by Teagan Kade
I’ve reached the camp. I freeze and wait, listening for movement and hearing none. I stalk forward, making my way through the tents. I count seven of them, but a few look to be full of gear. I glance around and realize the stuff these guys are working with is top notch. These aren’t just some backwoods guys getting their jollies off. There is some money into this operation.
Wondering over that and who would be funding something like this, I reach the center of the camp. My heart leaps a little to see that the campers are still there, tied and gagged.
They’re soaked through and pretty scuffed up. It looks like a young couple. The girl spots me first. She starts whimpering until I raise a finger to my lips.
Her companion struggles to turn around given they’re bound back to back.
I whisper as I crouch beside them and work to untie their wrists. “Don’t worry, I’m Special Agent Ness with US Fish & Wildlife. I’m here to help.”
The woman’s gag slips first and between dry sobs she manages, “They said they were going to kill us. They said no one would even find our bodies because they’d feed our body parts to the bears as bait.”
She’s too dehydrated for tears. When the man breaks free, they just embrace for a moment, trembling.
The guy, a young, strapping, copper-haired man with a matching beard locks eyes with me as he cradles his girlfriend’s head. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
I nod. “Don’t mention it, but for now, we need to get you out of here. Can you both walk?”
He looks to the girl and she nods. They both rise to shaky legs and I explain to them how to get back to their campsite and their car. It’s trashed but it might still run. If they can get to the highway, they can get cell service and call for help.
“You’re not coming with us?” the girl asks, her brown eyes going wide through the mess of blonde hair falling into her face.
I shake my head. “I can’t. These men need to be stopped and I’ve got an idea about that. It’ll go a lot smoother if you folks can call for some help and explain what’s happened to you, tell them there’s a F&W Special Agent out here.”
The man nods. “Of course, anything we can do to help. These mother fuckers…” his voice shakes, “they’re evil. We watched them torture small animals in front of us, promising to do the same things to us.”
“It was like a horror film,” the girl echoes, her lip quivering.
“Well, it’s over now,” I assure her, and send them off, watching nervously as they hobble through the woods.
I don’t feel good letting them go alone, but my best chance of stopping these men is to catch them off guard. I start looking around the camp quickly, assessing what I’ve got to work with and putting the plan together in my mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
DERIC
My hands were already banged up and now the rough bark of a tall Doug Fir is scraping away at my palms. Being with Edie is definitely not the easiest thing on my body.
Right now, however, all I can think about is her, not the beating I’m taking.
I need to know she’s okay and the fact I don’t hear anything since those gun shots is freaking me out big time. I climb as high as the branches will support my weight and crane my neck, trying to see what I can make out of the area around me.
The land rolls to a slight rise and I can just make out the small clearing and the pattern of olive green tents pitched there. My body tenses up as I make out Edie’s turquoise fleece. She’s a small figure moving around until she stops and stoops down.
I strain my eyes trying to make out the details but at this distance, it’s impossible to see clearly. I can’t tell what she’s doing, but she’s kneeling over something now. Maybe a carcass?
The thing moves and splits into two.
Not a carcass, no. It’s the campers. Of course she has to be the freaking hero, doesn’t she? I want to hit something, seeing her there in the middle of the low budget, straight-to-video wannabe Bond villain’s camp.
Then I see the figures of the campers limping into the woods and something in my chest clenches.
Damn it. I do not condone this stupid, reckless behavior. And yet… I can’t help but feel proud of her. She’s a badass and as much as she annoys me with her Lara Croft act, I gotta admit it’s pretty impressive.
I watch as she moves around the camp. I can’t tell what she’s doing but whatever it is she’s not hesitating, she’s moving with quick efficiency. The longer I watch her, the more I start to let the reality sink in.
She’s not helpless. Look at her—she just saved two innocent, idiot campers and now she might well be booby-trapping the fuck out of that camp.
Edie’s been trying to drill it into my head this whole time and I haven’t wanted to see it. I kept wanting to think that if I hadn’t been there that first night she’d have gotten lost or fallen down a ravine. Or if I hadn’t gotten her away during her panic attack she’d have gotten shot.
Watching her now, knowing she tracked her way all the way back here without a compass after getting turned around through the cave, getting those people to safety and getting ready to tie up her case, I’m not so certain. I keep jumping in, I keep interfering to protect her because I keep telling myself she’s in over her head, but maybe I’m the one out of his depth. Maybe I haven’t been giving her the room to demonstrate her own resilience.
She’s been right and I haven’t wanted to admit it. If I admit she’s not helpless, I can’t argue she needs me, and if she doesn’t need me, why would she want me?
Well, clearly she doesn’t or she’d have stuck around in the cave. And who would blame her? I’m just the dickhead who keeps proving to her over and over again that letting someone in means letting them take over.
I close my eyes and can smell her, that spicy-sweet gingery smell. I can’t lose her.
Ava was right. I do crave the control. But not as much as I crave Edie. I’d like to have both, but it’s clear that isn’t an option. If I have to choose, hands down she’s going to win that contest.
There’s no question in my mind, no weighing the pros and cons. Not being in control is a risk, but with her, it’s one I’m finally willing to take and I need to prove it to her.
I hear an engine sound, echoing through the valley we’re in—faint at first, growing louder until I can separate the different tones of multiple engines. I can’t quite see the ATVs beneath the tree line, but I can see birds kicking up from trees in a line headed for the camp as they move through the forest.
The group of poachers is headed back. I squint and try to make out what Edie is doing. She’s tugging at something that doesn’t seem to want to give. She’s not reacting to the approaching ATVs and I can’t tell why.
What the hell? Can’t she hear them? My heart squeezes. I trust her, I do, but I also need to be closer. There’s no chance I’m sitting still in this fucking tree and watching this unfold.
With as much speed as I can manage, I make my way down through the crisscrossing maze of branches, not caring if I get cut as I drop through them haphazardly.
I know I can’t just muscle my way into this situation… Hell, even if she did need me I don’t know how to take on a group of armed men like this. All things being equal, I’ve got no question I could beat a few of their punk ass faces in, but I’ve yet to see a left hook beat a bullet and these jizzstains probably can’t get hard unless they’ve got one hand on the trigger of their metal dicks.
Whatever Edie was doing running around down there, I sure fucking hope she’s got something planned.
I’m running as hard as I can and all I hear is the roar of those engines. I don’t even care if they hear me at this point. At least it’d slow them down and give Edie a little more time to put together whatever it is she’s got going.
I’m racing over the forest floor, jumping over branches and rocks when I feel pain shoot up my leg and the ground rises to my face. Everything goes black for a moment as my jaw makes contact with the log in front of me.
Even through the black, all I can think about is Edie and those big brown eyes of hers. I force my eyes open, blinking through the spots, willing my vision to clear. My head is throbbing and there is a strange, puffy feeling at my jaw, but I ignore it as much as I can.
I jerk my leg, tugging my shoe free from the blackberry vines that caught it.
Fucking blackberries.
There’s a crosshatch pattern of tears on the fabric of my pants and I’m sure there’s a pattern of red, torn skin on my shin to match, but I get to my feet, trying to steady myself.
I start jogging again and crash sideways into a tree.
Fuck!
I need to get there. At this point, I don’t hear the engines going anymore. But I also don’t hear any gunshots or screams. Then again, as ballsy as Edie is, I don’t see her screaming. You could put her fucking feet to a fire and she’d bite her lip bloody and hold her tongue.
I reach a hand out and try to jog again, using my arm to push off the trees I keep stumbling into.
At this point I’m probably more of a liability than anything else, but I’m also too out of it to think straight.
It’s a few minutes before I manage to stumble into the brush beyond the camp. I listen, expecting to hear shouting, arguing, threats… anything that might mean Edie’s been captured.
Instead, I hear the brusque, deep laughter of a group of men and their barking, clipped exchanges. They’re talking too fast and I can’t quite make them out, but there is one noise that surprises me.
A quick, low animal sound. It’s something like a moan but not like any animal I’ve ever heard.
“Ignas!” A voice calls out. Something about it registers as familiar, the tone is similar to that of a lot of the good ol’ boys who live outside Tamanass in the sticks and I can’t pin it. “Shut that darn thing up! Fuck boy, you said you knew what you were doin’ with this shit.”
“Yah, yah, not so easy this things you want!” The answer is in an accent I don’t recognize. “Aghh! Fucking thing claw me!”
There’s a scuffle, the sound of metal and irritated voices. I hold my breath, trying to create a mental picture of where the voices are coming from.
This first voice returns. “Don’t hurt it, you fuckin’ idiot! Goddamned amateurs… You fuck this one up, my price quadruples, you hear me, you fuckin’ borscht swillin’ peckerhead?”
“Yah, I fuck up something. I fuck up you.”
I creep forward around one of the tents as the irritated voices continue to spar, crouching down low behind a parked ATV.
That’s when I spot the bloodhound, with its short umber coat and gangly long legs, sleeping on the wide seat of another ATV. It’s thick through the middle and the soft snoring sounds innocent enough, but there are still sharp teeth in that mouth and I’m not sticking around to watch it turn into Cujo.
It’s clearly not the animal that ‘Ignas’ was complaining about, but it does have me wondering what the hell is going on. And, more importantly, where the hell is Edie? Did she leave?
Ol’ Boy’s voice raises again. “This shit’s gittin’ a lot more complicated and I think we might just need to renegotiate the terms of our wee deal.”
The voices are moving and it’s hard to keep track of where they’re at exactly, but they’re moving and I’ve got no cover. I creep slowly away from the sleeping dog and sneak around the tent, towards another.
“Bobbyjon, git me a beer ya bitch,” a new voice calls out, followed by the sound of someone spitting chew.
So we’ve got some classic backwoods boys here after all.
“Fuck you,” someone that I assume is Bobbyjon answers, but despite his caustic answer I hear him coming my way and duck into a tent to avoid being spotted.
No one is inside, thankfully. I squat down behind a crate, trying to quiet my breathing. When I hear him pass by, I finally relax and start to look at the crate in front of me, realizing I’m staring at explosives.
The voices continue to chatter outside, but I look around, taking in what I’ve found. There are flares and dynamite, smoke bombs and tranquilizers, poaching lights for blinding animals, decoys, compound bows, rifles, tons of munitions, box after box of food rations… and a hell of a lot of steel traps.
Whatever is going on here, it’s not some temporary issue.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EDIE
I’m crouched behind the full, low hanging branches of a cedar. The needles flex but their tips are still sharp. The fresh, bracing scent fills my nostrils as I watch the men a few hundred yards from me arguing. My breath is still coming in rapid surges as my heart beat slows down. I barely made it out of view before they got back and I have the adrenaline to prove it.
They’ve returned in two groups of ATVs, most of them circling in the center of the camp. One of them has a cage strapped to it. I watch as two men carry it carefully further into the camp, beyond my sight. I can’t make out the animal—from this distance it just looks like a big lump of crumpled fur.
It’s not ‘til I hear the moan I recognize the sound.
It’s a wolverine.
My heart leaps. I set up smoke bombs throughout the camp on remote switches and I’ve got a rifle in my hands loaded with tranquilizers. We’ll see how these assholes like getting knocked out and caged.
Two of the men argue over how to quiet the animal. I don’t recognize either, but I didn’t expect to anyway.
The voices that reach me are a strange mixture of accents. Most sound like local accents, but there are a few that strike me as maybe Russian or Eastern European. As I watch, the men disperse somewhat with only three remaining in the central space.
A short man with a round belly scrubs his face, lifting his ball cap and combing through his thinning hair. “What a fuckin’ mess. How the hell did those two get out of here anyway?”
He squats down and looks over the discarded rope from where I freed the two campers.
A tall, wiry looking man in a puffy red vest shoots a stream of tobacco juice out the side of his mouth before shrugging. “Don’t matter. I’ll take ol’ Dale out with me, we’ll track ’em quick and drag those tree huggin’ fucks back here.”
The third man chimes in finally, crossing his arms across the wide, flannel expanse of his chest. “Psssh, if you woulda let me deal with them sooner, we wouldn’t be sittin’ here scratchin’ our balls over it. Told you we shoulda offed limpdick right away and just kept the bitch around for some fun.”
The first man stands up, nodding. He’s shorter than the others but seems to command some kind of authority over them. “Yeah, well, we weren’t supposed to spook these foreign fuckers until the money was in sight. You know the rules. Now, I ain’t looking to cock up the good thing we got goin’ here.”
My mind is jumping from one point to the other, trying to piece together what’s going on.
The potbellied leader drops his voice. “Now, speaking of the deal, I think it’s time we cut through the BS, boys, whadya think? I don’t see Burly out here riskin’ his ass or dealin’ with all this witness bullshit, so why should we cut him in? We got our buyers here, I say we go through them straight to the client and renegotiate.”
“You fuckin’ crazy?” Red Vest echoes. “You saw what he did to Billy—shot the fucker cold for losing that Fed bitch. You go behind his back, you’re gonna end up the same.”
Potbelly steps forward, thrusting his chest out and curling his lip, “Oh yeah? Well, last I checked Fish left us out here on our own. He ain’t here so you tell me how’s he gonna find out? Huh, Coop? You gonna rat on me like a little bitch after everything I done for you?”
Flannel intervenes. “What you done for him? Pssssh, so you told a couple lies under oath. It’s us out here risking our lives, brother, while you’re up there in town kissin’ Jasper’s ass. You ain’t stuck your neck out the way we done.”
“You two better fuckin’ watch yourselves. If it wasn’t for me, you’d both be in prison. You write off th
ose lies but perjury ain’t no goddamned joke. Do you know what happens to cops in prison?”
Cop? That complicates things significantly. Cripes! The idea that there was dirty law enforcement involved never crossed my mind. It makes sense that they’ve managed to avoid detection, though. Having someone on the inside to ‘investigate’ suspicious activity when it’s reported would certainly make it a lot easier to poach.
Flannel laughs. “You’re ain’t no fuckin’ cop, shithead.”
“Close enough, fucker!” He’s drawn a handgun from his side holster before either of them could react. “Now, you two gonna make this harder than it has to be? I don’t mind keepin’ your shares to myself…”
The two men throw their hands up in. Red Vest speaks first. “Take it easy, man. Shit, I’m just tryin’ to say we gotta be careful. You wanna go behind Fish’s back, we’re gonna have to be sure we do this right. We’re all dead men if he catches wind of it.”
The three men share a look and I suspect this Fish, whoever he is, wouldn’t approve. Before they can explain further, two more men come back. One is dressed in camo and looks like he fits in with the other three hillbilly boys, but two of them are distinct. Their clipped, slicked hairstyles and simple black clothing stands in contrast to the mismatched, shabby outfits of the other four.
“You secure it?” Potbelly asks, taking a beer from the younger hillbilly and looking to the older man in black.
The remote is heavy in my hand. I should trigger the smoke bombs while they all appear to be in the same spot and I can pick them off with the tranquilizer gun I snagged. But I’m torn. The longer I listen, the more evidence I have and the better my chances of taking out whoever is funding this operation.
“Yah, but sedative only last three hour. She is angry, she wishes to be with her kits.” The older man crosses his arms. He’s lean with salt and pepper hair.
“And she will be, once you get your boss on that there fancy satellite of yours and he pays us for it. This job was for one wolverine, not for a whole fuckin’ family. You want them, you’re gonna pay for ’em. Otherwise, I’m sure we can find someone who will.”
