Backcountry

by Pamela Beason

  She repeated, “Nobody knows.”

  “Is this for real? Are you shittin’ me?” He lowered the knife tip to her throat. With one quick thrust of his hand, he could kill her.

  Were those footsteps she heard coming their way? Heigler turned his face toward the sound. She stepped back, reached into her shirt, yanked out the whistle.

  The maniac swiveled around, caught her before she could get the whistle between her lips. “I’ll kill all you motherfuckers.” Snatching the whistle from her fingers, he jerked hard. The cord yanked her head forward, slashing into the back and sides of her neck before it snapped. “Why couldn’t you be Kyla?”

  She took advantage of her own forward momentum to knee him in the groin. When he crumpled, mumbling “Bitch,” she grabbed the rifle with both hands, shoving the barrel to the side. He pulled back. She twisted the barrel along with his arm, yanking the strap off his arm, but he held on and grabbed for the trigger.

  The rifle discharged. Heat shot through the barrel under her hands and the boom instantly rendered her deaf, but she kept her grip tight and managed to slam the butt into his chest. When he staggered back a step, she ripped the rifle from his hands and slung it in a wide arc out over the lake. It splashed into the water thirty feet from the shoreline.

  “Shit!” He shoved her again, so brutally this time that her head snapped back against the tree trunk.

  Fireworks exploded in her brain. She slid down the trunk, ending up on her backside, black spots closing in on her vision. A rock stabbed into her thigh.

  He’d pull out his knife now to finish her off, and then he’d be after her crew. No, she couldn’t be absent again when someone died. She grabbed for the rock beneath her leg, realized it was her whistle, managed to cram it between her lips and let out a long piercing blast with the last of her breath.

  His cursing was the last thing she heard before his fist slammed into her head. Her vision faded to the sound of his footsteps running away. Pain flooded out from behind her eyeballs to wash over her brain, leaving only blackness in its wake.

  * * * * *

  She came to slowly, confused by blurry black spots dancing in front of her eyes. They slowly resolved into fir branches overhead. Why was she sprawled on the ground? How long had she been out? The murmur of a footstep on gravel scratched close by and from the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of the toe of a hiking boot.

  Klapton! The knife! Panic came rushing back. She clawed her fingers into the dirt and struggled to a sitting position.

  “You okay, Cap’n?” Aidan asked. “I heard your whistle.”

  She peered up into a flashlight beam so blinding it felt like a bolt of lightning darted through her brain. She ducked her head again and pressed a hand against her brow as a shield. “Get that flashlight out of my face.”

  He complied, and then held out his hand to help her up. “Is that blood running down your neck?”

  Gaining her feet, she swayed for a moment like a drunk. Gingerly rubbing her fingers over her neck, she felt the sting of raw flesh and wetness running down into her shirt collar. “Did you see him?”

  “See who?”

  “Klapton. I mean Heigler—Erik Heigler. Our hunter.”

  Aidan tilted his head. “You okay, Sam? You’re not making any sense.”

  She squinted to bring him into focus. Like the other boys, Aidan’s face was scruffy now, with more than a week’s worth of reddish whiskers. In the dark, the shaggy beard lent him a menacing aspect.

  “I just got attacked by the guy who left that Klapton note,” she said. “He’s the hunter we saw twice before.”

  “Really?”

  “Think I’d make that up? Turns out Klapton is Troy Johnson’s nephew. He was looking for Kyla.”

  “What? The hunter is Klapton? Wait—didn’t he have a gun?” Aidan glanced around nervously.

  “A rifle. It’s in the lake. He had a knife, too.”

  “Should we call 9-1-1?”

  A snort escaped her lips. She loved the wilderness for its lack of civilization, but that same aspect rendered it dangerous in emergencies. Even when cell phones worked up here to summon help, no assistance would arrive for hours, maybe even days. “I think he’s gone now.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because I’m not Kyla?” That sounded weird, she knew. “But it sounded like he came here for her, and now he knows she’s not here. He seemed upset that she was dead.”

  “Really?” Aidan ran his fingers through his ragged hair. “What a freak.”

  What an odd thing to say. But then, this was a very odd conversation in a very odd situation. Wincing, Sam touched her cheekbone where the maniac had punched her. “Or maybe he ran off because I threw his rifle in the lake and blew my whistle.”

  Aidan glanced at the lake and then turned back to her, tilting his head to one side. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, anyway, Sam?”

  She moved her hand to the back of her head. Although there was a sizeable lump there, she was relieved that she didn’t feel any blood. “I’ll ask you the same thing, Aidan. That plane woke me up, and when I got up to check the camp, you were gone.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I was sitting down by the lake when that plane flew over. That seemed weird, so I walked down the shoreline to see if I could spot what the pilot was looking for.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  He shook his head. “Nada.”

  Her peer counselor was trying too hard to appear nonchalant. That fuckhead Charlie. Aidan Charles Callahan. She’d bet he was involved in tonight’s events somehow.

  She sucked in a long slow breath and then blew it out again, clearing enough of a space in her brain to get a sudden vision of Heigler circling back to the group site with that knife.

  “We’ve got to get back to camp.”

  Chapter 20

  Sam and Aidan walked toward the group camp together. With every step, his boots made a squishing sound, and Sam noticed for the first time that Aidan’s pants legs were wet. His sleeves were, too. He had a bandanna wrapped around his left hand, stained dark with something that also spotted his jacket cuff.

  “What happened to you, Aidan?”

  “Stupidity.” He blew out a breath in a huffing sound. “I was whittling on a stick, just trying to shut down my brain so I could go to sleep, and I slipped and cut myself. The blood freaked me out, so I waded into the lake to wash. It’s okay now. The cold water helped to slow the bleeding.” He shook his head. “It was stupid to stand there like that. I even dropped my damn knife somewhere in the water. My feet are like icebergs. I’m here to tell you, that lake is freakin’ cold. I’m glad we’re hiking out tomorrow, because I bet my boots will still be wet when I wake up.”

  Sam doubted Aidan was telling her everything. How could he not have heard her wrestling match with Klapton? He’d only mentioned the sound of her whistle.

  “Didn’t you hear the gunshot?” she asked.

  After a brief pause, Aidan said, “Jesus, was that a gunshot? I heard a loud bang right before your whistle.”

  “And you didn’t see Klapton?”

  “I think I’d remember that,” he said dryly. “I’m sorry you tangled with him.”

  She suspected Aidan’s story was mostly lies. But her head was throbbing hard, an ache that echoed each step she took. It was hard to focus on anything else.

  Everything in camp was quiet. The crew kids and Maya were all in their tents. She unzipped three of the tents to make sure the inhabitants were breathing. Olivia, Nick, and Maya didn’t even roll over when the beam of her flashlight rolled over them. How had they all slept through the plane and the scuffle? The gunshot. Her whistle?

  “Guess you weren’t so loud after all,” Aidan said. “And after last night, we’re all pretty zonked.”

  Except for you, she thought. They stopped in front of his tent.

  “You really think that guy’s gone?” he asked.

  “I hope
so. He ran away when I blew my whistle. He made it clear that he wanted Kyla, not me.” That’s all she could say for sure. How far Heigler had run was anyone’s guess.

  “Then it’s bed for me.” Aidan yawned. “But I’ll sleep lightly. I always do. If that creep shows up again, I’ll know.”

  She studied him as he stretched, then knelt and untied his hiking boots. Given the evening’s events, he was unusually calm. It seemed probable that Aidan Charles Callahan somehow knew Klapton was gone. Sam found that oddly comforting, but wasn’t sure she should.

  “I’ve got to make a quick phone call,” she murmured. “Tell Troy what happened.” She noticed that her head didn’t ache quite so much when she stood still.

  He looked up. “I’ll come with. You need a guard.”

  “No,” she said. “I’ll scream if I need you.”

  She walked toward the dark woods, but after she was certain she was cloaked in the shadows, she stopped. Turning, she watched Aidan crouch in front of his tent. He removed something from his jacket and tossed it into his tent before climbing in.

  It was nearly two a.m. She hated to wake up Troy. She heard only two rings before he answered.

  “Sam?” he gasped. “Are you okay? Are the kids okay?”

  “Yes and yes. Sorry to call in the middle of the night. Take a breath, Troy.”

  She heard him inhale deeply and exhale slowly before he said, “But you’re calling at two in the morning.”

  “Don’t panic, Troy, but I need to tell you what went on tonight.” She told him about the plane and the probable drug drop.

  “Damn, Sam. Double damn,” he said. “I can’t believe it. I’ve heard that stuff happens up there, but as far as I know it never happened on our trips.”

  As far as you know being the operative phrase here.

  “And you said Aidan was gone from camp?”

  “Yes. That’s why I went out looking. And then I ran into Heigler.”

  “What? God, Sam, how is that possible?”

  She told him about the encounter and the fight. “He seemed to think I was Kyla; that’s why he’s been following us.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “I hope it will, eventually. The drug drop is probably in the mix somehow, but I think that now he knows about Kyla, he’ll leave, Troy. He certainly took off in a hurry when I blew my whistle. But he might come after you or Chris; he seemed to blame you somehow. I’m going to call Detective Greene now and tell her, too.”

  “Sam, how can you be sure Erik’s gone?”

  She had trouble zeroing in on a coherent thought amid the waves of pain that kept sloshing around inside her head. “We’ll keep watch tonight, and we’ll be out tomorrow.” She didn’t specify who the other part of “we” was.

  There was no response from the other end of the phone for a long minute, and then he said, “Maybe I could get the rangers up there in a helicopter.”

  “We both know that couldn’t happen before dawn. The kids are all sleeping; they’re all in their tents.” She considered telling him her suspicion that they’d been drugged, but decided that could wait. She was so tired. “I’ll see you tomorrow as scheduled, Troy.”

  Next she called Detective Greene’s number, but of course her call went to voice mail. She left a detailed message about Heigler and potential threats against Troy Johnson and Chris Rawlins, and a possible connection with Aidan Charles Callahan. After ending her message, she contemplated calling 9-1-1, but couldn’t imagine any events that would happen afterwards that Greene wouldn’t handle much more efficiently tomorrow. Or later today, actually.

  Sam ended the call and stood, breathing quietly, listening to the forest. Silence. Was Heigler really gone? She didn’t feel his presence. Then again, she couldn’t feel much except for her throbbing head, the burning slashes along her neck, and the ache of her wounded shoulder and bruised ribs from yesterday. Heigler had spoken as if he was done with her, but then, the man didn’t seem exactly rational. She tried to take comfort in knowing at last sight, he was running away from their camp, not toward it.

  She walked back to camp and surveyed the array of tents and the still blackness of the lake beyond. Aidan’s tent was zipped tight. He’d hung his pants and socks outside over the tent peak in an attempt to dry them. She could hear him inside, a whistling almost-snore.

  Aidan had been amazingly cool about the night’s activities. Almost as if he’d been expecting things to play out like they did. Was he in league with Heigler?

  His casual demeanor suggested that he wasn’t worried about Heigler showing up in the vicinity. As if he knew for certain that Heigler was no longer a threat. What had he taken from his jacket and tossed into his tent? He’d been uncharacteristically nice to make that hot cocoa for the entire crew on their last evening. Damn lucky she’d poured hers out.

  Lucky? Maybe not. Ignorance of everything she’d experienced tonight would have been nice. She chewed on her thumbnail, fretting. Every muscle in her entire body ached. She had no proof of anything and it could be dangerous to openly accuse Aidan with no backup.

  An unwelcome vision flooded her imagination: Heigler strolling into camp and spraying the tents with bullets. No, his rifle was in the lake. He hadn’t been carrying a handgun; she would have felt it on his skinny frame. But he still had the knife. Her waking nightmare of Heigler was followed by the image of Aidan emerging from his tent with a gun and doing the same thing.

  If the teens were drugged as she suspected, she wouldn’t be able to rouse them now. She unzipped her tent and pulled out her sleeping bag, grabbed her water bottle and first aid kit, then closed the tent door again. Sinking to a sitting position with her back against a big fir, she wrapped the sleeping bag around her. She dabbed the slashes on her throat with antibiotic cream, which somehow made them burn more hotly than they had before, and swallowed three aspirin. Leaning against the tree, she resolved to stay awake until daylight. A dull pain at the back of her head informed her of the lump still growing under her scalp.

  Sometime later a skittering noise above her sent her pulse into race mode. Looking up through the branches, she was rewarded with bits of bark showering onto her face. Were those eyes?

  She glanced quickly at the kids’ tents. The camp remained dark. She risked advertising her position by flicking on her flashlight, and spotlighted a pointed furry face peering down at her.

  At this distance and in the dark, she couldn’t be absolutely sure, but she guessed her companion was a fisher. She’d read that the fierce weasels were making a comeback in the Cascades, but until now she’d seen only stuffed ones in museums.

  She chose to believe that keeping company with a rare “tree wolverine” was a good omen.

  “Nice to see you, buddy,” she whispered. Turning off the flashlight, she gazed back at the crew tents and surveyed the surrounding woods. “If I fall asleep, please jump down here and bite me, would you?”

  Chapter 21

  Before wakeup call at dawn, Sam assigned Aidan and Maya to take the big water bottles down to the lake and filter water for the hike out. First Aidan looked surprised, then his mouth hardened in annoyance. By the end of an expedition, the crew kids were supposed to take on all these tasks. But he left without saying anything, Maya trailing behind him, tossing concerned glances back over her shoulder as she walked. The girl knew Sam well enough to guess that something was up.

  As soon as her peer counselors were out of camp, Sam crawled into Aidan’s tent. He’d already stuffed his sleeping bag, but she squeezed the cushy roll to be sure nothing other than down was inside. Then she crawled back out and checked his pack. In the top and outside pockets, she found only the clothing and the gear he’d been assigned to carry, and the disc of woven grass he’d created.

  She held the coaster for a few seconds, turning it over in her hands. Something about weaving, something about Aidan. Her exhausted brain failed to snare the elusive thought. She put the coaster back and moved on.

  Unzippin
g the bottom pocket, she discovered two plastic bags rolled up inside his rain pants. Grainy off-white powder had been double-bagged, duct tape covering the zip-lock closures for good measure.

  Damn. All her suspicions had been correct. Was Aidan part of a drug smuggling operation? Like Troy, she’d heard about drug drops in the north Cascades, small planes dropping loads containing avalanche beacons that a hiker with the corresponding transceiver could easily locate. For all she knew, tracking could probably be done with smart phones and GPS apps these days.

  They were camped less than twenty miles from the Canadian border. The plane had come from the north; these bags of whatever it was were probably headed south for distribution across the States.

  She poked the bag with a finger. Hundreds of dollars worth of drugs? Thousands? She’d bet it was only one of many Aidan and Heigler had stashed in the woods last night. What was in the bag—cocaine, meth?

  “Looks like H to me.”

  The voice startled Sam so much she nearly fell over.

  Ashley squatted down beside her. “Where’d you find it?” The girl’s eyes were glued to the bags and she licked her lips, a sharp reminder of her history.

  Sam gathered up the bags. Damn. Now she’d have to decide what to do next, and quickly. She hadn’t found a weapon in Aidan’s pack. If he had one, it was on his person or stashed nearby. Sam debated what to tell the girl and whether or not it was wise to confront Aidan. Then the decision was abruptly made for her as Aidan materialized in front of her, his arms full of water bottles, Maya by his side.

  He set down the water bottles and fiddled with the fresh bandage wrapped around his left hand.

  Maya immediately focused on the bags in Sam’s hands, her eyes wide. “Is that what I think it is? Where’d that come from?” Then, “Damn, Sam, what happened to your face?”

  Sam gingerly fingered the swelling on her left cheek that had partially closed her left eye. “I collided with a tree last night.” She stood up. “And only Aidan knows where this came from.”