The Dying Season

by J. Reichman

  "It may be chewed up, too?" Carl's eyes narrowed. "You better not be taking me for a damned ride, old man Wade."

  "You wanted to get out." Wade gestured to the south. "It's your only chance. Even if the road ain't fit, ridin' along the heights will git you there."

  "Then let's get moving." Carl shoved the gun back into his waistband.

  Two hours later, they stopped for lunch.

  "This river. It flood like that often?" Carl asked.

  "No." Wade noticed the killer's hand shook. "Dam broke upstream."

  "Just my damned luck." He snorted. "Must be out of my mind coming here."

  Wade looked into the killer's feverish eyes. "Why did you come?"

  "None of your damned business." Carl snorted again, raised the canteen and drained it. "Here." He tossed it to Wade. "I need a refill."

  Wade refilled it.

  Carl muttered to himself. "Fuckin' mountains. All this wilderness." He waved an arm around. "If I had a gun then, I'd of killed the son of a bitch."

  Wade handed the canteen to Carl. "What son of a bitch is that?"

  Carl looked at him blankly. "A son of a bitch?"

  "That's what you said."

  Carl shook his head. "No." He looked around wildly. "Is he here?" He threw down the canteen, stood and fumbled for his gun. "I'll get him this time." He swung the gun from side to side.

  "Hold on there, Carl." Wade stepped behind him. "Nobody here but you and me."

  Carl wiped his brow on his shirtsleeve. "Must be the high elevation. Altitude sickness."

  "Let's get on down then. Horses have had their drink." Wade closed the food duffel and secured it to the packhorse.

  Carl shoved the gun back under the waistband of his denims and staggered to his horse. Wade led the caravan across the stream and up a slight rise, a twitch between his shoulder blades revealing his nervousness. Carl might mistake him for the son of a bitch, whoever that was. That rusty stain on his sleeve. The feverish eyes. The man’s sick with infection. That makes him even more dangerous.

  The first part of the afternoon passed without incident. Then came the shot Wade feared. He spurred Roman into a gallop, hugged his neck and peered back to find Carl thundering after them. He regretted not using the sleeping pills. He felt Roman’s shoulder muscles beneath his hands, bunching and stretching as the horse thundered across a small meadow. You kill my horse, he thought, I’ll kill you with my bare hands. Keeping his head down, he peered behind him under his armpit. The undulation of the following packhorses interfered with his line of sight and prevented Carl from getting off a good shot.

  Another shot rang out. Over Roman’s neck, Wade noticed tall pines skirting the meadow. Roman was breathing hard, foam rimming his mouth. Wade angled Roman to the right and glanced behind him again. Carl was turned in his saddle, shooting to the rear. They reached the trees. Low branches whipped his head dislodging his Stetson. What’s behind us? Brett? I can’t let Carl kill Brett. Gotta get that gun. He pulled up behind a stand of trees, the three horses covered in sweat. Carl skirted the horses, vaulted from his saddle and hid behind a tree.

  "Good idea." Carl peeked out from the tree, looking back at the way they had come. "We can make a stand here. You take care of the horses. I'll fight off the bastard."

  “What is it?”

  “Bear. Big mother.”

  Wade laughed to himself. Only another hallucination. I gotta get control of this situation before he goes completely off the reservation. He dismounted, pulled the horses deeper into the woods and tied them to a shrub. He squatted beside them and watched Carl from a safe distance. The killer moved cautiously from tree to tree, his gun pointing to the perceived threat from their rear. After a dozen tense minutes, he shoved the gun back into his waistband and sat back against a tree.

  Wade approached hesitantly. "What happened?"

  "The bastard must've run off." Carl wiped his brow with the poncho.

  Wade reached down for Carl's hand. "Get up." He pulled Carl to his feet. "You ride up front with me. Don't want you back there by yourself."

  "Okay." Carl weaved to his horse. "Safety in numbers." He pulled himself into the saddle then realized the horse was tied.

  Wade untied the horses and handed Carl's reins to him. "Now relax. Couple of hours and we'll camp for the night."

  With Carl at his side, Wade's nervousness vanished. Now they traveled to the west with the sun on their faces and golden aspens along the stream banks. Carl seemed to be oblivious of his surroundings and careened so from side to side that Wade worried he might fall from the horse. Long shadows stretched across the landscape before Wade found an ideal camping spot. Without a word, Carl dismounted, sat with his back against a tree and closed his eyes leaving Wade to tend the horses, set up camp and build a fire. When the trout sizzled in the pan, Carl opened his eyes and gazed around as though seeing the campsite for the first time.

  "Smells good."

  "Used some seasoning from the spices I carry." Wade added potato and onions to the skillet and sprinkled salt over the pan. "Got peaches for dessert."

  Carl tried to stand.

  "You stay there," Wade said. "I'll bring you a plate when it's ready."

  "Getting dark."

  "Comes early in the mountains." Wade stirred the potatoes. "We have a good fire tonight. Lots of dead wood around. Not much grass for the horses though." He lifted a piece of trout onto the metal plate and added a portion of potatoes. "Here you go." He gave the plate and a fork to Carl. "Tomorrow night we'll be back to Spam, so enjoy." He filled another plate.

  "Ooooh. Hot." Carl fanned his mouth and reached for his canteen.

  "Too spicy for you?"

  "No, I like hot." Carl drank from the canteen.

  "Cayenne. There's more trout if you want it."

  Carl ate slowly, finished his trout and took the other piece. Wade noticed his drooping eyes and nodding head. He stacked the dishes and, as he enjoyed a good campfire, added wood to the flames. He glanced at Carl; the plate had fallen to one side and Carl's eyes were closed.

  Wade shook Carl's shoulder. "Better get ready for bed." He helped Carl to stand. "I'll wash up."

  When he returned from the stream, Wade heard Carl's snoring in the tent. Carl's trout, coated with cayenne and crushed sleeping pills, had done its job. He’d never loved Nora more. He sat by the campfire enjoying a pinch of Skoal and thinking about tomorrow's meeting in Rosburg Valley. In the tent, he relieved Carl of the gun, zipped him into the sleeping bag, and slept well.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  With Nick gone only a few hours, Lyn missed him at breakfast. She pictured him riding through a dense forest after a vicious killer, unarmed in rough terrain where his horse could throw him or the killer could ambush him. She tried to banish these thoughts as the helicopter landed mid-morning. The school kids, first on the scene, chattered excitedly about the size of the craft and the five uniformed men who descended from it.

  After taking charge at breakfast, Lyn stood with Cooper and Zenia to greet the men. The man leading the group wore the uniform of a Colorado State Trooper. Help has arrived. Nick will be safe. Excited and nervous, Lyn straightened her shoulders and put out her hand. “Welcome gentlemen. I’m Lyn Woodburn. This is Zenia Tomachek and Cooper Stone."

  "Detective Hunter Snead, Colorado State Trooper.” The detective stood about five foot ten with a chunky body and soft hands. He’ll be no use on a horse, Lyn thought. He thumbed to the two men behind him. “My crime scene investigators."

  "We were expecting the sheriff," Lyn said. All this time and the sheriff doesn’t come.

  "He's occupied," Snead said. "We're helping out in this emergency."

  "Are you the police?" one kid asked.

  "I sure am, Sonny."

  "Will you arrest that guy?"

  "We’ll get him."

  "He killed Andy's mom."

  "Who are those guys?" another kid said and pointed to the helicopter's crew.

  "They're Army."
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  "Is that a Huey?"

  "Who's the pilot?"

  "Do we get a ride?"

  "Let's get you away from all these questions," Cooper said.

  "I'd appreciate it." Snead motioned for one of the crew members to join them as they entered the school. "This is Lt. Winters. He's in charge of the evacuation."

  “But you’re going after the killer, aren’t you?” Lyn said.

  “Ma’am, we’re investigators,” Snead said. “Helicopters are all busy evacuating people now that the weather’s cleared. We’ve no way to go chasing up into the mountains. I understand a group has already set out to apprehend the felon who’s taken a hostage.”

  “You’ve got to go after him.” Lyn heard the anger in her voice and told herself to calm down. “Investigate? What good is that? We know who the killer is.”

  “Who?”

  “We don’t know his name. He’s the man who took Wade.”

  “I need to load the helicopter,” Winters said.

  “I want to get the crime scene guys started,” Snead said.

  “Please. One thing at a time.” Why can’t this be easy? What to do? Get the people out.

  "We got a list from the man who was here yesterday," Winters said. "He overestimated our capacity."

  "We've a group ready to go." Feeling overwhelmed and disappointed, Lyn realized she needed help. "First, let's get the crime scene men on the job. I have a key to the house." She pulled it from her jacket pocket. "Zenia, could you take my vehicle and drive the men to Brook's house."

  "Be glad to." Zenia held out her hand for the keys. "Be right back."

  "I need a list of witnesses to interview," Snead said.

  Lyn turned her back on the trooper. What an irritating man. Shows up days late. Won’t go after the killer. Demands immediate action when he’s taking none himself.

  “Well?”

  "Let's get these people on their way first," Lyn said. "They're waiting in the cafeteria."

  When they entered the cafeteria, everyone picked up suitcases and called to children.

  "Now hold on." Lt. Winters held up his hands. "Everyone have a seat."

  "This is Lieutenant Winters," Lyn said. "He's in charge."

  "We were handed a list arranging evacuees by groups of twenty," Winters said. "We can take only thirteen."

  The group moaned.

  "We'll get you all out," Winters said. "It'll just take longer." He consulted his list. "Now the older folks. How many do we have?"

  Five hands went up.

  "You folks go on out. Con Hopkins is the pilot. He'll get you settled." Winters turned his back on the group and spoke to Lyn. "It says daycare here. Who’s that?"

  Lyn looked at the group of four women and ten children. She eliminated Danielle and Audrey and their children. "That would be two women and five children."

  "Seven. With the five, that makes twelve."

  Henri burst through the door, Sweetie Pie in one arm and a suitcase in her other hand. "Sorry I'm late."

  "Henri, you're not part of this group," Lyn said.

  "I'm staying at the Lodge." Henri sat her suitcase down. "Of course, I'm going."

  "We have one more space," Winters said.

  Lyn threw up her hands. "Then take her. Please!" So much for organization. I’m herding cats.

  "Go on out to the helicopter," Winters told Henri.

  "Help me sort out this group," Winters said.

  Lyn pointed. "May and Neva. Take your five daycare kids."

  "Thanks for your help." Winters opened the cafeteria door. "We pick up Snead and his crew this afternoon. With another five, we'll have a full load."

  "That's only eight," Lyn said.

  "We'll have the body, too," Winters said.

  "Oh.” Lyn tried to keep up with the long-legged lieutenant. “Another thing. We have a pet problem."

  Winters nodded. "We've run into that before. Even when faced with a hurricane like Katrina, people try to rescue their pets. We have a shelter willing to help out, but the pets will be last. I'll need to know how many carriers to bring."

  "I'll get to work on that," Lyn said.

  "About that list of witnesses," Snead said.

  "I'll be right with you." Lyn walked Winters to the door and watched the helicopter take off. Only Danielle and Audrey and their children will go out this afternoon. The Red Rooster now has empty rooms. Zenia and her son can move in.

  Snead stood at Lyn's elbow. "Can we get to that list now?"

  Irritated at his persistence, Lyn glanced sideways at him. "We’ll use the principal’s office.” She led him back into the school.

  Snead sat behind the desk and opened a notebook. Lyn took a chair facing the desk. "First, Howard and Janet Grayson, Brook's neighbors."

  "And where may I find them?" Snead's pen was poised.

  "They’re one of the older couples who left on the helicopter minutes ago."

  "They'll be somewhere in Estes Park. I’ll get them later."

  "There's me and my husband Nick. We found the body."

  "Lyn Woodburn. Your husband’s name?"

  “Nick” Good grief. Doesn’t he listen?

  Snead looked up from his notebook. "And where's he?"

  "Where you should be. Somewhere up in the mountains after the killer."

  "Okay." Snead ducked his head. “Who else?”

  "Well, Brett Jackson’s been in the house, but he could hardly be called a witness."

  "And he is?"

  "He owns the sporting goods store."

  "I meant where can I find him?"

  "Oh. He's out hunting the killer, too."

  Snead sighed. "Any other witnesses?"

  "Only Andy. He's Brook's ten-year-old son. But he doesn't remember. Believes his mother is still alive. He left on the life-flight helicopter yesterday. Has a broken arm. And there's Duke, Andy's dog. But he can't talk."

  Snead closed his notebook. "You're the only witness I can interview?"

  "I guess so." Lyn bit her lip. "But I have a good handle on it. I even have pictures of the crime scene as we found it. The killer stayed there two nights later. Nick took pictures of that."

  “That’ll be very helpful.” Snead looked up. “Why did you go to Brook Strong’s house?”

  The interrogation began.

  TWENTY-NINE

  A low rumble shook the earth. Reacting purely by instinct, Nick jerked on the reins bringing Vanilla to an abrupt halt. Rocks pummeled him. Jesus Christ! He threw his arms over his head. I’m a dead man. Vanilla jumped and quivered beneath him. Chuck’s horse neighed and reared as an avalanche of mud and rock roared past. Nick lost sight of Brett and Jeff and heard a high-pitched shriek pierce the air. A horse, he thought. My God! Jeff and Brett! A mound of mud and rock obscured the trail in front of him and poured down into the stream. Then he noticed Chuck who lay on his back, his horse stamping and twisting above him. Nick jumped to the ground, ran to him and pulled him away from the frightened animal. He checked for a pulse. The mayor was alive but out cold. Through the horse’s legs, Nick spied Jeff. A mound of mud and rock obscured the trail in front of Jeff and poured down into the stream.

  Another scream echoed throughout the valley. Looking down, Nick saw a horse on its side thrashing in the stream next to a packhorse that pulled at its lead. Nick recognized Cruz and searched for signs of Brett.

  Jeff climbed the bank of mud and rock. "I'm going down!"

  Nick watched him slide on his rump and stumble down the steep incline then followed him.

  "Here!" Jeff dug frantically at the mud. Only Brett’s boot showed.

  Nick knelt, threw rocks aside where he thought Brett's head might be and scooped mud with his hands. He soon felt yielding flesh. "Down here! Chest." Nick moved lower, throwing mud and rock behind himself until he uncovered Brett's face. The eyes, open and fixed, were dilated. Christ, Nick thought, it can’t be. “No! No!” He dug urgently until the entire head was free. The left side of Brett’s face and skull were cru
shed. Nick checked for a pulse and shook his head. Hopeless. What kind of God allows such senseless death? He wanted to howl his grief like an Arab woman.

  Jeff sat back in the mud. "God dammit it all to hell!" He choked back a sob. "He’s my friend, my buddy." He covered his face with his muddy hands then staggered to his feet.

  Nick continued to uncover the body. Brett. The man with the wide shoulders. Our leader. What’ll we do without him? Tears fell on his hands. He heard a shot below him and Cruz quit thrashing. Nick wiped his eyes with his jacket sleeve.

  Wading through the stream, Jeff untied the packhorse, tucked Brett's rifle under the girdle strap and led the horse to the rock fall. Nick uncovered Brett’s shoulders as Jeff found a camp spade and set to work.

  "Chuck's unconscious."

  Jeff kept digging. "I don't give a damn." He uncovered more and more of Brett’s battered body. "See if you can get the saddle blanket off Cruz."

  Nick stumbled down to the stream and waded to the dead horse, its leg shattered badly. He unfastened the girth, held the blanket in place and flipped the saddle into the stream. Water soaked half of the blanket, making it heavy. Nick laid the blanket on the horse's side and squeezed the water out of it. He waded back to the rock fall and climbed to Jeff.

  "Put it there." Jeff pointed to a spot above the pit in which Brett lay. "Let's lift him. Put his head on the blanket."

  They pulled Brett's body uphill to the blanket.

  Nick tried to wipe the mud from Brett’s face. "Now what?"

  "We'll get him up to the trail."

  They both looked up the steep incline, thinking of the task ahead.

  “He’s too heavy,” Nick said. “We can’t carry him that far. Even getting him here, all we could do was pull.”

  Jeff frowned. “Pull him up to the trail?”

  Nick sat back on his heels. “Not us. The horse. Is there a sleeping bag on the horse?”

  “Sure.”

  “Let’s put him in it.”

  Jeff dug into a duffel on the packhorse, removed a sleeping bag and returned. He laid it out flat beside Brett’s body.

  "You take the shoulders," Nick said. "Grab hold under the arms. I'll take the legs." He knelt, put Brett’s knees over his shoulders and grabbed hold of Brett's belt. "Lift on three. One. Two. Three."