by C. J. Box
Camish opened his mouth to call something out but a third.454 round punctured the body armor over his heart like a missile through tissue paper and dropped him like a bag of rocks.
Joe rose unsteadily, his ears ringing from the gunshots. He was stunned by what had just happened and amazed by the fact that he wasn’t hurt, that the brothers hadn’t fired back.
From the trees, Nate walked out into the clearing and the morning sun lit him up. He ejected three smoking spent cartridges from the cylinder and replaced them with fresh rounds. He said, “That may have been the worst thing we’ve ever done, Joe.”
Joe dropped his shotgun, turned away, bent over with his hands on his knees, and threw up in the dew-sparkled grass.
The sharp smell of gunpowder held in place a few feet above the meadow, the result of a morning low pressure. Gradually, it dissipated. The odor of spilled blood, however, got stronger as it flowed from the bodies of Caleb and Camish until the soil around them was muddy with it.
Nate found a downed log at the edge of the timber and sat down on it, his.454 held loosely in his fist, his head down as if studying the grass between his boots. Joe walked aimlessly toward the timber from where the brothers had emerged. He doubted the woman had been hiding there, but he wanted to check. His shotgun was still in the grass.
He stopped near to where Caleb had come out, noting a dull, unnatural glint on the edge of a shadow pool in the trees. Stepping closer, he took a deep breath. The glint came from a substantial pile of loose rifle cartridges in the pine needles, and something dark and square. He was puzzled.
Joe dropped and counted thirty.223 cartridges on the ground. A lot, he thought. More than Caleb would have dropped casually. In fact, Joe thought with a growing sense of dark unease, it was the entire quantity of a combat AR-15 magazine.
Short of breath, Joe lurched from tree to tree clutching a rifle bullet and the journal he recognized from the first time he’d encountered Caleb in the lake. It didn’t take long to find the place a few yards away where Camish had unloaded his shotgun shells. Four of them, bright with their red plastic sleeves and high brass, lay in a single pile as if dropped from beneath the weapon like metal scat.
He opened the journal and thumbed through it as his eyes swam. The first three-quarters of the book were devoted to daily journal entries. The last quarter appeared to be an antigovernment screed. Joe thought, Their manifesto. Hundreds of words that could be summed up as Don’t Tread on Me.
The last of Caleb’s entries was a spidery scrawl that read, “Please take good care of Diane. It ain’t her fault. She done nothing wrong. She just wanted to be free of you people.”
Nate had entered the trees with his gun drawn. Joe watched Nate as his eyes moved from the.223 bullets to the shotgun shells. His friend’s upper lip curled into a frightening grimace.
Joe said, “No wonder they didn’t shoot. They unloaded before they walked out there.”
“Oh, man,” Nate whispered. “It was bad before. It just got worse.”
Joe called Marybeth. She picked it up on the first ring. He said, “I’m not hurt. Nate’s not hurt. We’re done here.”
She said, “Joe, what’s wrong?”
He took in a long breath of cool mountain air that tasted like pine, and he looked out on the meadow as the sun lit up the grass so green it hurt his eyes. “I don’t even know where to start.”
32
At midmorning, Joe could smell food cooking from above in the rimrocks. The aroma wafted down through the sparse lodgepole copse. He clucked at his gelding and led the animal up toward the source of the aroma and thought about how long it had been since he’d eaten. Not that it mattered, since there was nothing left in his stomach at all.
They’d lifted the bodies of Caleb and Camish facedown over the saddles of their riding horses and lashed them to the saddles as if they were packing out game animals. Joe and Nate wordlessly tied lifeless hands and feet together under the bellies of their mounts to keep the bodies from sliding off. Before they guided the horses and the bodies out of the meadow up toward the rimrocks, Joe had called dispatch on his satellite phone. The dispatcher offered to route him through to Sheriff Baird or Special Agent Chuck Coon of the FBI, who were both in place and in charge at the command center that had been established at the trailhead.
Joe said, “No need. I don’t want to talk to either of them right now. Just pass on the word that the Grim Brothers-or the Clines, or whatever the hell their real names are-are dead. There is no more threat. Tell them they can stand down. We’ll be bringing the bodies out by nightfall.”
The dispatcher said, “My God. They’re going to want to talk directly with you.”
Said Joe, “I’m not in the mood,” and powered down the phone so they couldn’t call him back.
When they cleared the trees, Joe spotted Diane Shober. She was a hundred yards above them, peering down out of a vertical crack in the rimrock wall. When she saw them-and what they had strapped to their horses-her hand went to her mouth and he heard her cry out. Then she was gone back into the cave.
Joe thought that unless he’d been told specifically by Farkus and Camish where the cave was located, he never would have found it. He thought it unlikely that the search-and-rescue team would have found it, either. And certainly not the strike team building at the trailhead who, for the most part, weren’t familiar with the terrain to begin with. There was a shelf of rock on the side of the mountain, and it was striated with sharp-edged columns over ten feet high, stretching for several miles in each direction. It was as if the mountain had been shoved down by a giant hand with tremendous pressure until the top fifth of it broke and slipped to the side, exposing the wound. The striation was deceptive in its uniform geology, and its columns made stripes of dark shadows on the granite. The opening Diane looked out of could have been one of the vertical-striped shadows.
“See her?” Joe said over his shoulder to Nate.
“Yes.”
She slowly shook her head from side to side. The sun gleamed off the tears streaming down her face.
Joe called, “We’re here to take you home.”
The woman drew back a few feet into the shadow of the opening.
After a few moments, she said, “I am home.”
He said, “Diane, the reason we’re here is because your mom asked me to come. She misses you.”
Joe wanted to persuade, to cajole, and not to threaten in any way. He couldn’t bear the thought of forcing another result like what had happened with the brothers.
“We didn’t want to hurt them,” he said. “We did everything we could to talk them into coming down with us. Caleb and Camish forced the issue. In a way, they committed suicide.”
Shober nodded. It wasn’t news to her. Obviously, Joe thought, the brothers had indicated to her how things were likely to end if the first wave-Joe and Nate-wasn’t turned back by the traps.
Behind Joe, the packhorse nickered. Up on top of the wall but out of sight, a horse called back, then another. The brothers had kept the horses ridden by the Michigan men and had picketed them up in the trees.
“If it’s okay with you,” Joe said, “we’ll come on up there and get those horses and saddle them up for you. You can ride down with us.”
Diane Shober stepped out of the cave opening. Her dark hair was tied into a ponytail. Her clothing was more formfitting than it had been before, and she looked younger than she had as Terri Wade, he thought.
She said, “What if I don’t come with you?”
Said Joe, “Let’s not find out. The truth is, this mountain will be crawling with law enforcement within the hour, I’d guess. We know where you are, and they’ll find you. They might not be as sympathetic as us.”
“Sympathetic?” Diane said, laughing bitterly. “Like you were sympathetic with Camish and Caleb there?”
Joe’s voice held when he said, “They gave us no choice. You’ll have to believe me when I tell you that. They must have decided they’d rather
die up here than take their chances in court.”
Diane nodded. “Yes,” she said, “that’s what they told me they might have to do.”
“Then come with us,” Nate said. “We’ll do our best to protect you.”
Again, Diane laughed. It was a high, plaintive laugh. “You think you can protect me, do you? From the government? From the press? From my father and the kind of people he works with?”
Joe said nothing.
Diane said, “Have things changed, then? Can we be free people again? Is that what you’re saying?”
Nate said, “I know people who could help you. You aren’t the only one who’s gone underground.”
Diane studied Nate for a long time, as if trying to make up her mind about something. Finally, she withdrew back into the cave. Joe waited without moving for five minutes, then turned to look at Nate. Nate looked back at him as if he were thinking the same thing.
“Damn,” Joe said, and quickly tied his horse to a stump. Nate did the same. They ran up the slope, breathing hard.
Joe threw himself through the opening. The sudden darkness made him blink. It took a moment for his eyes to begin to adjust. He and Nate stood in the entrance of a surprisingly large cavern. There were beds, a stove, handmade tables and chairs, fabric and hides on the interior walls. It smelled damp, but the food odors made it surprisingly comfortable. It reminded Joe of where Nate hid out, and he wondered how many others there were in the country in hiding. How many people had gone underground, as Nate said?
On the table was a knife.
Diane Shober looked up from where she was packing items into a large duffel bag. “What, did you think-I wasn’t coming out?”
Joe said, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t live with the prospect of more blood on my hands.”
As they rode down the mountain, Joe said to Diane, “I’m glad you’re coming down. I’ll be eternally grateful you saved my life, but this isn’t any way to live.”
Her mouth was tight, and she stared straight ahead. When she talked, her lips hardly moved. “It’s crude and lonely, I agree. Growing up, this is the last thing I would have wanted. But when I was running, I went a lot to Europe. I got to experience socialism firsthand. At first, it’s seductive. Free health care, free college, all that. But nothing is free. And anything that’s free has no value. Zero means zero. I saw it close-up. So yes, you’re right. This is crude and dirty. But it’s my choice. There’s no one here to tell me what to do or how to think. The trade-off is worth it.”
Joe had no response.
“Will my mom be down there?” Diane asked.
“I’m not sure.”
She hesitated, asked, “My dad?”
“It’s possible,” Joe said. “But we’re in a pretty remote location. It would be hard for them to get here so fast.”
“If he tries to talk to me, I might have to kill him,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.
Joe listened as Diane Shober talked to Nate.
“I’m an Objectivist,” she said. “You know, Ayn Rand. It’s the only good thing I got from Justin.” She laughed. “I’m a freak, I know. Most of my friends drank the Kool-Aid. But you know how you used to see those RVs on the road with bumper stickers that read, WE’RE SPENDING OUR CHILDREN’S INHERITANCE?” That always used to piss me off, just because of the attitude. I mean, ha-fucking-ha.”
Joe watched her lean toward Nate on her horse and reach out and touch his arm. “Now every car in America should have that bumper sticker,” she said. “Thieves like my father are stealing from me and my children, if I ever have any. He’s politically connected, and the money flows to him downhill.
“You know,” she said, “we’re the first American generation to expect less than our parents. I’m talking smaller houses, smaller cars, smaller families. It makes my blood boil. I want no part of it.”
Nate nodded, said, “Did you know the brothers were up here before you went on your run?”
She took a minute, then said, “Yeah. We’d been in touch. I felt really awful for all the people who donated their time to come looking for me. I really did. But yes, I was in communication with the brothers. After all, we had a common enemy.”
“Your father?” Nate said.
“Yeah, him too,” she said.
As they rode down the switchback trail toward the trailhead, Joe got glimpses of what was below. As he’d predicted, it was a small city. Dozens of vehicles, tents, trailers, a makeshift corral, curls of smoke from lunchtime cooking fires. Satellite trucks from cable television news outlets. And the ashes of his father, still in his pickup. He had no more idea what to do with the old man in death than he had in life.
Nate walked up abreast and handed the reins of his gelding to Joe. “Time for me to go,” he said.
Joe nodded.
“I’m taking her with me,” Nate said, gesturing toward Diane Shober. “I know of people who are with us. They’ll put her up. They’ll treat her well.”
Joe opened his mouth to object, but Nate reached down and touched the butt of his.454 with the tip of his fingers. He didn’t grasp, draw, or cock the weapon. But the fact that he did it told Joe things had changed between them.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Nate said. “You’re thinking there’s no way I can take the victim with me before she’s interviewed. That it wouldn’t be procedure. And you’re right, it wouldn’t. But Joe, I shoved everything I believed in to the side to help you out up there. Now it’s your turn to help me.”
Joe studied his saddle horn. He said, “You promise me she’ll be okay? I have these visions of the underground that aren’t so good.”
Nate smiled. “The underground isn’t underground at all. It’s not about people in caves, really. They’re all around us. Everywhere you look, Joe. Real people, good people, are the underground. Believe me, Diane will be fine.”
“I understand.”
Nate reached out and touched Joe on the back of his hand. Then he gave Joe the reins to Caleb’s horse, so Joe now had both brothers behind him.
Nate said, “You know where to find me.”
Joe nodded but didn’t say anything.
The last glance he got of Diane as she followed Nate into the timber was when she turned in her saddle and waved. There was something sad in the gesture. Thanking him for letting them go. He waved back.
Joe tied the ropes for Caleb’s horse and Camish’s horse together into a loose knot and wrapped them around his saddle horn with a tight dally and a pointless flourish. He smiled to himself in a bitter way and clucked his tongue. All the animals responded, and started stepping down the mountain trail. No doubt, Joe thought, they sensed some kind of conclusion when they reached the trailhead. If only he felt the same, he thought.
Dave Farkus had been astonished by the number of cars, pickups, SUVs, and equipment trucks that overflowed the campground below at the trailhead. He’d never seen so many vehicles-or so many people-in one place up in the mountains before. And when they’d seen him, as he broke over the timbered ridgeline and rode his horse for ten minutes through a treeless meadow, he saw them scramble like fighter pilots getting the nod to mount up to go out there and bomb something.
The high whine of all-terrain vehicles split open the morning quiet. He watched with interest as two, three, four ATVs shot across the stream below and started up the mountain to meet up with him. There were multiple people on each vehicle, as well as electronic equipment.
Not just electronic equipment: cameras.
He pulled the reins on his horse and jumped off. He wished he could see his face in a mirror, but he couldn’t. But he did his best. He spat on his hands and scrubbed his face, then dried and cleaned himself with his shirttails. Judging by the gray smudges on the fabric he tucked back into his jeans, it was a good idea. He wanted to look rugged, but not dirty.
The ATVs were getting close. He found an extra horse bit in his saddlebag and shined it under his arm. Farkus leaned into the bend of the metal and the refle
ction, and he patted down his hair and made himself look weary and sympathetic.
And before the ATVs cleared the timber, he remounted, clicked his tongue, and got the animal moving again. The first ATV stopped just outside the trees, and a disheveled man jumped out and set up a tripod and put a camera on top of it under the arm-waving direction of a blonde who-no kidding-was the best-looking woman Farkus had ever seen in real life. She was tall, slim, coiffed, with large breasts and wore cool boots that she’d tucked her tight jeans into.
He thought, Whoa.
Although she was a long way down the mountain and other TV crews were making their way up, she took a second to look up and meet his eyes. He felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him.
He thought, I’m from Baggs, but I’ve watched television. Hundreds of fucking hours of television. I’ve seen hundreds like you. You’re stuck in Wyoming, trying to claw your way up. You need something spectacular for your audition tape. I can give that to you, darling. I can give that to you.
So when she reached him on her ATV, he began to smile. He thought, I know a hell of a lot more about you than you will ever know about me.
And the first thing he said was, “I’ve been in the heart of the right-wing crazies. I was there for everything and I saw everything. Remember the Cline Family? Diane Shober?”
Her eyes lit up. He pressed on. “But before we talk, I want to negotiate a deal with you. I want to be on TV. I want to be an expert on right-wing fringe groups and the anger in small-town America. I want to get paid and stay in nice hotels. And if we can work it out, you get the exclusive.”
She smiled at the word “exclusive.” She said, “I need a sign-off from the suits, but I can pretty much promise you a deal. Now, let’s get out of here before anyone else can talk to you.”
