Drifted

by Jeff Carson

  “Got it,” she said.

  “Move.”

  Chapter 22

  Wolf drove alone in his unmarked SUV, trailing behind two more driven by Rachette and Yates.

  To his relief, nobody had protested when Wolf told them he was driving himself, and nobody offered to ride with him.

  He let himself be hypnotized by the dotted line as they exited the winding road of the Cave Creek wilderness and joined the high plain valley south of Brushing.

  The dash thermometer read eighty-one degrees, balmy for a June morning at eighty-five-hundred feet. Bluegrass music floated from Wolf’s speakers, quiet enough to remain under the radio chatter, but not loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

  He kept his mind on Jack, and on what must be going through his son’s mind now that he had a baby coming into this world, and while he himself was so young.

  Wolf had been around the same age, and although he’d been an adult, he remembered feeling that his childhood had been robbed with Jack’s arrival. Then again, he hadn’t been around for much of Jack’s formative years.

  And then there was Sarah. She had taken to motherhood poorly, becoming hooked on painkillers.

  He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, remembering the certainty in his son’s face as he’d declared how shitty a parent he was going to be.

  No. Jack was different. He was the best of both of them.

  The radio scratched. “Okay, we’ll be taking a left on County 41, coming up in one mile,” Patterson’s voice came through the speaker.

  “Copy,” Yates said.

  Wolf picked up the handset and thumbed the button. “Copy.”

  They drove the mile, hooked the left, and took a dirt road lined with cattle fields. A ways later, the planted fields ran out and natural landscape took over—stunted juniper and pinyon pines warped by the relentless Colorado wind.

  The soil was a deep, brick red, like that in the valley between Carbondale and Aspen over the peaks that lay ahead of him.

  The road climbed toward a line where pine trees took over in the distance, but Wolf saw his destination parked alongside the road much closer than that.

  Three brown Brushing PD trucks were lined on the shoulder, and five officers in uniform stood at the rear of one truck, watching the SUVs approach.

  So much for sneaking up on Zack Hood, he thought. Not that it took much imagination to figure out who was inside the matching maroon unmarkeds with wobbling oversized antennas. If Hood wasn’t already on edge, three light-bars would definitely put him there.

  Wolf pulled up last and got out.

  “Damn, look at that,” Rachette said, looking at the view behind Wolf.

  The valley floor below was a flat checkerboard of bright green sliced in half by a sharply meandering river. Forest and frosted peaks stood tall as a backdrop.

  Wolf was last up to the powwow of handshakes with the five officers from Brushing. They were all young save the lieutenant, who did the speaking.

  Lieutenant Jake Poncha was a burly man a decade Wolf’s senior. His stomach was bulbous, his arms cannons, his legs stumps.

  “Wolf, how are you?” Wolf shook his sandpaper-rough hand and nodded, wondering how deep the question dove.

  “How’s Jack?”

  He smiled. “He’s good.”

  “Good to hear.”

  “How about your two daughters?” Wolf had forgotten their names.

  “Chelsea’s out in North Dakota, married to an oil rigger. Has three kids.” He flipped a hand in the air. “Rachel’s out in New York, working at some coffee shop.”

  “Central Perk?” Rachette smiled and looked around.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I’m Detective Rachette.”

  “You said that.”

  “Right.”

  “This is Alexander, Ryder, Underman, and Patricks.”

  The names passed by Wolf like the breeze coming from the west, but he shook their hands in turn. They looked poised for action, but not looking forward to it.

  Wolf looked to Patterson.

  She cleared her throat. “So, do we know Hood’s here?”

  “We did a drive-by past his house in town and he wasn’t there,” Poncha said. “Which gives us good odds he’s up at the quarry. We haven’t checked yet though. Just been waiting on you guys.”

  “You know him?” she asked.

  Poncha smirked, and so did some of the other officers. “We know him.”

  “In what way?”

  “His dad used to own the quarry up here. Zack’s worked for him all his life. Father–son operation. His dad died last year, and ever since Zack’s been … I don’t know.” He looked at the tallest officer behind him. “On a streak of bad behavior? Let’s just say we’re not surprised you’re up here.”

  “What kind of bad behavior?” Wolf asked.

  “We’ve had a few complaints from his neighbors for noise,” Poncha said. “Then there was a co-worker who came in, all beat to hell. Apparently, Zack had accused one of his employees of cheating on his hours or something. The employee said that he’d told Zack that his father would have never accused him of something so stupid, or anything for that matter. Well, Zack didn’t like that. Punched him up real good. Guy had a black eye, fat lip.”

  “If you have his prints on file, we can check them against the partial we found on Warren Preston’s car,” Patterson said. “That would be a—”

  Poncha held up a hand. “We don’t have them. We never processed him. Guy never pressed charges. He came in, made a statement, then came back the next morning and recanted it. As far as we know, he still works up there.” Poncha shrugged. “Whatcha gonna do? Guy doesn’t want us to go after him, we’re not going to.”

  Patterson seemed less than satisfied. “Well, how far is it to the quarry?”

  “About a mile, on the other side of this hill.” Poncha pointed.

  The road disappeared around a low mountain covered in evenly spaced pinyons. The next layer of mountains were covered with thick pine forest; beyond that, a peak above treeline.

  Wolf searched the landscape for a cut in the earth or rising dust but saw neither.

  Poncha followed his gaze. “They have the cut coming in from the other side.”

  A low rumble floated on the wind, sounding like earth-movers in the far distance.

  “I’m concerned about our cover as we drive in,” Wolf said.

  “Our cover?” Poncha pinched his brows.

  “We roll up with six vehicles, three of which are police trucks, he might do something.”

  “More bad behavior,” Rachette said.

  Poncha shrugged. “Not sure what we’re going to do about that.”

  Wolf looked to Patterson.

  She sighed. “I’m all ears for suggestions.”

  “I’ll go in and get him. By myself.”

  “No.”

  Wolf eyed her. “I go in like I’m a customer, asking for the boss. I put him under arrest.”

  “You’re not going in.” Her tone said she was serious about MacLean’s orders.

  Poncha chuckled. “MacLean said you guys wanted some muscle. We’re here to give you some. Let’s go in there loud and proud.”

  She nodded. “I don’t want to expose anyone. Safety in numbers.”

  Wolf watched as she laid out the plan.

  Chapter 23

  “Stop here,” Patterson said.

  Wolf slowed and parked the SUV on the shoulder of the dirt road.

  Patterson took off her seatbelt and got out.

  He watched her walk to the front bumper and tried to ignore the small part of his brain protesting the situation. Just a few short years ago she was that wide-eyed kid sitting in his office, fresh out of the academy and looking for a job. Now she was giving him orders, cock-sure in her determination to follow her own instincts and not his.

  A tinge of pride eclipsed his reluctance, and he shifted into park and shut off the engine.

  He stepped out and
joined her at the front bumper to observe the action from a distance. Wolf had a bad feeling, and the fact that he and Patterson were a few football fields away, helpless to contribute should something go awry, helped little.

  Up the road, the other five vehicles slowed, took a right turn, and sped toward the Hood quarry.

  He stepped into the ditch at the side of the road, kicking up grasshoppers from the weeds, and hiked up the incline to get a clear view. Patterson followed.

  They stopped in the shade of a fragrant juniper and watched.

  In the distance, Rachette and Yates pulled through the gate and parked near an outbuilding. The huge cloud of red dust kicked up by their tires announced their entrance.

  Inside the perimeter fence, a handful of workers milled around while others used small tractors with caged operator seats for heavy lifting. They swarmed like ants around rectangular chunks of red rock. Giant steps cut into the rock loomed behind them.

  The action slowed, and some of the workers climbed out of their machines to view the action.

  Wolf and Patterson stood silent, observing. In between breezes, the sun baked Wolf’s neck.

  And then movement caught his eye.

  “You see that?” He pointed.

  One of the workers jumped out of a compact Bobcat loader and sprinted toward the building.

  Patterson put the radio to her lips. “We see a single worker running from the yard toward the building.”

  “What?” The voice was barely audible over the sound of car doors slamming.

  The worker disappeared behind the structure.

  She repeated herself.

  “We copy,” Rachette said. “Moving in.”

  Wolf flicked his eyes to their cavalry, and saw Rachette, Wilson, Yates, and the others moving fast toward the outbuilding. They all had their guns drawn.

  The building was made of corrugated steel with an aluminum skin. Roll doors were wide open on the near and far sides, so Wolf and Patterson could see through it. Inside, their sprinter appeared, straddled a motorcycle, and began kicking the starter.

  “He’s in the building,” Wolf said into the radio. “He’s getting on a motorcycle.”

  “He’s on a motorcycle!” Rachette’s voice boomed from their speakers. “Where?”

  “Inside the building.”

  The sound of a revving four-stroke engine reached their ears. The guy rode out of the garage and turned away from the entrance, back toward where he’d jumped out of his tractor.

  The rider shifted gears and the motorcycle roared in protest.

  Wolf pulled his gun. Patterson looked at him and pulled her own.

  “What’s he doing?” Patterson asked.

  They watched in awe as the motorcycle continued to accelerate straight toward the fence.

  Then it shot through.

  “There’s another exit,” Wolf said.

  The bike’s motor wound down and tires scraped, kicking up a ball of dust. Wolf wondered if it had crashed but the revs started again and the bike appeared from the cloud and shot back along the outside of the fence.

  “He’s headed back your way,” Patterson said into the radio. “Along the exterior of the fence.”

  The motorcycle dove down and flicked in and out of sight between the junipers.

  Wolf turned and ran down the hill.

  “What are you doing?” Patterson called behind him.

  He reached the driver’s door, got in and fired up the engine.

  “Wait!” Patterson yelled.

  Wolf hesitated and looked out the windshield just in time to see Patterson slipping onto her backside. While she struggled to get up, he shifted into drive and hit the gas.

  Up the road, the dirt bike appeared out of the trees, dipped down into the drainage ditch, and launched into the air.

  “That’s Hood!” The radio burst to life. “We have confirmation—that’s Hood on the motorcycle!”

  “Wolf!” Patterson’s voice came through the dash radio speaker.

  The ease at which Hood twisted the bike in the air and landed on the road was impressive. He ducked in his seat, then shrank as he shifted through the gears and disappeared around the next bend in a deep-leaning skid.

  Wolf hit the gas, looking up the quarry driveway on the way by. The other five vehicles were trying to shuffle through the entrance.

  A figure burst from the trees and ran into the road in front of him.

  He jammed the brakes and twisted the wheel, narrowly avoiding killing a man.

  From a cloud of dust, Rachette appeared at the passenger window. He jumped in, breathless and wide-eyed. “Go!”

  Wolf hit the gas.

  Chapter 24

  “Jesus, he’s a freakin’ Arenacross racer!”

  Wolf agreed. The V6 305-horsepower engine was having trouble catching up. On the straight stretches, Hood zipped away with suicidal speed. Around corners, he accelerated impossibly. At the last turn he flew into a hairpin turn, launched off the road, and used the steep embankment cut into the mountain as a berm.

  Wolf jammed the brakes and the tires skidded, rumbling the cab.

  Then Hood was gone again, a thin wisp of dust the only proof he’d ever been there.

  “What’s happening?” said Patterson’s through the radio.

  “We’re in pursuit,” said Rachette. “He’s headed up into this canyon here. We’re just following. He’s fast as shit.”

  “Copy. We’re on your tail.”

  Rachette lowered the radio and eyed Wolf.

  Wolf gave him a sidelong glance. “She’s pregnant. I didn’t want her in pursuit with me.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  They continued along the road, following the dust around three more turns. The road climbed and they entered the pine forest.

  The trees were dense on either side. The road was hard-packed and less gravelly, and Hood’s aerial trail had disappeared.

  Rachette pointed up the mountain to Wolf’s left. “There his is! He turned off there!”

  Wolf hit the brakes and stopped at a two-track dirt road leading straight up through the pines at a steep angle.

  “Jesus.” Rachette leaned forward and craned his neck. He put his seatbelt on. “Let me guess. You’re going to—”

  Wolf twisted the wheel and punched the gas.

  The front end rose up and the rear dipped down.

  Wolf bounced hard in his seat, but he kept a firm grip on the wheel.

  “Holy cow!” Rachette grabbed the ceiling bar.

  The path in front of them disappeared, obscured by the hood of the SUV. Wolf kept his foot on the gas, knowing if they lost momentum they’d likely not make it any higher.

  He kept the vehicle moving through a gap in the trees, hoping the tires would miss any big rocks or pits.

  The engine lurched and revved high, and when the SUV slowed almost to a halt, he lifted off the gas, twisted the four-wheel knob to low and pressed the gas again. The engine screamed, but the tires seemed to grow claws and the SUV climbed steadily.

  The front end dropped, and the jeep trail re-emerged in the windshield. They were through the tough part. The rest of the way looked benign in comparison. Wolf shifted back into four-wheel-high and pressed the gas again, gaining more speed.

  “We’re almost at the top!” Rachette yelled a few minutes later.

  Wolf saw it, too. The trees thinned out, and now they were looking at more clouds between the pines. The sloped eased, and they summited the mountain.

  The lodgepole pines were widely spaced amid fields of grass. Beyond lay a sea of mountains, and the end of the road.

  The two-track led into a dirt turnaround. A barbed-wire fence ran across the road, and on the other side the twin ruts were grown over with grass and weeds.

  Wolf slid to a stop and he and Rachette got out.

  A cool breeze howled in the trees, making the barbed wire sing. Sweat dripped from under Wolf’s arms, and his hands were tight from the drive up.

/>   “Where did he go?” Rachette asked.

  Wolf studied the ground. No tracks.

  The dash radio came to life with Patterson’s voice. “… come in!”

  Rachette opened the door and plucked the radio from the receiver. “Rachette here. Come in.”

  “Where are you guys?”

  Wolf walked away from the vehicle toward the dilapidated fence. He looked down the length of it, back where they’d come. Hood could have slipped off the trail to the right and gone in the opposite direction into the forest.

  He turned around. The fence extended through widely spaced lodgepoles and down a slope that ended at the pinyon pines. Further down, Brushing glittered on the valley floor.

  “I said we followed him up a jeep trail. We’re sitting at the top of the mountain now.”

  The breeze lulled for a moment, and a rumbling noise reached Wolf’s ears.

  He twisted around toward to the way they’d come and saw Zack Hood in the distance, edging his front tire toward the barbed-wire fence a hundred or so yards away.

  “There he is!” Wolf pointed.

  Hood stopped the bike, raised a hand toward them, and fired two shots from a handgun.

  A bullet whistled past into the valley.

  “He’s shooting!” Wolf ducked behind the SUV.

  Rachette ducked down in the passenger seat. “Son of a bitch!”

  Hood’s bike reared up as he popped a wheelie. Then he crashed into the uppermost strand of barbed wire with the underside and landed hard back on both wheels.

  Wolf pulled his gun and stepped out. The fence next to him pinged and bounced.

  Hood was hopelessly out of range, but Wolf took two shots anyway.

  The motorcycle revved hard, and then Hood was over the fence as if it were a minor obstacle, churning through gears as he disappeared over a grassy rise.

  Chapter 25

  The scent of cigarette smoke coming from the two Brushing officers made Patterson feel like hurling.

  “Okay, we have a chopper on the way.” Poncha pocketed his cell phone and turned to her. “Got a Summit County SD bird on the way down, and they’re looking to bring in a Grand Junction news copter.”