The sheriff’s car had been full of gas and Rene had siphoned and then splashed it along a quarter mile of woods before he’d set the vehicle on fire. He’d put the hose he’d used to siphon the gas in Ken’s hand. The fire investigation would reveal Ken’s body and the arson equipment in Ken’s hand, if the fire didn’t turn the whole scene into ashes. Rene had set a warehouse on fire once. He knew the drill with gasoline and making sure there was a clear exit before lighting the match.
The fiercely burning sheriff’s car had made a curious popping noise as Rene had driven away, after making sure the fire would spread. Rene didn’t know anything about setting fires in the forest, really, but how different could a forest fire be?
Now the second Park Ranger truck roared up the road, this time turning into the Devils Tower highway. It thundered past Rene’s hiding place, a small turnout that held a parking spot behind part of the crumbling bluffs that dotted the landscape. Rene supposed it was a camping spot for people who didn’t want to pay the fee to enter the national monument. If a Ranger checked it while evacuating the tourists, another cop would die. Rene didn’t care. He had enough ammunition in his bag to take care of a dozen cops and Joe Tanner’s friends, too.
Rene checked his Glock. It was a nice weapon, small and deadly, and he itched to make use of it. He settled back into his seat and let the cold air from the vents blow across his face. It wouldn’t be long now.
Devils Tower, Wyoming
“Dad,” Eileen said. She stepped close to him. She took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes. “You know what to do. It’s hard, but it’s okay. We don’t have time for anything else.”
Paul looked at her and squeezed her hands. For a moment they were alone, the two of them, father and daughter. He was so capable, so intelligent, and he was frantically looking for a solution that would save them all. Eileen knew instantly that this was impossible. There were thirteen people and only five horses.
“They can bring back help?” he whispered.
“They can make a Park Ranger stay, with a truck,” Eileen said. Paul’s eyes instantly relaxed and his shoulders dropped.
“Of course,” he said. He turned away from her. The remains of breakfast lay scattered on the pine needles, where all of them had dropped their plates and forks. Eileen could see her mother eyeing the mess with a distracted air. Tracy never littered. Howie stood, relaxed and alert, while Jimmy worked his hands into fists again and again. Eileen wondered if Jorie realized that Nolan was standing next to her. Her face was shocked, but she seemed calm and her color was good. Mark Plutt and Doug, the Schwan’s man, stood next to Nolan, their faces mirrors of dismay.
“Rene set the fire,” Joe said flatly. “He figured he couldn’t find us, so he’ll just smoke us out.”
“We’ll worry about that later,” Paul said. “I’m going to send Howie, Jimmy, Mark and Nolan out on the horses. Doug, I’m going to send you ahead on Brumby.”
“Doug?” Eileen asked. “On Brumby?”
“Hush, Eileen,” Paul snapped. “Doug’s the best rider in the county. He can ride Brumby ahead to the Ranger Station. Have them keep a truck behind for us, when they evacuate. The rest of us will hurry as fast as we can to the Tower, then down to Devils Junction and the highway.”
“You’re asking us to abandon you?” Howie said incredulously.
“I’m asking you to go for help,” Paul said patiently. “We won’t get there in time to tell the Rangers that there are people who need help. You can. Don’t argue or we’ll all die.”
Eileen could smell smoke in the air, though the sky remained blue and blameless. The elk hadn’t been the only visitor, either. As Paul spoke, a brace of rabbits ran through the clearing, ears erect and bottoms thumping up and down. The forest was alive with tiny, unseen movement. The animals were clearing out.
“I’m not going. Send Jorie out,” Nolan said calmly.
“I can’t ride a horse,” Jorie snapped. “I don’t know how.”
“Then I’ll stay,” he said implacably. Jorie stared at him, hands curling into fists, then abruptly turned away and picked up her pack.
“Eileen,” Paul started, and Eileen held up her hand.
“No, Dad,” she said. “I have to stay with Joe. I’m the only one trained to take on Rene.”
“I’ll go,” Tracy said. She stepped towards Lucy and held out her hand. “I’m the only one besides Eileen who can ride with a child. Will you let me take him?”
Lucy stood, Hank on her hip, staring at Tracy. Her face filled slowly with horrified dismay. Eileen knew what Lucy finally understood. The ones left behind might not make it out. Tracy was giving Lucy a chance to save her son.
“Of course,” Lucy said, obviously forcing her face and voice to smoothness. “Hank, you get to take another horsy ride.”
“Saddle up,” Paul said, and there was a scramble for the horses. Within minutes the five horses were saddled. Doug saddled Brumby himself and vaulted to the back of the huge brown horse with an athletic grace that made Eileen blink in astonishment. Brumby tried to bite Doug in the leg and Doug kneed the horse in the head and yanked hard on the bit. Brumby reared once and then settled down, ears twitching.
Paul stood at Brumby’s head, holding the bridle. He was erect as a soldier, his face turned up to the younger man. Doug looked down at him, his face set, his mouth a thin, determined line.
“Run Brumby, Doug. Run him all the way out, if you have to.” Paul dropped the reins and gave Brumby a heavy blow to the hindquarters. Brumby launched like an arrow towards the trees. Doug crouched over his back, urging him forward, and they disappeared into the trees. For a moment there was the thudding of hooves and then there was silence.
Paul turned to Tracy and took her in his arms. Eileen looked away as Paul kissed Tracy with the passion he never showed in public, cupping her face in his hands with the care of a man holding a priceless treasure. When she looked back, Tracy was already wrapping a blanket across her chest, tying it in the back in an ungainly, sturdy knot. Lucy kissed Hank tenderly and handed him to Ted, who kissed him on the forehead and handed him up to Tracy, who’d mounted Starlight. Tracy, her face white and set, took the little boy and snuggled him into the blanket. He began to wail as he realized he wasn’t going to sit on the saddle, but Tracy’s odd sling kept him pressed against the length of her chest.
“We’ll get help,” she said, and kicked Starlight into motion. Howie and Jimmy followed, then Mark. They disappeared into the trees towards Devils Tower.
Eileen suddenly realized what her father had said to Doug. Doug was going to run Brumby to death to save them. She saw Ted and Lucy standing together, holding hands, looking shocked and lost. Lucy was struggling with tears, lips trembling.
“Let’s go, already,” Jorie snapped. She had her pack on. “The fire won’t even get here for hours yet, I’ll bet. Let’s go!”
Eileen picked up her own pack and felt the bundle within it. For a moment she considered abandoning her pack and then she decided against it. Jorie was right; they had hours before the fire got there. Probably. Maybe.
“In twos, everyone,” Paul said. “Don’t stray. Make sure you have a water bottle and don’t carry a pack. Eileen. Lose the pack.”
“I have to keep it, Dad,” she said.
“Drop it if you start falling behind. Let’s get moving. Zilla, let’s go.”
Already the sky was turning white, though Eileen knew the sky would be white miles from the fire. Joe was at her side as she left the clearing. The area was littered with plates and flatware and the saddle packs that had held all the gourmet food and equipment for last night’s supper and this morning’s breakfast. Earlier, Paul had buried and drowned the fire and neatly set the grill within the rock ring, which struck Eileen as almost funny. She spotted the coffee pot, an enameled metal pot that had seen her through her own childhood, and felt something she refused to name. She tightened her pack and followed Lucy and Ted through the trees.
Devils T
ower, Wyoming
When they scrambled up the last ridge and saw the well-worn path in front of them, Howie whooped breathlessly. Pirate, nearly done in, shook his mane and managed a trot as they followed the trail towards the Visitors Center. Devils Tower, so close they were literally within its shadow, was wreathed in smoke.
Howie had been to the Visitors Center with Paul just two days ago. It seemed like another life. Two days ago the road and the parking lots were jammed with people and vehicles. Now the parking lot was eerily silent, empty except for a single ancient Subaru that squatted like an abandoned dog at the end of the lot.
“Doug. Brumby,” Tracy gasped. Hank had finally fallen silent in the wrapped blanket around her chest. He had wailed and screamed, calling for his parents, then fell quiet. Tracy, fighting a toddler and guiding the horses along the trail, was exhausted. Her hair was sweat-soaked and clung to her forehead and neck. Her eyes were dark holes in her face and her mouth was open in a gasping sob.
Howie looked to where she was pointing and whooped again. Brumby, lathered from withers to rump in white foam, but alive, was tied up at the Visitors Center, and there was a truck there. A big one, some kind of utility truck with a crew cab. It was painted the horrible pale green of the Forest Service, and it was the most beautiful thing Howie had ever seen.
Doug came out of the Visitors Center with a Park Ranger at his side. The Ranger was old, slender as a cane, with a head of white hair and an enormous mustache that made him look like Mark Twain. The ranger looked at them and waved as they trotted up.
“Paul Reed? Still back in the woods, Tracy?”
“Yes, Don,” Tracy wheezed. “Help. Truck.”
“Got all that,” Don the Park Ranger said with a tense smile. “Afraid I have another worry on my mind right now.”
“What’s that?” Howie asked sharply.
“Look for yourself,” Don said, and waved his hand at the Tower. Howie turned to look and saw nothing.
“Oh, no,” Mark said. “On the Tower, Howie. Not in front of it. On the Tower.”
There were four climbers on the Tower, bright specks of red, yellow, green and purple, like crayons spilled from a box. They were working their way down, rappelling down the enormous stone columns, but they were still a third of the way from the bottom.
“Oh, shit,” Howie said tiredly.
“That’s not all,” Doug said. “The Lakota here have refused to go, too.”
“Four Native Americans, one for each of the climbers. Some ceremony of theirs. They won’t leave until the climbers leave. So that’s eight people, plus me, plus your seven. Too many for my truck.”
“Then we’ll ride the horses to the Junction and have them send another truck,” Tracy said.
“You’ll have to ride to the Junction, anyway,” Don said. “I’m the only one left and I need to make sure we get these people out.”
“They can fit in your truck,” Doug said, mounting Brumby with quick, economical grace. Brumby looked as wicked as ever, despite the sweat and foam that drenched his sides. “They can squash into the back and in the cab. Just wait for them, please, Don.”
“I won’t leave Paul Reed,” Don said to Tracy. “I’ll wait until there’s no hope, Miz Reed. And if I know Paul, he’ll bring them out. And I do.”
“You’ll probably pass us on the road,” Doug said cheerfully. “Come on, you guys, the Junction is only a few miles away and it’s all downhill. They’ve got helicopters coming in, and Hot Shot firefighters from Montana. They’ll have this fire licked by nightfall.”
Howie looked back at the Tower as they walked the tired horses down the road. Tracy insisted they walk, giving the horses a chance to regain their wind. The stone column was layered in smoke, more of it now. The top of the Tower was in the clear sky and Howie remembered Tracy’s story. There was something else, too, that the sight of the Tower was telling him. Something that resonated with their own situation, about being hunted…
They were nearly a quarter of the way down the long, curving road when he remembered, suddenly, what was nudging at the back of his mind. He kicked Pirate into a gallop and shouted at Doug, who was leading the way on Brumby.
“Yeah?” Doug said, pulling up Brumby. “We can’t stop, Mr. Magnus, we have to go.”
“The guy,” Howie said, hating how out-of-breath he sounded. Well, he wouldn’t see eighteen again. “The guy who tried to kill you. Why did he set the fire?”
By this time the rest of the group had closed in, stopping their horses and listening. Starlight, Tracy’s horse, had enough energy to prance nervously. Horses hated fire and Starlight didn’t want to stop. Fair enough; Howie didn’t want to stop either.
“To kill us,” Mark said.
“To drive us out of the woods,” Howie said. “So he can kill us.”
“Oh, shit,” Doug said, at the same time as Jimmy.
“Get us off this road, Tracy,” Jimmy said. “Can you get us to the Junction off road?”
“I can,” Doug said. He looked furious. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I can’t believe –”
“No time,” Tracy said. “Doug, lead us. Howie, can you fire an arrow from horseback?”
“Yes,” Howie said. He’d kept his bow and quiver and they hung, ready for use, at his side.
“Mark?”
“I don’t think so,” Mark said. “I’m not—”
“Then take this,” Tracy said, producing Paul’s .45 from her saddlebag. “I can’t hang onto Hank and a gun, too.”
Mark took the gun and put it awkwardly into his belt. Howie wondered if he’d have the courage to use it, if the time came. Doug urged a reluctant Brumby off the road and into the thick underbrush. Howie kicked Pirate in the ribs and they, too, left the comfortable road. A branch lashed across Howie’s face and he felt a sudden, unexpected rage for that man, Rene, and his pal. There would be dead and dying deer, elk and turkey in this forest before the end of the day. People, too, perhaps. All this just to find and kill a single man, to fulfill a contract that probably paid less than what Howie’s stocks provided him each quarter. Howie reached back and fingered his bow. If the time came, he wouldn’t hesitate, he promised himself. He’d feel worse about stepping on a cockroach than putting an arrow through that worthless creature’s chest. In fact, he’d positively enjoy it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Devils Tower, Wyoming
“The trail,” Paul said. “We’re nearly there.”
Lucy gasped in relief. A trail! The glimpse of the paved path almost brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them back harshly. There was no time for tears, not yet. She hadn’t cried when she gave her son to Tracy and she wasn’t going to cry until she had Hank back in her arms, and they were safe. Then she’d weep like a girl in a three-hanky movie. She’d use a box of tissues. Then she was going to get stinking drunk and start another baby with Ted. And go visit Mount Rushmore, because they’d missed it yesterday. And then –
“Stop for a minute,” Eileen said to her, and Lucy stumbled to a stop on a smooth, paved trail. They were there. Beside her, Ted breathed harshly, hands on his knees and his head down. He was suffering cruelly from altitude sickness but he hadn’t stopped, hadn’t sat on the ground and refused to move, the way Lucy was afraid he might, or she might. They were at the very base of the Tower, and Lucy could see south as the ground dropped away. She saw a long and lovely vista of woods and grassy meadows. There was a glint of water too. The Bell Fourche River ran through the valley like a slim silvery ribbon, silvery because the sky was gray with smoke.
“How close is the fire?” Nolan asked hoarsely. The smoke was thick around them but not anywhere near choking. There was no sign of fire either, no crackling sounds or visible flame. Lucy didn’t know how forest fires worked, but she suspected that when things got bad they would get very bad very quickly. She’d seen pictures on television of enormous flaming pine trees and exploding ridges of fire. Somewhere behind them, there was flame like that.
“Don’t know,” Paul said. He didn’t seem tired or out-of-breath. Lucy suspected that if she collapsed Paul would simply pick her up and carry her. There was a certain comfort in that. Jorie still carried her pack, mostly empty now. She’d dumped all her clothes and most of her other supplies a while back, leaving them in a neat little pile by a large, crooked tree. She tied a bright orange scarf to a branch of the tree, to mark her cache. Her confidence that she’d have a pile of clothes to return to helped Lucy’s attitude, at least for a while.
“The Visitors Center is half a mile from here,” Paul said. He was still looking around intently, head up and forward. Zilla, who’d been sitting on Paul’s back in a backpack modified for her, raised her head and put her nose in the air.
“Let’s go, then,” Nolan said, “We should –”
“Wait,” Eileen said. She, too, was looking in all directions. Lucy realized what they were doing in a sudden, heartstopping breath. They were looking for Rene, who might have killed the first group and who might now be waiting to ambush her. The image of Hank, her baby, screaming in agony as he died, was suddenly imprinted with ghastly clarity in her mind. She could see every detail, the blood and the bullets and her tiny innocent boy, bewildered and screaming as Rene, laughing, raised his pistol and –
She made a hiccupping sound and put her hands to her mouth.
“We would have heard gunfire,” Joe said quickly. Joe, who’d taken turns carrying Zilla and whose face was as pale and wretched as Ted’s, patted Lucy on the arm. His damaged eyesocket was a yellowish green, in the most garish stage of healing, and the fading bruise reached halfway down his face. The crusted stitches at his forehead had bled again today and were beaded with fresh blood. He looked like a comic book villain, half handsome Joe Tanner and half sideshow creature. His eyes remained all Joe. “It’s okay, Lucy.”
The Thirteenth Skull Page 26
