Tracer

by Dustin Stevens

  “Naw, we always do that,” Kade countered, standing up, gripping his poles in either hand. “Besides, I’m the only one here on skis. You guys should let me win out of principal.”

  “And what principal would that be?” Drake asked.

  “That skiing is ten times harder than snowboarding,” Kade said. “You guys owe me breakfast for being the only one here man enough to do it.”

  “The only reason you’re man enough to do it is because you don’t have the balls to get on a board,” Ajax countered. Slid into position alongside Drake and Sage.

  “I don’t think that’s the problem,” Drake said. “There are plenty of women in town that will vouch he has balls.”

  “Yeah, it’s his discretion that’s a little bit lacking,” Sage added. Mixture of disapproval and disbelief in her voice.

  They all knew she was rolling her eyes behind the goggles, even if they couldn’t see it.

  “You’ve made your point,” Kade said. Voice flat. Exasperated. “Same bet as usual. First pair to cross the line gets breakfast courtesy of the losers. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Drake said, “but no ordering wine this time, huh?”

  A mischievous smile crossed Kade’s face. Remained affixed as he positioned his goggles.

  “I can’t promise anything. It is Christmas after all.”

  Without a word he disappeared down the run, his long, dark hair blowing behind him.

  The rest of the Crew departed right on his heels, a plume of snow rising in their wake.

  Chapter Four

  Snow Plaza.

  The flagship ski lodge in Western Montana. The reason people flocked in droves to Missoula every winter.

  One of the many reasons most of them never left.

  The front doors to an oversized A-frame lodge opened wide as the Crew ascended the stairs, beckoning them in. A confluence of light and warmth hit as they passed through, leaving the cold morning behind.

  Just three days before Christmas, the crowd was much thinner than usual. The student body at the U had left the weekend before. A fair number of the regulars had already departed for their holiday sojourns.

  Not quite first-day-of-the-season thin, but not far behind.

  Drake and Sage were the first two inside, broad grins plastered across their faces. Behind them trudged Kade and Ajax, begrudging half-smiles in place.

  “I tell you, I am famished,” Sage said, eyes shining. “I feel like I could eat a cow.”

  “I don’t know if I can eat a cow, but I have every intention of trying,” Drake added, drawing a chuckle from Sage.

  Behind them Ajax and Kade both shook their heads. Ajax mumbled something unintelligible while Kade settled for, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  The lodge in front of them was comprised of one expansive room. Round tables dotted the floor while padded benches lined the walls.

  Most days every available seat was taken.

  Today, it was less than one-in-three.

  A stone fireplace dominated the rear of the space, grey rock mined from the Clark Fork River rolling through town. In it was a fire that was lit sometime in October, left blazing until early April.

  It was the only source of heat for the entire lodge, a job it more than fulfilled.

  Paired up two and two, the Crew made their way through the center of the lodge. A handful of wait staff crossed back and forth in front of them as they went. Many nodded in recognition.

  Off to the left, an older couple raised a pair of coffee cups in salute. Lewis and Cynthia Hill. Long-time Snow Plaza fixtures, even longer Missoula residents.

  “Who won?” Cynthia called as they passed, her wrinkled visage split into a smile.

  “Score one for the good guys,” Drake replied, hands spread wide.

  More grumbling from Ajax and Kade behind him.

  Less than ten minutes after finishing their run, the group found their usual table in the corner. Ajax went for his customary spot closest to the fire, still bundled in his outdoor attire.

  How he was able to sit that close to the flames without melting was anybody’s guess.

  Ajax - birth name Adam Jackson - was the first person Drake met in Missoula that wasn’t in some way connected to Griz football. A trust fund kid from Boston, he had come to Missoula to be as far from the trappings of his affluent New England family as he could be.

  Despite the enormous financial backing at his fingertips, he had never touched a cent.

  Not that he ever needed to.

  Designing video games had made him one of the richest people in Montana by the time he was twenty-two years old.

  Three years later, he still lived in the same house off campus that he and Drake rented beginning in their sophomore year. The only differences were now they owned it, and Drake’s English bulldog shared it with them.

  If measured, Ajax would come in four inches above six feet tall, though it was hard for anybody to actually tell. Half the year, a tangle of loose dreadlocks hung from his head, giving him an extra boost.

  The other half, like now, he was mummified in winter gear.

  Not only did it mask his true height, but made it look like he weighed significantly north of his actual hundred fifty pounds.

  Sliding into a seat across from Ajax was Kade Keuhl, the first person Drake met in Montana, period.

  The product of a German father and Native American mother, bits of both could be seen in his features.

  Thick, dark hair that hung past his shoulders. Sharp cheekbones. Light skin. Blue eyes.

  Hailing from the Flathead Reservation sixty miles north of Missoula, Kade grew up too light for the Native American community, too dark for the Caucasian contingent. Over time, he developed a raw tenacity and thick skin that made him a great athlete.

  Loyal friend.

  Standing a few inches under six feet tall, he carried the same sinewy physique he had when his playing days ended three years prior.

  As a fire jumper that spent half of the calendar year chasing blazes all over the west, being in shape was a necessary evil.

  “Alright, so what’s it going to be?” Sage Keuhl asked, sliding herself into a chair beside Kade. She pulled her hat and gloves off and piled them on the table, a satisfied smile on her face.

  Two years younger than the other three, Sage was the newest member of the Crew.

  Growing up in the same predicament as her brother, she spent her formative years counting seconds until she could get off the rez. Once her time was served, she shot past Missoula to Bozeman for nursing school.

  After completion, she returned to Missoula as an RN at St. Michael’s Hospital.

  When she arrived three years before, Kade invited her along on the morning outings hoping to help her connect with the community.

  What he actually accomplished was to make her an indispensable part of the Crew.

  “Just remember, you guys said before taking off that there would be no wine list,” Ajax said. “No steak and eggs. No Crème Brule.”

  “I remember saying nothing about steak and eggs,” Drake said, sliding out the last of the chairs and settling himself into it.

  On outward appearance alone, he was the most common of the bunch. If such a word could be used to describe any of them at the table.

  Blonde hair kept short, uniform in length. Blue eyes.

  A build that suggested wide receiver. Maybe quarterback.

  He’d been brought to Missoula from West Tennessee seven years earlier to play middle linebacker. Now that his playing days were over, there wasn’t the need to remain quite so large.

  At first glance, many would not take Drake for an outlier.

  That illusion was shattered the moment he opened his mouth.

  There are places in American where having a southern drawl isn’t enough to label a person as an outlier.

  Missoula is not one of those places.

  “Or Crème Brule,” Sage added.

  “Yeah, I’m going to head this off before it goes any fur
ther,” Kade said, raising a hand in the air. He waved it about until catching the attention of the waitress walking by and pointed down at the table. “The usual.”

  The waitress, a middle-aged red head named Helen, nodded in reply. She’d been waiting on the Zoo Crew for three years and counting. She knew what the usual meant.

  Bacon and eggs for Ajax and Kade.

  Denver omelets for Drake and Sage.

  “The usual, huh?” Drake said, leveling a faux serious look on his friend. “That’s not much of a victory meal.”

  “Wasn’t much of a victory,” Kade said. “You beat the abominable snowman over there and a guy on skis.”

  “Don’t give me that,” Sage countered. “You even had a head start.”

  For the first time since leaving the house that morning, Ajax removed the scarf from around his face. Smooth caramel skin peeked out from the wall of North Face gear.

  “Hey now, can’t we all get along? It is Christmas you know.”

  “I’ll be damned, it talks,” Drake said, his face flat as he stared at Ajax.

  “Go to hell,” Ajax deadpanned, the table breaking into laughter.

  “Hey! It is Christmas you know,” Drake echoed.

  The table laughed harder, the two friends shaking their heads at one another.

  “Speaking of which,” Sage said, “what’s the agenda?”

  “I’m heading home this afternoon,” Kade said. “Told ma I’d cut the tree and get it set up.”

  “I’m here until tomorrow morning,” Sage said. “Supposed to snow tonight, so I’ll sack out after work and drive up first thing.”

  “Good call,” Kade said. Shifted his attention to Ajax and Drake. “Your plans?”

  Ajax’s face clouded a bit. He aimed his gaze at the table, shook his head.

  “I fly out Sunday morning.”

  Three surprised looks stared back at him. Nobody said a word.

  He raised his eyes, saw their stares. Shook his head again.

  “Family won’t let me get away with skipping another holiday.”

  There was no further explanation. There didn’t have to be.

  “What time you fly out?” Drake asked.

  “Seven.”

  Drake turned to Kade. “I’ll be there between eight and nine.”

  Ajax opened his mouth to protest. Closed it just as fast.

  There was no need to argue. That’s not how things were done with the Crew.

  He needed a ride to the airport. Christmas Eve or not, they weren’t about to let him call a cab.

  Before any further discussion could be had, Helen arrived, their meals in hand. She unloaded each of them in front of their corresponding person, not bothering to ask who ordered what.

  Nobody had in fact ordered anything.

  She set the plates down and stood back. Pressed her hands on her hips. Sighed.

  “Well now, will you folks be needing anything else?”

  “No, I think we’re all set,” Drake said.

  “This is great, thanks,” Sage added.

  Helen nodded her head, took a glance around. Nobody in the lodge seemed to be in need, so she took a step forward.

  “Hey, what did you guys think of that mess in Hamilton last night?”

  All four exchanged blank looks.

  “What happened in Hamilton last night?” Kade asked.

  A conspiratorial smile spread across Helen’s features. The unbridled joy of being the first time to share a fresh bit of information. “You guys haven’t heard? It’s been all over the news.”

  “We’ve been here all morning,” Drake said. “What happened?”

  “I guess some guy showed up at the Ag Commission meeting and shot up the place. Just walked in with a rifle and started firing.”

  “Oh my God, that’s awful,” Sage said.

  “Was anybody hurt?” Drake asked.

  “That’s the darnedest part of it,” Helen said. Shook her head. “Just the guy himself.”

  “He shot himself?” Ajax asked, confusion on his face.

  “No,” Helen replied. “Somebody in the audience had a concealed carry and shot him. The shooter didn’t hit a darn thing.”

  All four people around the table leaned back. Exchanged glances. Attempted to process what they’d been told.

  At the other end of the room, a trio of new customers walked in and took seats.

  Helen watched them settle into their chairs and sighed. Shook her head once more. “It never ends I tell you. You kids holler if you need anything.”

  Drake and Sage both nodded in understanding.

  All four sat in silence a moment. Thought about what Helen told them.

  Just as fast, the moment passed.

  They tore into their food with reckless abandon.

  Chapter Five

  Iron lung.

  The slang term for a breathing machine.

  Connected to a patient through a series of tubes, it pushes air into the lungs. Pauses. Pulls carbon dioxide back out.

  Up and down, like a miniature accordion.

  Force air in, draw it back out.

  The movement had a mesmerizing effect as Sara Webb sat by the bed of her brother Lukas. Watched it rise and fall, never moving more than six inches in either direction.

  The first hour she was there, she counted every single breath that was forced into Lukas’ body. Made sure that the machine was doing its job. Checked to see that his chest moved as it should.

  After a while, her eyes glazed over. Her mind wandered elsewhere, buffered by the up and down movement of the pump. By the rhythmic sound of breaths being pushed in and out.

  Sara had gotten the call sixteen hours before.

  She was at home in her pajamas watching the newest Duck Dynasty when the Ravalli County Sheriff’s Department rang. Asked if she was the sister of Lukas Webb.

  Her first concern was that he had been in an accident. He was just a week back from Afghanistan and his driving was still a bit suspect.

  Under the best of circumstances.

  Which Montana in the winter certainly was not.

  Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined what they were calling her about. Lukas, kind, sweet, even-tempered Lukas, had walked into an Agriculture Commission meeting and opened fire.

  It took her half an hour to get dressed and over to Hamilton Memorial Hospital, her movements slow and stilted. Her entire body was numb, shock taking hold.

  There had to be some mistake.

  She arrived to find a bevy of local law enforcement on the scene. All in uniform. Some carrying rifles.

  They informed her that Lukas was in surgery at the moment. He had been shot three times.

  If he survived, he would be under arrest for attempted murder.

  No less than five times they asked to speak with her. Each time she refused. She was in no state to answer questions.

  Wouldn’t say a word even if they tried.

  Only after an hour of back and forth did they relent. Inform her that they would be back at noon the next day for a full interrogation whether she wanted to or not.

  Now, at four minutes before twelve, she still had no idea what she was going to say to them.

  Was even less sure what they thought they could learn from her.

  A knock on the door behind her told Sara they were a few minutes early. She reached out and squeezed her brother’s hand, his skin icy beneath her grip. She remained in place a moment before releasing it and rising, turning towards the door.

  A man in his early fifties with thinning red hair and a prodigious midsection stood in the doorway, his hat in hand. He nodded as Sara turned to face him, his thin lips pressed tight.

  “Ma’am, I’m Sheriff Jacob Pratt.”

  Sara already knew who he was. His face had been plastered on every post in Ravalli County the month before for election season.

  Why he campaigned so hard for an uncontested race, nobody was quite sure.

  “Good morning, Sheriff,”
Sara said, her voice even, stiff.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you some questions about your brother.”

  Sara nodded. There was no need to say anything. She’d already agreed to answer what she knew the night before.

  She followed Pratt out into the hall, past a pair of deputies flanking the door. Both eyed her as she left, equal parts curiosity and mistrust.

  The Sheriff said nothing as he led her out of the post-op ward and into the main hall of the hospital. Harsh fluorescent lights gleamed off of polished floors as they walked.

  Sara’s shoes clicked beneath her. The Sheriff’s overloaded belt groaned with strain.

  The pair walked in silence until they reached the cafeteria.

  “Coffee?” Pratt asked.

  Sara answered with a sharp twist of the neck. Said nothing.

  Opting against any for himself, he led her to the back corner of the room. Chose an isolated table and positioned himself against the wall.

  Left Sara to take a seat on the opposite side.

  The only possible place she could look was straight back at him.

  Pratt dropped his hat crown side down on the table and slid into a seat. He waited for Sara to do the same before leaning forward onto his elbows and lowering his voice.

  Glancing around the room to make sure nobody was listening.

  “Sara, before we get started, I want you to know that we in no way believe you were involved in what happened last night.”

  Sara nodded. Remained silent.

  “But do you have any idea why Lukas would do something like this?”

  The familiar tug of tears pulled at the underside of Sara’s eyes. She pressed them hard together and drew in a mighty sniff. Waited for the moment to pass.

  When she spoke, her voice betrayed the smallest of cracks.

  “I didn’t even know he was gone. He went to lie down after an early dinner. I thought he was asleep, but he must have snuck out the back door.”

  Pratt listened without taking notes, his face screwed up into concern.

  “And did he seem like anything was wrong?”

  Sara’s brow furrowed as she leaned back a few inches. Stared at the Sheriff like he was crazy.

  “Like anything was wrong? Ten days ago he was on patrol outside Fallujah. One night he gets a call to come home and bury his father. There hasn’t been a time when something wasn’t wrong in a while.”