slipped into it. “Grandpa Joe said Perry has to go to the hospital.” She tightened the straps as far as she could. It was still a little big.
Her dad gave one to Grandpa Joe, then crouched to adjust a third one on Bunny. It swallowed her. “Yes.”
“Is he okay?”
“He hit his head. But I think he’ll be fine.”
Grandpa Joe pushed the canoe back onto the water. Her dad put Bunny on the middle seat. Grandpa Joe motioned for Trish to get in.
“Can I ride with you, Dad?” she said.
“Sure.” He walked quietly over to the canoes.
Trish went with him. “Are there bad guys chasing you, too?”
Her dad cocked his head at her as he pulled on the canoe. “How did you guys know that?”
Trish went to the other side of it to help him push.
“One of them got us.” Bunny’s high-pitched voice sounded wise beyond its years.
Trish’s dad shook his head. “Yeah. We’ve got them on our tail, too. Dad, we need to talk about—”
She heard a now-familiar squawk. For a moment, she worried the grizzly would hear it, too, and come after them. She shoved harder on the canoe.
A man’s voice said, “Hector, do you read me? Hector, come in.” The radio. It was muffled, but Trish could understand every word.
“What was that?” her dad said. He stopped pushing the canoe, and his face was scary.
She said, “Grandpa Joe took the man’s radio. That’s one of the men he was talking to. I recognize his voice.”
Grandpa Joe fished the radio out of the backpack.
The voice grew much louder. Grandpa Joe dialed back the volume, watching the trees like dad had been doing. Grizzlies tended to make people nervous like that.
“Hector, if you can hear us, we found ‘em. I thought I saw one of ‘em running up the river after they attacked us, and I was right. Booger’s unconscious. Diego is dead. Me and Winthropp are gonna make ‘em pay for what they did to us. I don’t think they’ve seen us, so we’re going after them on foot. Meet us near the last stretch of whitewater before the falls. South side of the river.”
Trish frowned and started looking all around them, even across the river. “Found them? Does he mean us?”
Her dad shoved their canoe the rest of the way into the water. It began to float. “Not us. The family. All the kids. Your moms. I’ve got to warn them. Help them. Trish, ride with Grandpa Joe. Dad, you find a place to hide the girls. Keep them safe. You can’t stay here with this bear.”
Trish’s mouth went dry. Her family. All of them.
Grandpa Joe frowned. “Be careful.”
“I will.” Her dad leapt in the canoe. He started paddling so hard that it shot away from them down the river, disappearing around a bend. He was gone so fast, Trish was dazed.
She turned to her grandfather. “We have to do something, too.”
Grandpa Joe grunted. “We’re staying out of your dad’s way. Now, get in the canoe before that grizzly finds you.”
Staying out of the way wasn’t enough. She lowered her face in her hands and started to cry.
Chapter Forty-three: Leap
South of the Tukudika River, Bridger-Teton National Forest, Wyoming
Saturday, June 25, 1977, 6:30 a.m.
Susanne
“Patrick should be here by now.” Susanne paced back and forth near the rest of the family. Her mother would have told her she was wearing a hole in the ground, she’d made so many loops of the small clearing in the trees. Her chest hurt like she was having a heart attack and she was short of breath. The thought of sitting made it worse.
Everyone else was sitting down, backs against rocks, backpacks, and trees. They’d left the canoes close to the river but moved further into the woods. The youngest of the kids had fallen asleep with their heads in adult laps. Lana was stroking Bert’s hair with her uninjured hand. Danny and his big sister were whispering about something and looking mischievous.
Susanne’s eyes lit on her son. Perry didn’t look good at all. His face was so pale and his eyes so dark that he was a miniature of Lurch from The Addams Family. Worse than that, he seemed uncoordinated and confused. He’d been lethargic and was having trouble staying awake. She was worried about him. She was worried about Patrick, about Trish, Bunny, and Joe, too. For that matter, she was worried about everything and everyone related to this trip.
She decided to expand her pacing a little further. Walking was the only thing she could think of to release some of her killer anxiety. “I’ll be back in a second.”
Vera nodded. Pete saluted. Perry didn’t look up.
“Want me to go with you, Aunt Susanne?” Brian stood.
He was such a great kid. “No, I’m good. I’m, uh, just making a trip to the ladies’ room. Thanks, though.”
She took off down river at a loose walk that was almost a trot. Slow down. Toe first. Weight on the back foot. Ease yourself forward. Repeat, slowly. She stopped and closed her eyes. She was silent fox-walking. Taking instructions from Patrick, even when he wasn’t here. Didn’t it just figure? She was so frustrated about the situation he’d put them in. And yet his was the voice she heard in her head, all the time. All the dang time. Right now, even though she was mad at him, she needed him more than ever. She hated that the group was separated. Hated being apart from him. Even at the worst of times, he was her one and only. Her partner. Her love. Her anchor. And without even meaning to, she’d been avoiding twigs, pebbles, and other noisemakers, because he was with her. A sad smile moved across her lips, and she started walking again.
A male voice carried through the woods to her.
Her smile drooped. She didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean the man wasn’t close. She moved behind a stand of trees and froze, listening.
“Me and Winthropp are gonna make ‘em pay for what they did to us. I don’t think they’ve seen us, so we’re going after them on foot. Meet us near the last str
etch of whitewater before the falls. South side of the river.”
She heard the electronic squawk of a radio. Or a walkie talkie. It was the men after Pete. The ones that had sent Booger. It had to be. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe without making a sound.
“Whatta we do now, boss?” It was a second male voice.
The first man answered him. “We need to go stash our canoes in the woods first. Then gather up our stuff. Follow me and be real quiet. They’ll never know we’re coming.”
All the blood rushed from Susanne’s face. No time. They had no time. She opened her eyes and nearly screamed. A hand clapped over her mouth. She started to struggle before she could see who had her. An arm pinned hers to her sides. She relaxed. Live to fight another day. Pick your battles. Again, it was Patrick’s voice in her head. She looked down at the arm encircling her. It was olive-skinned and bare. Further down she saw feet in tall moccasins, almost moccasin-boots. What the heck? Above the moccasins was a pair of buckskin pants. Light in color, scratched, worn, and soiled. Who has me?
The arm released her, and she turned and scuttled back so fast that she fell on her bottom. That was okay. She was so shocked, she couldn’t have stayed on her feet if she’d tried.
A man was staring at her. Slim, toned, shirtless, and terrifying. His hair was black and straight. It touched his shoulders. Two eagle feathers hung from a piece of leather that was braided into it. Stripes of red paint on his cheeks emphasized his sharp features.
An Indian. Here. Now. She didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He motioned for her to follow him.
She stood, ready to run in the opposite direction. But if she did, she’d run into the prospectors. Fine. She’d run back to her family on the path she’d taken to get here instead. But which way was that? She looked around and recognized nothing. A cry died in her throat. The man motioned for her again.
He held out his hand, then touched it to his chest. In a deep voice, he said something in a language she’d never heard. Then he reached his hand toward her again, palm up, fingers outstretched.
Behind her, she heard the voices of the prospectors as they walked back to their canoes.
No choice. She took the man’s hand.
Without another sound, he took off, guiding her through the woods. Susanne scrambled to keep up with him, to keep her feet under her. She was running. Running like the wind, pulled along by the man’s strong hand. Away from the prospectors. But even though they were running, they were silent. She slipped, she tripped, she stumbled, but he didn’t let her fall. Her terror ebbed. She felt something stronger than fear. Faith. She had faith that this man didn’t mean her any harm. That he wanted to help.
For long, heart-pounding minutes, they ran. Then the woods around her started to look familiar. As quickly as he’d taken her hand, he released it and pointed. She caught sight of her family through the woods.
She nodded. This wasn’t a game or a drill. They’d been discovered. She had to tell them. She had to get them moving.
In quick, silent strides, she burst into their midst.
Pete jumped to his feet, his expression alarmed. “What is it?”
She held a finger to her lips. Whispering, she said, “Don’t be scared of him. He’s helping me.”
“Who?”
She turned around. The man had disappeared. She hadn’t even had time to thank him. No time for that. “The prospectors found us. They’re coming. They’re on foot. We’ve got to get on the water. Now.”
“But Patrick—”
“We can’t wait for him. They said they’re going to make us pay. Come on.” She ran toward the canoes, then turned back. “Everyone grab a kid and move it.”
Finally, her hushed voice and words broke through to them. The group mobilized, running for the river. When they reached the spot where they’d left the canoes, though, they were gone.
“Did the prospectors beat us here?” Pete said. “Where are they?”
Susanne looked out to the river. Four canoes were lined up half-in, half-out of the water. “There.” She pointed.
“What the heck?” he breathed.
No time. “Come on.”
She sprinted to a canoe, and the others followed.
“The backpacks,” Vera said as she climbed in the rear of a canoe.
Perry loaded himself in front. Pete lifted Bert and Barry in and sat them together on the middle seat. He gave Vera’s canoe a push, and it sailed out toward the middle of the river, where it was widest.
Susanne looked downriver before getting in the rear of her own canoe. A hundred yards ahead, the water narrowed as it approached the rapids.
“No time to go back,” she shouted to Vera. “They have guns. Get to the other side.”
Vera started paddling. With all the weight in it, the canoe rode low in the water. “It’s too heavy.”
“You can do it, Vera,” Pete said. He turned his attention to the rest of the family. “Mom, you and Annie will be with me. Brian, Danny and Stan, you go with Aunt Susanne.”
“Yes, sir,” Brian said.
Pete helped the three kids in, then shoved Susanne’s canoe into the current. “Put your life jackets on.”
Brian shot him a thumb’s up.
From the trees, Susanne heard one of the men’s voices from earlier. “They’re getting away, Winthropp. Stop them.”
“Pete, they’re here. Hurry,” Susanne shouted. She paddled hard, harder than she thought she could, and pulled near Vera. “Vera, faster.”
Tears stained Vera’s cheeks. “Pete.”
“He’s coming. You can do it, Vera.”
Vera snuck a glance behind her, eyes wide. Then she wiped her face, nodded, and set her mouth in a grim line. She picked up her cadence.
Susanne felt something warm and soft mushroom inside her as she watched her sister-in-law. The woman seemed to mature and harden before her eyes. Vera would be okay. “Looking good,” Susanne said.
CRACK. CRACK.
“They’re shooting at us,” Brian screamed.
Susanne’s heart started beating like it was going to explode out of her chest. “Kids, get down.”
Danny, Stan, and Brian scrambled to the floor of the canoe.
CRACK. CRACK.
“That was me,” Pete called out. “They’re retreating.”
Susanne had forgotten about Booger’s gun. Gun. She had one in her own waistband and hadn’t even remembered it.
“Susanne.” It didn’t sound like Pete.
She couldn’t slow down, but she allowed herself a quick glance. The face she saw on the man paddling the canoe toward her was a Flint’s, but it was her Flint. Patrick was alongside her in a few strokes.
Susanne held back tears. “You made it. Thank God.”
“I hurried as fast as I could.”
“The prospectors found us. They’re shooting at us.
Pete pulled up on the other side of Patrick. “Were. They headed back into the woods. Is everybody okay?”
Slowly, children’s heads rose in all the canoes. Voices started shouting out reports. The consensus was that they were all fine, if a little scared.
“Uncle Patrick,” Brian sat up from the belly of Susanne’s canoe. “You made it.”
“I did.” Patrick stuck his paddle in the water, slowing his canoe down to keep pace with Susanne. “And I have good news. Dad found the girls.”
“Are they okay?” This time Susanne let her tears fall.
“They are. And they have one of the prospectors’ radios. We heard them transmit about finding you guys and coming after you. Dad is hanging back to keep the girls safe.”
“Thank the Lord,” Susanne said. It was the first good news in what felt like forever, even though it had been less than twenty-four hours since everything went haywire.
“That’s great news,” Pete echoed. “Vera will be so relieved.”
Patrick nodded. “But now, I’
d guess the prospectors will be heading downriver for their canoes. We should expect them to try to intercept us.” He glanced at the bottom of his boat.
“What is it?” Susanne studied his face.
He looked up at her, scowling. “My canoe is taking on water.”
The gunshots. Her voice was strident. “Were you hit?”
“Not me. But my canoe, I’m not so sure. A rock. A bullet. Something.”
“Is it going to sink?”
“Nah.”
She didn’t believe him. She’d seen the look on his face. But the most important thing is that the bullet hadn’t hit him.
The three of them caught up with Vera.
Pete called to her. “Dad found the girls. Bunny is all right, and she’s on her way here.”
Vera turned back to them, face ashen. It wasn’t the reaction Susanne had expected from Vera when her sister-in-law learned Bunny was safe.
“Vera, what is it?” Susanne said.
“Perry.” Vera gestured at the nose of the canoe, where only the top of Perry’s head was visible. “He stood up to help paddle, and he slipped and hit his head on the edge of the canoe. He won’t wake up.”
Chapter Forty-four: Duck
South of the Tukudika River, Bridger-Teton National Forest, Wyoming
Saturday, June 25, 1977, 7:00 a.m.
Patrick
As Patrick rushed over to Vera’s canoe, his midsection felt like it was going two rounds with Muhammed Ali. He grabbed the side of her canoe with one hand, walked himself to the front, and jostled Perry. “Son, wake up. No sleeping. You need to hang on in the whitewater, and we’ve got to get going.”
Perry didn’t respond. Patrick’s fears swirled through his head. A brain hemorrhage. Subdural hematoma. Epidural hematoma. A re-bleed, after he’d been holding his own. The medical jargon for the conditions ran through Patrick’s mind, the symptoms typed below the words like they were instructional slides in a projector, with Perry’s image front and center on each. He checked his son’s pulse and his breathing. Both were normal. But he’d been knocked unconscious again. And he hadn’t been himself that morning. Clumsy. A little confused. Patrick tilted Perry’s head to the side and gently lifted an eyelid. His pupils reacted when the sunlight hit them, but did one look different than the other? A little sluggish? He couldn’t tell. Patrick closed his own eyes for a split second. Dear God, help us get him to the hospital and please let him be all right.
Scapegoat: A Patrick Flint Novel Page 24
