Drifted

by Jeff Carson

  “Where’s that news copter from yesterday when we need it?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing. Sounds good.”

  A reflection down the road caught her eye, and she turned to see a truck’s silver grill climbing up the canyon, trailing a plume of dust.

  She walked away from the tobacco fest, back to her home team.

  “There’s a chopper on the way from Summit,” she told Wolf.

  Wolf nodded.

  She was still fuming over his leaving her on her ass in the dirt and driving away, but she was trying to let the anger evaporate. He’d been trying to keep her safe. Or was he pissed that she was running the show?

  That was the question.

  “What’s up?”

  Wolf’s words startled her. She realized she’d been staring at him. “Nothing.”

  “I’m sorry for leaving you back there.”

  She nodded. “I know you were just trying to protect me, right?”

  “Who’s gonna ride those puppies?” Rachette stepped between them, pointing at the truck.

  The pickup parked behind their line of vehicles.

  Dust washed over them, and Patterson held her breath and squinted until it blew past on a gust of wind.

  The men gathered around the trailer.

  Strapped onto the flatbed stood two dirt-bikes and four four-wheeler ATVs. The ATVs were blazoned with the Sluice–Byron County logo. The dirt-bikes were blue, dotted with stickers. One had a sixty-nine on the front number plate.

  Within a few minutes the six vehicles were off the ramp and parked at the rear of the trailer.

  After losing Zack Hood, Wolf and Rachette had descended the steep trail to the road and met Patterson and the others. Alexander had driven away quickly under Poncha’s orders. Now he was back with their goodies.

  That Hood had fired shots at Rachette and Wolf sent a jolt of adrenaline into Patterson’s system whenever she thought about it. The stress was compacting her insides, especially with the baby inside of her. The more they waited around, the worse it got.

  She’d wanted to move earlier, but the local boys were adamant that the mountains surrounding them had hundreds of miles of trails and dirt roads and any effort would be wasted, if not counterproductive. Now that they had eyes in the sky and ATVs they could move.

  “Who’s bikes?” Rachette asked Alexander.

  “Yours truly. You ride?”

  Rachette scoffed. “I can do ATVs. Not bikes though.”

  “I do,” Wolf said.

  Patterson watched in resignation as he took the helmet from Alexander’s hand and slipped it over his head.

  Wolf pulled it off and nodded. “Good fit.”

  Alexander started giving Wolf a tour of the bike. She considered protesting Wolf’s involvement but decided that ship had sailed.

  A couple of Brushing officers grabbed an ATV, and Yates and Rachette volunteered to take the other two. They were like teenagers at day camp.

  Patterson left the motor-heads to their business and walked back to Poncha’s truck. A map was spread on the hood. She hated that she had to get on her tip-toes to see what they were looking at, but she did and saw they were just re-hashing the same routes they’d been talking about for the past hour.

  With every minute, Hood would be deeper into the trail web. He might have gotten off the trails, too. How long could a man stay hidden in this vast wilderness? They were going to find out.

  “He’s going to get cold tonight,” Poncha said. “You saw what he was wearing. A T-shirt and jeans. Shit. Turn that camper around!”

  Patterson turned and saw a truck towing a camper. The driver had stopped and was leaning out the window, talking to one of the officers with animated hand gestures.

  It was Friday afternoon, and this was the third camper they’d turned around and sent back to the valley floor.

  A thumping echoed through the canyon, and they looked up as a helicopter passed overhead. The aircraft disappeared behind the mountain in front of them—the same that Wolf and Rachette had gung-hoed up an hour ago.

  Patterson’s eyes lingered on the clouds sliding across the sky above. The view of the south was blocked by the mountainside, but the sun had been snuffed out by approaching clouds. The air was growing colder and a wind was kicking up fine specks of dirt that stung her arms.

  “Copy that,” Poncha said into a handheld radio, his finger pressed against an earpiece. “Okay, the pilot’s saying there’s a storm coming in within the hour, so he doesn’t know how long he has.”

  Patterson’s watch read 2:05 p.m.

  She looked back and saw Wolf and Yates donning their SBCSD rain gear from the trucks.

  A minute later, the canyon was a cacophony of engine revving.

  She ducked into Wolf’s SUV and sat behind the wheel, savoring the warm seat and relative quiet.

  The passenger door opened and a face poked inside. She recognized one of the Brushing PD officers.

  “Hey, mind if I ride with you?”

  “Hop in.”

  The man lurched into the passenger seat. “I’m Ryder.”

  “Patterson.”

  She caught the scent of cigarette smoke coming off his clothes and sighed inwardly.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Poncha’s vehicle took off in front of her. Wolf, Yates, Rachette, and the other three men revved hard as they shot up the jeep trail and out of sight.

  She rolled down the windows. The dust and exhaust might as well have been potpourri.

  “Yeah, let’s roll.”

  Chapter 26

  Wolf sat forward and felt the rear wheel skid side to side.

  The 450-cc engine was whining high in second gear as he made his way up the steep trail. Too high? He shifted into third and felt it bog down, so he clicked back into second.

  He snuck a look over his shoulder and wondered if his move had caused a slowdown for the ATVs behind him, but the four-wheelers were far behind, the last one just now creeping onto the bottom of the trail from the road.

  Up ahead, Alexander had already pulled away, tearing up the right track of the road and around a bend. Wolf had watched the bike bucking and lurching under the man, engine screaming and tires spitting. He wondered if Alexander and Hood rode the same racing circuit.

  Wolf kept a solid grip on the throttle and, in what seemed like seconds, reached the flatter part of the road, and then the top of the mountain.

  Alexander was waiting for him, one foot down and looking over his shoulder.

  Wolf stopped and they idled next to one another, waiting for the four ATVs to appear over the rise.

  Rachette came first, followed by the two Brushing officers, and finally Yates.

  Wolf pointed forward, and Alexander tore away like he was gunning for the first turn in a race.

  As they neared the fence, Alexander slowed and waved Wolf forward. Wolf rolled through crispy weeds and over a downed pine bough. He stopped by the tire marks left by Zack Hood. He put down the kickstand and got off, then walked to the barbed-wire fence and cut it with a set of heavy-duty wire cutters.

  He got back on and gave the thumbs-up to the men behind him. Rachette pumped his fist, eyes wide behind his clear visor. The other two men looked comfortable enough on their machines, but Yates was staring ahead.

  Wolf followed his eyes to the crested horizon. The helicopter hovered over the next peak to the south and west. Beyond it, the sky was dark. A stroke of lightning licked out of a white curtain sweeping down into a valley in the distance, and even over the six revving engines and helicopter, they heard a deep rumble shake the air.

  The helicopter reacted, twisting in their direction and dropping its nose. A few seconds later it passed overhead like a dog with its tail between its legs.

  Wolf watched, then lowered his eyes to Yates’s ATV. While the other three ATVs had flat metal beds attached behind the seats, now packed with camping and survival gear should they need it, Yates had a radio box with
a wobbling antenna jutting from the rear fender into the sky a few feet above his head.

  Yates followed Wolf’s gaze and twisted in his seat, and when he whipped his helmet forward, his eyes were considerably wider.

  Alexander revved three quick times and took off.

  Wolf gave Yates a downward gesture. We’re going down.

  Yates nodded.

  Wolf went next, over the grounded barbed wire and through sparse grass. Hidden rocks bucked and kicked the bike, but the faster he went the better he kept his balance.

  Up ahead, Alexander took a sharp left, and they all tacked to follow. Then he jammed the brakes, veered right, and sped across the crest of the hill the opposite direction.

  Wolf slowed, considering whether or not to stop and rein him in over the radio, but Alexander waved over his head for them to follow. They did, and found the man had found a trail. They rolled slowly down the slope and onto a jeep trail, this one much flatter than the prior one. It extended across the side of the mountain and down into the trees.

  Alexander skidded to a halt.

  Wolf pulled up next to him.

  “Look at that!” Alexander pointed.

  Wolf could barely hear Alexander’s voice through his helmet and over the engines, but didn’t need to. He spotted the scrape coming down the hill, and the recent peel mark of a motorcycle’s tire as it had sped off.

  Wolf nodded, his spirits lifting. They were on the scent, and their pursuit would take them off the top of the mountain.

  “Looks like he went down!” Alexander yelled through his helmet. “Thank God!”

  Wolf nodded again, eying the electrical storm barreling in. The world had gone dark, the wind eerily still. “Let’s go!”

  Chapter 27

  “The helicopter’s grounded in Brushing until the storm passes,” Ryder said, lowering the radio.

  The speaker was on, but Patterson opted to not point that out. Ryder was a genuine soul, just trying to be helpful. She’d noticed that from the beginning. First, he’d asked if the side-view mirror needed adjusting, which it had. Then he’d offered to drive, but not an I’m-a-man way. He’d also apologized for the cigarette-smoke smell, explaining that he’d quit last year, but with all the action, felt like he’d needed one.

  “I’ve never been in pursuit like this,” he said as he looked out his passenger window.

  “Really? Not much action up here, huh?”

  “Well, there was a murder a couple of years ago in town. Domestic violence. And we had a kidnapped woman a couple of years before that, but I wasn’t on either of the cases.” His eyes searched the steep forested canyon on either side of the SUV. “Well, in truth, I wasn’t around.”

  She looked at him. “Really? Why?”

  “I’m new. This is my third month on the job.”

  She nodded, feeling perhaps a smidge more exposed if she were honest. “Well, no time like the present to get some experience, right?”

  “How about you? You ever been in any sort of action like this?”

  She blinked. “A few times.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  They came around a bend and a National Forest Campground sign loomed off the side of the road. “Here’s another campground. Keep your eyes peeled. He could be in here.”

  They’d already driven through a campground down the road, but it had been vacant—not surprising with all the traffic they’d turned around earlier on the road.

  Ryder pulled his gun and set it on his leg.

  Patterson eyed it. “Why don’t you keep your weapon holstered for now?”

  “Oh. Yeah, okay. Sorry.”

  The sky above them was darkening, and a flicker of lightning lit up the valley, followed by a rumble.

  She slowed and turned off the main dirt road into the campground. From a slight rise, she could see it was a big circle that looped off the river, dotted with camping spaces separated by well-spaced pines. Two camping spaces were occupied.

  She took a right around the track, toward the river that butted up against the spots on that side.

  She crept over a deep pothole, went up over a rise, and then over a big exposed rock jutting out of the ground.

  The first spot was a flat expanse of grass next to the river. Three tents had been erected, and a family was outside gathering things and shoving them inside the shelters.

  She slowed and rolled down the passenger window.

  Ryder leaned back, letting her speak.

  “Hi there,” she said.

  A man, woman, and two young children looked toward them.

  The man nodded. “Hi.”

  “Can we ask you a few questions?”

  The man set down a camping chair and walked toward the SUV, eyeing the sky on the way. “Sure. How’s it going, Officers?”

  “We’re looking for a man on a motorcycle, a blue dirt bike. He’s wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. Have you seen him?”

  The man stood and crossed his arms. “No.” His brow furrowed with concern. “Why?”

  Patterson considered her response. “He could be dangerous.” She thought about Zack Hood firing at her fellow detectives, then looked at the kids scrambling behind the man. “He is dangerous.”

  The man put his hands on his hips. “Should we be concerned?”

  “I would be,” she said. “There’s no sense in being out here right now with your kids.”

  “We just got here.”

  She shrugged and watched the man come to his senses.

  “Okay. We’ll pack up.” He looked back into the sky and walked to his wife.

  Patterson drove away.

  “Sucks for them,” Ryder said.

  “I’d rather them have a ruined weekend than be harmed by a psycho on the run. The guy’s already killed twice. The first kill is always the hardest. After that … you’re dealing with a different person altogether.”

  Ryder said nothing.

  They bucked and bounced through the campground. The next occupied site was over a rise, out of view of the other spot but still along the river.

  A few small rain drops appeared on the windshield, flecking the view of a large camper and a pickup truck. A man was inside the pickup and the reverse lights were on.

  A light glowed inside the camper. Though Patterson loved living in the mountains of Colorado, she was less than enthusiastic when it came to setting up a tent and letting ants invade every nook and cranny of her gear and her body.

  “That’s my kind of camping.” She shifted into park. “Let’s go give them the news.”

  “Looks like he’s leaving,” Ryder said.

  The man saw them and parked his pickup.

  Patterson stepped outside.

  The air was literally electric. The kind that made you duck your head.

  The picnic table was strewn with two paper plates and two half-eaten meals.

  The door of the pickup opened and the man came out. “Hey, how’s it going?” He slammed the door behind him and stood in front of them, hands propped on his hips.

  “You about to leave?” she asked.

  The man looked back at his camping trailer, then back at them, and nodded. He wore a red Cincinnati Reds jacket unbuttoned all the way. He scratched his thumb over his eyebrow. His eyes darted to the camper and back to them.

  He was breathing heavy—his body tense. His eyes were bloodshot.

  Then she caught a whiff of weed. The problem with marijuana was that it made some people downright psycho. There was probably a fresh bag sitting in his pocket.

  “Have you seen a man riding a motorcycle? He was wearing a T-shirt and—”

  “Yes.”

  “And jeans,” she said.

  “Yes. T-shirt and jeans. I’ve seen him.”

  She and Ryder exchanged a glance. “Where?”

  The man pointed past them. “He came in here. Went to that pump over there.”

  Patterson and Ryder followed his finger. A handled water pump stood near a clump of pi
ne trees.

  “What color was the motorcycle?” she asked.

  “Blue.”

  She and Ryder looked at each other again.

  “When exactly was this?”

  “Recently. Like, twenty minutes ago.”

  Lightning flickered. Thunder followed a few seconds later.

  Patterson waited for the man to expound, but he stared at them, stoned.

  “Do you remember which way he went?”

  “He sat there for a few minutes at the pump, then got back on his bike and rode away.” He pointed down the valley, further in the direction they’d been driving before they’d stopped at the campsite.

  “Thanks.”

  “You got it.”

  “Listen, the man could be dangerous. Are you here with your family?”

  The man swallowed, looking guilty again. “My daughter.”

  “Ah,” Patterson said. “Well, I’d recommend heading out. You might as well not be around if there’s a dangerous individual on the loose.”

  A tarp flapped in the wind, weighted down by rocks. The legs of what looked like a gas grill poked out, and the wind buffeted against more things the man no doubt intended to keep covered from the approaching elements.

  Two plastic cups blew around the campsite. One of the paper plates, still full of beans and a half-eaten hotdog, were about to blow over too.

  “You’d better get everything shored up. This storm’s coming in hard.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Officers.” He turned and picked up the cups and made a quick lap around the picnic table, stacking paper plates and shoving them in a trash bag hanging from a branch.

  Rain fell in cold, large drops. One hit the side of Patterson’s neck and slid down her shirt.

  “Let’s go.” She ducked and jogged toward the SUV.

  Ryder followed.

  They got back in the SUV just as the sky opened up.

  Patterson fired up the engine and hit the gas, rounding the end of the loop and back out of the campground.

  “Poncha, do you copy?”

  They bounced harder this time as Patterson drove through the potholes with more urgency.

  The seatbelt wrenched against her stomach. “Shit.” She jammed the brakes and eased over the exposed rock.