Morgan's Hunter

by Cate Beauman

  She stood, shouldered her pack, grabbed his.

  “Why don’t you wait over by those trees while I finish this up?” He dropped clumps of dried needles, scattering them with his hand, careful not to leave any footprints behind. When he dumped the remainder on the ground and folded the map, he stepped back, examined the area with a critical eye.

  Satisfied the spot appeared untouched, Hunter brushed his hands off and grimaced when sap clung in patches. His index and middle finger stuck together as if they had been glued. “Well, shit.” He spread his palm wide, pulling them apart.

  Morgan snorted out a laugh, glanced down when his narrowed gaze met hers.

  “Can I get some sanitizer?”

  Biting the inside of her cheek, Morgan dug into the mesh pocket of the pack, handed him the small bottle. She cleared her throat. “Sticky, huh? I hate when that happens.”

  “I can really feel the empathy.” A grin spread over Hunter’s lips as humor danced in Morgan’s eyes.

  She aimed her killer smile in his direction as he squirted a large glob of liquid into his hands and rubbed them together. The alcohol in the sanitizer took care of most of the sticky mess. He handed the bottle back.

  “Better?” she asked.

  “It’ll do. Come on, we need to find a hiding spot.” He grabbed his pack, placed it on his back, watching the traces of fun vanish from Morgan’s face. He was sorry for it.

  They walked further into the thick of trees and waited.

  Minutes later, the armed guard stopped by the fallen log they had rested against. Thank God they’d chosen to move on. Things would have turned sour real fast if they hadn’t.

  The man scanned the area, went back the way he came. As his footsteps faded, Hunter nudged Morgan’s side, nodded. They rose from their crouched positions, stepped from their hiding place, followed behind at a safe distance.

  A thin dirt path cut through the forest of massive pines—just wide enough for them to walk side by side if Hunter angled his body next to Morgan’s. He bent his head close to her ear. Wisps of her hair tickled his cheek. “Be careful where you step. Try not to break branches with your pack or step on any large twigs. Let’s not give him any reason to circle back and check things out. We have a pretty good distance between us, but I don’t want to take chances.”

  Morgan nodded.

  “The guardhouse won’t be far once we get closer to the river,” Hunter continued. “We’ll have to be very careful through that area. I want to get as close to the house as we can. We’ll wait at a spot I saw on my first pass through. After this bastard heads back out, we’ll keep moving. If things go wrong, I want to deal with one machine gun at a time.”

  Morgan’s eyebrows shot up. “There’s a comforting thought.”

  “Just do what I tell you, and we won’t have a problem.”

  As one mile turned into two, the dense forest thinned. A cool breeze blew off the wide river’s edge. The hum of several engines echoed in the air.

  “What in the world is that?” Morgan’s eyes darted toward Hunter before they wandered back to the water. “It sounds like a construction zone.”

  Instead of answering, Hunter pushed her further into the tree line as cover became sparse.

  The fast moving river blended with the noise of busy machinery. Filthy, dark brown water rushed past the large gaps among the trees.

  “Ugh, look at the river. It’s disgusting,” Morgan said. “There’s so much sediment churning about. I should really try to get a sample.”

  The steady warning beeps of a heavy-duty truck joined the chorus of noise and she stopped in her tracks. After a moment, she moved closer to the water. Hunter pulled her back. Excavators and backhoes dug deep into the earth, piling their loads into a dump truck. Another dump truck backed up, off-loading his pile into an enormous machine vibrating the dirt down a long slide, rinsing what was left with water at the bottom.

  A man worked closer to the water’s edge, blasting sand from the riverbed with a large high-powered hose.

  “What in the hell is going on here? Look what those bastards are doing. They’re completely destroying the land. This is federally protected property. Why would they…” Morgan turned, staring.

  Hunter had watched the range of emotions flicker over her face—the furrowed brows of puzzlement, the clenched jaw of fury, the wide eyes of disbelief. He knew the moment she figured it out.

  “Oh my God, Hunter. Not drugs. Gold. They’re mining gold.”

  “Yeah, that’s what it looks like to me.” He gave her arm a tug. “We have to keep moving. If anyone sees us, we’re going to have a big problem.”

  “I can’t believe this. This is insane. I—”

  “Morgan, you need to be quiet. We’re getting closer to the building.” Still holding her by her arm, Hunter pulled her forward as she continued to stare in the direction of the destruction along the river.

  “They’ve cut down so many trees. And look, they’ve been blasting into the rocks. That must be the awful noise we heard earlier. How has it not been discovered?”

  “We’ll talk about this later. You really have to be quiet now.”

  But Morgan continued. “Shelly, Ian and Tom must’ve seen this. The guards must’ve found them and shot them. That has to be it. It makes sense.”

  Hunter stopped, took her by the shoulders. She stared into his eyes, but she still wasn’t with him. Her gaze kept wandering to the river. “Morgan, look at me. Really look at me and listen.” He gave her a small shake. When her eyes finally left the water and met his, he began again. “I’m sorry about your friends, really I am, but I need all of your concentration here. If you want to get out of this alive, you have to do what I say.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m listening.”

  Hunter stared for several seconds until he was certain he had her full attention. “We have to keep walking if we’re going to pull this off. We can’t let the guard get too far ahead. We’re very close now. When we make it to our cover, we’ll wait for this guard to head back out on his rounds. When we know he’s well on his way, I’m going to leave you and deal with the other one. Are you following me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You’ll give me six minutes to get to where I need to be.” His gaze burned into hers. “Six minutes, Morgan; not five and a half, not six minutes and fifteen seconds—exactly six minutes. When we hit the six-minute mark, you’ll carefully and steadily head southeast from the left corner of the building. Got that?”

  “Got it.”

  Hunter nodded. “Let’s synchronize our watches.” He adjusted his to match hers. “Okay. The vegetation is sparse for the first fifty yards. You’ll have to be quick. After that you’ll hit a thick tree line. When you get to what you estimate to be one hundred yards from the building, run. Fucking sprint. I want you to be careful, though. I don’t want you to panic, fall and hurt yourself. Just run until you can’t anymore. You also need to be sure you stay where the vegetation is thick. We can’t afford to have the plane spot you if it flies in that direction.”

  “What about you? How will I find you?”

  “Just follow your compass in a straight, southeasterly direction and I’ll find you.”

  “What if you don’t? What if they kill you?” Her voice was tight and tinged with panic.

  “They didn’t get me last time, did they?”

  They walked on until Hunter pulled her behind an area thick with bushy pine trees. They crouched and hid when they came to the edge of the newly constructed building. The structure was the size of a small pool house with large windows on each side and a stovepipe poking through the roof. It was the same dark brown as the ranger’s station, blending well with the surroundings.

  “All right,” Hunter whispered, “we’ll wait here.”

  Moments later, Hunter scanned the small clearing, looking for potential problems with his plan. Two guards, the one he and Morgan had followed and the one on lookout at the building, stood close
to the door, laughing, dragging deep on cigarettes. As Hunter glanced down at his watch, a movement in the distance caught his eye. “Shit.”

  “What?” Morgan grabbed his arm. “What is it?”

  “There’s a third guard. He wasn’t here before.”

  “What are we going to do?” She clutched him tighter.

  Her eyes were wide and weary, her mouth firm and tense. This wasn’t the time for her to break. As soon as they were safe she could fall apart. Morgan was unraveling before him. He was losing control of the situation and that wasn’t an option.

  Hunter’s voice cooled; his eyes hardened. “We’re going to do just what we talked about. You go on six minutes and run southeast. Your spoiled, rich-bitch princess roots are shining through, Morgan. Pull yourself together. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for Daddy. I’m sure it’ll be worth a new diamond necklace when he hears about your troubles.”

  Morgan recoiled as if she’d been slapped. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t hold back, Hunter. Tell me how you really feel.”

  Satisfied that he’d seriously pissed her off, he knew she would do what she needed to. “Just do your part so you don’t get us killed.” He glanced at his watch as the guard crushed his cigarette on the forest floor and walked away from the guardhouse.

  Morgan glared. “I just might kill you myself, you bastard.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek, stifling a grin. Morgan was definitely back.

  They both stood perfectly still as the guard passed within feet of them. Hunter watched him follow the narrow path until he faded among the trees.

  He looked at Morgan one last time. “Six minutes and then southeast from the building.” He waited for his second hand to land on the twelve and took off without another word.

  Morgan noted the exact second Hunter left her side. She looked up from her watch just as he vanished among the trees. With eyes and ears trained, she waited for a movement—any movement—but she didn’t see or hear him again. It was as if he melted into the forest. How did he do that?

  Sheer terror and paranoia had her eyes darting back to the minute hand on her watch. What if she messed up the timing? She shook her head. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

  Two and a half minutes ticked by. It felt like two and a half years. Her legs tingled and ached as they began to fall asleep in her crouched position. The pack added extra weight to her petite frame, compounding the discomfort.

  The guard lit another cigarette close to where she waited, puffed several times. A cloud of smoke wafted in her direction. Morgan struggled not to choke. She breathed a sigh of relief and fresh air when he walked toward the other man standing in the building’s doorway.

  Morgan mopped sweat from her forehead and chewed her bottom lip. She checked and rechecked her watch as her six minutes came closer to an end and the guards still stood feet away.

  On the four-minute mark, a distant pop rang through the trees. Oh God, had another guard found Hunter? Had he been shot? She shook her head violently, stifling the sob rising in her throat. No, it couldn’t be. He said he would find her, so he would.

  The two men standing by the house glanced at each other and swore. One of them picked up a two-way radio. “Single gunshot heard north of the guardhouse. Possible security breach. Carlson and I’ll go check it out.”

  The man named Carlson dropped his cigarette. He and the other guard took off running in a northerly direction toward the sound.

  Morgan had a minute before she was supposed to start running herself. She scanned the tree-lined area as the guards disappeared. Her gaze trailed back to the orange-tipped cigarette smoldering on a small patch of dirt surrounded by dried pine needles. One good gust of wind and she’d be dealing with bigger problems than two men with machine guns.

  She glanced back at her watch. The second hand ticked down her final fifteen seconds, ten seconds, five. She gripped her compass, looked at her watch, realized she was four seconds behind.

  Swearing, Morgan checked the area to be sure she was still alone. With the coast clear and her heart pounding against her ribs, she broke cover, tamped out the cigarette. She walked quickly to the back of the guard house, paused when she approached the left corner of the building, pointed her compass until she found north and ran southeast from that direction.

  She reached the thick tree line, looked behind her—ever fearful of discovery—and took off at a sprint. She dodged branches, hurdled fallen limbs, continually checked her compass.

  Morgan ran among the trees until her legs, weak from exhaustion, threatened to give out. Her head shot up and terror poured through her veins when something rustled in the distance.

  A bird flew from a tangle of branches and soared toward the sky. The quick flash of dread caused a much needed adrenaline rush, and she used it to keep going.

  When would Hunter catch up? Morgan wanted to stop and wait for him but the fear of someone else finding her first kept her moving.

  Stumbling, Morgan caught herself before she fell. The energy burst that reenergized her vanished as quickly as it kicked in. She tripped again, falling hard to the ground. Gasping for breath, she struggled to lift herself to her hands and knees. Nausea churned in her stomach and she vomited from the exertion and heat.

  When her breathing steadied, she grabbed a tree trunk and hoisted her weak and trembling body from the ground, took off her pack and dug in. Water and food were a must. She wouldn’t be able to go much farther without refueling. The thought of eating made her stomach shudder, but she uncapped her drink, determined to battle back against the weakness and nausea. She was playing the game of survival and she was going to win.

  Morgan sipped at the Gatorade Hunter prepared earlier. The sweetness made her heave. She took another sip, holding the liquid in her cheeks until she knew she could swallow and keep it down. After several successful sips, she peeled a badly bruised banana, nibbled on the few good spots.

  When she brought the fruit to her mouth for another bite, she noticed the smear of blood on her right hand. A small gash ran along the heel of her palm. Dirt from the forest floor mixed with blood. She knew it had to be cleaned. A small cut could turn into an infected nightmare in backcountry.

  She pulled out her bottle of hand sanitizer, squirted it on her injury. “Damn, that stings.” She blew on the cut, shook her hand. “Damn, damn, damn.” She covered the wound with a band-aid.

  As her stomach steadied, Morgan finished what she could of the banana, took bigger sips of Gatorade. She grabbed dried fruit and nuts from her bag next, ate while she walked. As her energy started to return, she walked faster until she moved at a steady jog.

  Hunter played a risky game by firing his gun. The northern area of the compound, where the river zipped in and out of the trees, was a mystery. On high alert, he tuned his senses to his surroundings, always looking and listening for an unexpected guard.

  The coast was clear for now, but he knew that would change soon enough. He holstered his weapon, climbed a tall pine. The branches toward the bottom were few and far between, but he made it well above eye level with little trouble.

  Thankful he’d ditched his pack a mile back, he nestled himself into a grouping of rough, thick limbs. He glanced at his watch. Exactly six minutes had passed since he’d left Morgan. He needed to believe she’d stuck with the plan and run. If she hadn’t…he wouldn’t think of that.

  It wasn’t long before the two men from the guardhouse moved in his direction. He clung to the branches holding him, prayed they wouldn’t break. The guards walked past him, circled the area—never glancing up—and spoke into their radio. “We don’t see anything. We’ll continue to look around and head back. It was probably just a poacher or some shit like that farther north of here.”

  A man on the other end of the radio ten-foured them.

  The team of two wandered off. Hunter checked his watch again, anxious to be on his way. Eventually the guards came back, standing directly under him. They spoke into the radio. �
�The area’s clear. We’re heading back.”

  When the twigs and branches littering the forest floor no longer snapped, Hunter quickly and carefully made his way down the giant tree. Much like earlier this afternoon, he followed behind the guards, giving them plenty of room.

  He found his pack, took out his anti-reflective binoculars as he got closer to the guardhouse. He stopped, zeroed in on the bushy patch of pines where he’d left Morgan. Relief washed through him when she wasn’t there. “She did it,” he muttered.

  He put his binoculars back, swallowed several gulps of Gatorade and made his way in a southeasterly direction. It only took him minutes to pick up Morgan’s trail. He spent time erasing a good half-mile of her tracks, made a false path leading in the opposite direction. He slid his feet along the ground, creating exaggerated footprints through pine needles and dirt.

  After crafting a diversion obvious enough for any idiot to follow, he backtracked, picked up her tracks again. He ran a steady pace, stopped when he came to the spot where she’d clearly fallen. Hand and knee prints disturbed the scattering of pine needles among the dirt and tree roots.

  She’d covered up her traces of sickness. Nearby was a lone banana peel. Hunter picked it up, threw it into the distance. No need to leave further clues.

  He ran three more miles before he finally spotted her in the distance. She jogged along—slowly, lethargically—through the uneven terrain. He stepped on a branch and her head whipped up as she stopped. Her fists bunched and relaxed, bunched and relaxed as she looked around from left to right.

  He walked out of the trees and watched her blink back tears suddenly filling her eyes. She started toward him with arms extended—as if she were going to hug him—but stopped and took a deep breath. A small smile moved across her lips instead. “You found me.”

  “I told you I would.”

  She nodded, blinked again, glanced away. She breathed in several times. “You were gone for such a long time. I thought they shot you. I thought you weren’t coming back. I almost turned around half a dozen times.”