Black Tide Rising

by R. J. McMillen

  It was the second runner who spoke. Walker reversed his paddle in mid-thrust and nosed the canoe back into the shore.

  “Another one?”

  “Yeah. Jared changed the teams. Made them two men each so he could send out three instead of two. We stuck with the guy on the trail. One of the teams went south, toward Yuquot. The third headed northwest, then turned east. Came back down through the forest. It’s slow going through there, but there’s some deer trails we can follow. The guys that went toward Yuquot came back yesterday. They didn’t see anyone. No tracks. No people. Nothing. Not even anyone on that white man’s trail along the outside coast. The guys on the other team came back a couple of hours ago. They found another track.”

  Walker stared at him, his mind racing. “They see who it was?”

  “Nope. But whoever it is, they’re moving real slow. Stopping a lot. Hiding in the ferns. Looks like they’re following a creek. Don’t want to be seen, that’s for sure. They already crossed a couple of the branch roads.”

  “They? You think it’s more than one?”

  “No. Just one. Someone small too. Hardly makes an imprint, even where the ground’s soft.”

  Walker thought for a minute. “You know where that creek comes out?”

  “Yeah. It crosses the main road up high and then kinda follows it down, but a bit farther to the north. Comes out into Tahsis Inlet, just past the north end of Kendrick, maybe three or four miles above the log dump.”

  The two runners melted into the forest, and Walker let his canoe drift back down to the lagoon. The tide was ebbing, the current running hard toward the open ocean. It swept around the eastern point and into the lagoon. It would make it difficult for him to get back to Kendrick Arm, although he knew he could do it. Just take him longer, that’s all. He glanced up at the sky, lit only by the last faint glow of day in the west and the first pale glimmer of stars in the east. The runner had been right. There wasn’t going to be much of a moon tonight. It was past its first quarter, and wouldn’t be more than a thin crescent when it lifted above the horizon. Better than a full moon as far as the current was concerned, but not a lot, and almost useless for visibility. He had some hard paddling ahead. If he left now, it would take him maybe six or seven hours. If he waited till slack, it would still be six or seven hours, but he could spend three of them sleeping. He grinned. He still had a key to Dan’s boat, and it was only a short distance away. Three hours sleeping on that big settee would be nice. Might even grab himself a couple of those snack bars Dan was always munching on—not that he would ever admit it to Dan.

  —

  Walker was back in his canoe by midnight, fed, rested, and ready to go. He had slept for just over three hours, eaten some crackers and cheese, drunk half a pint of juice, and put four snack bars in his pocket. The tide had turned and the current was just starting to flood. It wasn’t going to be much help to him for another hour or two, but at least it wasn’t working against him. The moon was up, laying a thin sheen of silver on the water. Not bright enough to light his way, but enough to keep him clear of the rocks, and that was all he needed.

  He leaned back and gazed up at the stars, trying to fix his position. There weren’t many clouds to obscure them. The Big Dipper was clearly visible, and both Polaris and Vega were bright against the blackness of the night. Flexing his shoulders, he dug his paddle deep into the water and headed north, out into the open ocean and the rock-strewn shore of Nuchatlitz Marine Park and, beyond that, Esperanza Inlet. He would figure out his options as he went.

  Ten years ago, after being released from jail, Walker had decided to return not only to his village, but to his roots. While he wasn’t obsessive about it, he chose to live in the traditional way of his people: close to the earth and in harmony with it. He lived beside the water because it allowed him easy access to his canoe. He used the canoe to get food from the ocean, which he supplemented with berries and plants from the shore. He took shelter in a cabin he had built from driftwood washed up on the beach. It was a simple life, and he made simple choices. But the choices for what he should do when he arrived in Tahsis Inlet weren’t simple.

  His first choice was to head into Kendrick Arm and find Dan so he could let him know not only the description of the man on the road, but also about the second track. The description might not be of any immediate help, but the rest of the information very well might, and the news of a second track was something Walker knew Dan would definitely want to know. Margrethe’s name had not been mentioned the last couple of times the two men had been together, but Walker knew the fate of the woman was always on Dan’s mind: he had seen the worry and the sadness in his friend’s eyes, and this news would bring him new hope. Walker figured Dan needed that right now, because it wasn’t just Margrethe who was haunting him. Whatever had gone wrong between Dan and Claire was dragging him down as well.

  But even as he thought about it, Walker realized that no matter how important the information was for Dan, the plan simply wasn’t feasible. Dan would be holed up somewhere, watching for the two men he thought had stolen the boat. Walker couldn’t drag himself out of his canoe and stumble his way through the trees, trying to find him. Even if he tried, it would take too long and make so much noise that the bad guys, as Dan called them, would hear him from miles away. And there was nothing Dan could do about this second person anyway, even if it was Margrethe. He couldn’t be in two places at once.

  That left choice number two, which was to head straight for the creek and start moving up it. With luck, it would be one of the ones he had paddled before, wide and deep enough to allow access, and without waterfalls and rapids. Once he was there, it shouldn’t be too hard to find anyone who was following it down. Walker had a knack for sensing when someone was near. In his opinion, it was one of the few gifts the Creator had given him, maybe the only one, and he had worked hard to develop it. He had spent countless hours sitting silent, reaching out with all his senses, searching for the faint vibration, the slight disturbance that every living thing created in the force fields of the earth. He had become very good at it. But would it be enough? How would Margrethe—if it was Margrethe—react when she saw a Native man in a canoe? The man who had kidnapped her was likely at least part Native—and he probably looked a lot less threatening than Walker himself, with his over-developed torso and crippled legs, his long hair braided with a leather thong, and the flat, black stare that frightened almost everyone he had ever met. Would she come out of hiding when he called her, or would she run in the opposite direction? If he drove her deeper into the forest, he might be signing her death warrant. And even if he did convince her to come to him, would she be willing to get into the canoe? Dan had said she was terrified of boats.

  Walker shook his head and focused his eyes on the dark water. He was overthinking things. He was a simple man, and he liked simple solutions. He would go to the creek and look for Margrethe. All he could do was his best. The rest was up to fate—and the spirits.

  —

  A little over six hours later he found the mouth of the creek. The sun had been up for more than an hour, but it was just now appearing over the tall peaks of the Coast Mountains, spilling a warm, golden light down the steep slopes and into the inlet. Its slanted rays shone deep into the forest and caught the ripple of the moving water as it tumbled toward the ocean.

  Walker turned the canoe and headed into the creek, using his paddle to lift and push the tiny craft over the shallow gravel estuary and into the main channel. It narrowed a little as he ducked under some overhanging trees, but then widened out again, and he entered a different world. Even the early light on the inlet was cool green here, colored not only by the trees but by the moss and ferns that lined the banks. Other than an occasional burble from the water flowing past, he could hear only the soft morning chatter of birds.

  He steered the canoe toward the northern bank, where low branches and exposed roots provided a handhold he could use to anchor himself as he reached out into th
e forest with his eyes, ears, nose, skin, and spirit. The air smelled green and fecund, full of new growth and rich earth. Small butterflies fluttered between newly unfurled leaves that whispered in the slight breeze, and a pair of bright yellow warblers darted through the branches. After five minutes he moved on, using the same branches and roots to pull himself silently forward against the weak flow of water. He had sensed nothing out of place, no movement, no smell, no sound other than the scurrying of small animals starting their day. Nothing.

  He stopped again after another few minutes, watching, listening, sensing. Again there was nothing except the normal comings and goings of the forest residents.

  Again he moved. Stopped. Sensed.

  Nothing.

  Again. And again. And again. Still there was nothing.

  The loud snap of a broken branch and a shuddering movement in the undergrowth pulled him instantly to a stop, but then he caught the wet-dog scent of a bear and moved forward again.

  An hour passed. Then two. Still there was no sign of a human presence. The steep bank disappeared as he rounded a bend, and the creek widened as it swept around a gravel bar. The trees were not quite as close together here, perhaps because the gravel was less conducive to growth, and Walker saw five shapes slipping through the shadows between the trunks. Wolves. Probably off for a day of hunting. There were more of them since the logging companies had started work. Lush grass grew in the clearings the loggers left behind, and that had allowed the deer to flourish. They in turn provided food for the wolves. He had seen several wolf packs on his previous visits to the island, but this one looked different. One of them was pure white.

  The sun climbed to the middle of the sky, peering down at him through the canopy, and still he had found nothing. He rounded yet another bend and for the first time heard the sound of fast-running water. Rapids. They were still some distance ahead, but they were there, and there was a good chance they would block his passage. He pushed on. He would go as far as he could and then wait. Perhaps the woman had not made it down this far yet.

  A flock of birds erupted from the forest perhaps fifty yards ahead and fifty yards to his right. Walker grabbed a loose root that was sticking out of the eroded bank and brought the canoe to a halt. Seconds later he heard a flurry of movement in the undergrowth as animals ran in panic, and a deer and fawn burst out of the forest and splashed through the creek ahead of him. It had to be her. Jared’s men walked quietly. So quietly that the birds and animals ignored them. They were part of the forest. This was an intruder.

  He pushed off and guided the canoe to the opposite shore, then used the bank and the trees to pull his way upriver. The forest had become still and silent. The sound of the water seemed louder in the hush. When it came, the crack of a twig breaking sounded like a rifle shot. Walker waited to see if it came again. It didn’t.

  “Margrethe?” he called. “It’s okay. My name’s Walker. I’m a friend of Sanford. I’ve come to take you home.”

  • TWENTY-FIVE •

  Dan figured it was around four-thirty in the morning. It was still too dark to see his watch, but he knew the sun rose a little after five at this time of year, and the first pale glow of light was staining the eastern sky, throwing the jagged crests of the mountains into sharp relief. He also knew where both of the men he was tracking were: the match flare, and the brief argument that had followed it, had shown him their location. They weren’t far away from him, perhaps only a couple of hundred yards farther up the hill and a few yards off the road, hunkered down in the bush as he was. Too close for him to move, but too far away for him to make out what they were saying.

  Their presence confirmed his suspicions about both the ownership of the boat he had seen tied to the bank down below and what had happened to Leif Nielson, but it told him nothing about the reason they were here. He had assumed they had set up a meeting with Coffman, which meant they either had some way of communicating with him or had been involved with everything from the start, including the murder and the kidnapping. But now he wasn’t so sure. If they were meeting Coffman, then why were they hiding? Why wouldn’t they just wait on the boat, which had to be more comfortable than the rough, damp ground that Dan also was forced to lie on? So maybe it wasn’t Coffman’s trail Jared had located—in which case Dan’s whole theory went out the window.

  He flexed his shoulders and worked the muscles in his arms and legs, aware that every sound he made might attract attention. The judo katas had been finished hours ago, and new constellations had appeared above his head, each following the other until the stars disappeared altogether. He hadn’t planned on being here this long—hadn’t planned at all, if he were to be honest. As usual, he had simply acted. Followed the scent like a damn tracking dog without a master to guide him. Maybe he should go back to the city and rejoin the squad. Regular hours—at least for most of the time. A lieutenant and a staff sergeant to assign duties. Support personnel to handle the grunt work. A team to work with rather than this lone-wolf stuff. And he could go home at the end of the day to his own bed …

  An image of the house he had shared with Susan rose unbidden before him, and he squeezed his eyes closed to hold the memory back. He wouldn’t think about that. It was over. He had put it behind him. Moved on. He couldn’t go back. Now he had Claire … He clamped his jaw shut on a groan. No, he didn’t have Claire. He had screwed that up too. What the hell was the matter with him?

  “He ain’t coming.”

  The sound of a voice snapped him back to the present and pulled him out of the bog of self-pity he was wallowing in. The men were moving. Dan pushed himself lower into the bushes and twisted his head toward the rustle of branches.

  “Yeah, he is. And I bet he’ll be here long before Stephanson shows up.”

  “I dunno, man. This whole thing is fucked. With our luck, Stephanson’s already been and gone.”

  “Jesus! Give it a rest, will you. The man is coming. All we have to do is watch that road and we’ll see him. Now get down to the boat and see if you can find something to eat, and then get back out here. We need to take care of that little bastard before Stephanson gets here.”

  The men passed within twenty feet of where Dan lay hidden. Two of them, one tall and heavyset with dirty-blond hair, one small and dark. Rainer and Sleeman for sure. But if Coffman was the guy on the trail, who the hell was Stephanson?

  Dan watched as the two men moved away from him and Rainer disappeared from sight, then listened to the sounds of their voices as they continued their conversation. Only when he was sure Sleeman was no longer moving did he carefully push himself up into a crouch. He needed to call in some help—would have done it earlier if he’d been able to—and then find himself a better place to hide. If he stayed where he was, they just might fall over him when they left the boat again.

  Moving slowly, he made his way back toward the logging camp. He had to stay hidden in case the men left the boat sooner than expected, which meant staying low and working his way through the bush. He had barely made it halfway when he heard doors slamming and a generator starting. The logging camp was waking up. Maybe an hour, hour and a half, for breakfast, and then there would be traffic on the road, first the vans and pickups taking the loggers to the cut block, and later the logging trucks and the machinery operators. If Jerry Coffman hadn’t already made it here, the vehicles would probably push him back into the bush and slow him down. That might give Dan breathing space, and maybe enough time to get some backup in place.

  He moved out onto the road as he neared the camp. If either of the two men happened to be looking, he was far enough away to be mistaken for one of the camp occupants. As he neared the trailers, the tantalizing aroma of bacon and pancakes drifted out to greet him. The cooks were already at work. His mouth watered, and his stomach growled. He was hungry. He hadn’t eaten since that damn granola bar yesterday afternoon. Maybe he could grab a couple of slices of bread, make a bacon and egg sandwich, before he went back to his surveillance. If that
wasn’t possible, at least he knew where to go when the time came: the loggers were stumbling out of their trailers, all drawn as if by a magnet to the source of that smell.

  The friendly babel of voices died as he entered the eating area, and in the ensuing silence, a dozen men all turned to stare at him. After a few seconds, one of them stood up and made his way toward him.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Dan smiled and held out his hand.

  “Dan Connor. I’m with the RCMP.”

  The man took the proffered hand, but there was no answering smile.

  “Bob Mackay. I run the camp. Haven’t seen you around here before. Who are you with?”

  “Victoria,” Dan answered, silently cursing the fact that he had no ID. “I’m working on a case with the North Island Division. You’re welcome to call them.”

  Bob Mackay nodded slowly, then inclined his head.

  “You’d better come in. You can join us for breakfast if you like. There’s plenty to go round.”

  “Thanks,” Dan answered. “I could really use something. I’ve been up all night. But first I need to call my boss. There are a couple of guys here on the island that we need to pick up.”

  “These guys some of yours? RCMP?”

  “Nope.” Dan shook his head. “They’re on the other side. They’ve all done some time, and are maybe headed for more. We’re looking at them for a couple of pretty nasty crimes.”

  “This anything to do with that kid that got murdered over at Friendly Cove?”

  Dan shook his head. He had forgotten how efficiently the gossip network worked in these remote areas. “I can’t answer that,” he replied. “Right now, we just need to pick them up and ask them some questions. You got a phone I could use? I need to get some guys here as quickly as possible—and then I need to get back out there.”

  “Yeah, sure. Got one in the office.” Bob started toward the door, then veered over to the food counter. “Hey, Lee,” he called to someone in the kitchen. “Can you put together a bacon and egg sandwich for this guy? We’ll be back to get it in five.”