Corey pressed his forehead against the window. Montgomery tightened his grip on the stick and fought the winds blasting across the Gallatin Range.
“Circle back,” Corey said in a low monotone.
When Montgomery brought the chopper around, Corey pointed down at a parking area off the highway. A pickup was parked with a horse trailer attached.
“Let’s explore those trails,” Corey mumbled, barely audible. Montgomery flew low over the treetops for a better view. Not sure which trail was which, he covered several miles along two of them. The third trail followed the Gallatin River, the largest stream in the area.
They both spotted the figures by the Gallatin at the same time. Two hikers were pulling a pack animal and running for cover.
“Good job, ranger!” Corey said. “Take me downstream and find somewhere to land.”
“You want me to land?”
“What did I just say?”
“I have to get you back to headquarters, Jack. You’re my responsibility.”
“I said, set this thing down. Now.”
Montgomery dropped the craft into a narrow clearing close to the riverbank. As soon as they touched down, Corey released his strap and jumped out the open door. He reached behind the passenger’s seat and grabbed the rifle, then strapped it over his shoulder and looked back at Montgomery. “Thanks for the ride. I can handle it from here.”
Montgomery pulled off his headset. “What the hell do you mean?”
“Give me two hours. Then meet me back here.” Corey turned and jogged away.
Montgomery jumped down from the chopper and gave chase. “Hey, Boss! Please . . .” He grabbed him from behind by the arm.
Corey pivoted around—his face contorted and his fist cocked behind his head—and threw a roundhouse punch straight into Montgomery’s jaw.
The force of the blow knocked him onto the ground and shook off Corey’s hat, sending it tumbling with the wind toward the bank and flying into the river.
“Damn you!” Corey shouted. He turned to watch his hat float away while massaging the knuckles of his right hand. “Now see what you did, asshole.”
Montgomery rubbed the side of his face and tested the movement of his lower jaw. Then he marched toward his boss and rammed his nose into his face. “Look, Jack. Don’t you ever place a hand on me again or I’ll bash your—”
Corey’s underhand punch was direct to the solar plexus. Montgomery reached for his stomach and collapsed. Before he could catch his breath, Corey straddled him like a bronco and squeezed his throat with both hands. Montgomery grabbed Corey’s wrists and shoved, staring into a vacant gaze as if looking into the eyes of a corpse. With all the strength he could gather he hurled Corey back into the dirt and then lay exhausted, struggling to breathe. When he looked up, Corey was aiming the rifle between his eyes.
“Go ahead; do it!” Montgomery screamed. “Shoot me, Jack. Shoot the only guy who’s willing to take up for you no matter the stupid crazy things you do. Try counting the number of people who’ll stand by you when times get tough. Go ahead and shoot. I don’t give a goddamn anymore.”
Corey stood fixed like a statue except for his heaving chest.
“What’s the matter, Jack? You some kind of chicken shit?”
Corey lowered the rifle to his side. “I’m not going to shoot you, idiot. I just want you to shut up. I want everybody to shut up. I know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t need me around anymore then. I’ve had it with being your ‘yes’ man, Jack. You’re dead wrong this time.”
Corey sneered. “Wrong about what?”
“Don’t you see the wolves didn’t work out? There’s at least one killer on the loose, maybe more.”
Corey stared straight through him without responding.
“Listen to me,” Montgomery said. “Hundreds of hikers and fishermen are in the backcountry this weekend. We don’t have a single warning posted. And you let the Boy Scout campout go on as planned! Do you have any idea what’ll happen if there’s an attack on a kid?”
“You don’t have to yell. I can hear you.”
“I know you can hear me. But do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
“Exactly what is it you’re trying to tell me, shithead. What’s your goddamn bottom line?”
“Operation Wolfstock failed, Jack. We didn’t take into account the possibility of bringing a hybrid into the Park—a renegade killer. We screwed up big time.”
Corey’s face turned from anger to disgust. “Get out of here, Montgomery. Fly your chopper away and don’t come back. Don’t ever come back. You’re a fucking waste, just like the others.”
Montgomery massaged his jaw. He’d been there with Corey too many times over the years. When the chief park ranger got into one of his outbursts, it was as if he had submerged himself inside a steel cocoon to fend off the rest of the world. He should follow Corey’s orders and fly away, but his gut told him to ignore his boss’ ranting. The man needed help or else he was going to do something tragically stupid. Something that Montgomery would likely have to pay for, like so damn many times before. Only this time could be so much worse.
“I’m flying over to West Yellowstone, Jack. I’ll fuel up there and wait out the squall. Keep your radio open.” He looked down to see if Corey’s walkie-talkie was still fastened on his belt.
Corey moved quickly away, his rifle strapped over his shoulder.
When Montgomery brought the chopper down at the West Yellowstone airstrip, he hurried into the cover of the hangar and radioed to the ranger on duty at headquarters. He told him he’d dropped off his boss by the Gallatin River.
Yes, it must have been along the Bighorn Pass trail. Of course it was a dumb thing to do, but who the hell could tell Jack Corey that? Once the front passes over and the winds settle down, he’d go back for him. Yes, Corey had his walkie-talkie on.
“We have at least three hours of daylight,” Montgomery said. “That should be—”
He was interrupted by the ranger on the other end.
“No,” Montgomery shouted. “Who’s on call? . . . Where’s the superintendent? . . . Do not call Greta McFarland . . . There’s no emergency, dammit. I’ll give you a call back in another hour with a weather report. Remember, there’s no need to bring McFarland in—”
The other radio shut off before he finished.
FORTY-SEVEN
Dieter and Josh trudged down a path meandering through the pines beside a rushing stream. Josh’s limp, an old trapper’s gait, contrasted with Rocko’s bearing, Dieter thought as he followed directly behind the llama and marveled at how lightly the grand animal stepped along. His footpads were as soft as a kitten’s, barely leaving a mark. He wished for Rusty by his side. At times, he glanced at the metal box tied onto Rocko’s pannier just below the antenna mounted on the saddle horn. The red light on the top of the box never gave a hint of flashing. He wasn’t sure of the device’s range or even if it was working.
Whenever they neared water, Rocko grew nervous and moved with caution. Josh said llamas were scared silly around a stream or river, a fear born of wisdom since they couldn’t judge the depth and weren’t swimmers. They’d hiked at least two miles before they stopped to rest on a flat boulder. Clouds whipped across the sky as blue jays and ravens cackled in the trees.
Dieter took measure of Josh. What was it that drew the old trapper to him? Who else could have lured him into a freezing storage bin used for a corpse? Josh knew nature and wildlife more than anyone he’d ever met. Always looking for adventure, he was old enough to be his father. But he was different from his own dad in every way. For one, he was sober. Although he lived alone he never claimed to be lonely. Many could only dream of the life Josh lived. When he wasn’t fishing or hunting for his dinner, he was tending to the llamas he loved or sitting in his front yard contemplating his world by day or watching a moonrise by night. Whatever the tie binding Dieter and Josh, it was growing tighter each day.
A bull elk
bugled in the distance. A narrower trail split off the main one. Overgrown with weeds and clearly not well-traveled, it was more a path than a trail. Walking down it a short distance, fresh wolf tracks appeared.
“He’s going for the river, Doc. This is just a short spur leading south to the Gallatin. That’s where we’ll hit another trail down from Bighorn Pass.”
“Does it go all the way across the Park?”
“Not that far. But if you take it east, it follows the river up through the Bighorn Pass to the center of the Park. If you head west, you go back to Highway 191 where we came from. The renegade could be making just one big circle.”
“But if he took the trail through the pass, where would he end up?”
“Indian Creek. There’s a campground at the—”
“My God, Josh, Indian Creek is where Michael and the Boy Scouts are this weekend.” Dieter brushed a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. His gut was right about keeping Michael away from the Camporee. Or maybe he was too protective. Maybe Amy was right. He was hovering too much over the kids. That’s something that Fran would never have accused him. She did the hovering for both.
“It’s a good fifteen mile from here, Doc.”
“But it’s a distance a wolf can easily cover, isn’t it?”
Josh paused. “Don’t get all shook up yet. It won’t take long until we reach the river. Then we’ll see from his tracks where he’s headed.”
Josh and Rocko led the way along the narrow weed-choked trail. In one stretch, the wolf tracks disappeared for fifty yards before Josh picked them up again. At the Bighorn Pass trail the Gallatin ran swift and clear. Rocko moved cautiously to the riverbank to lap water. As Josh watched over the llama he remarked that upstream above the falls the river flowed wider and deeper.
“A waterfall?” Dieter asked.
“You’d be surprised how often you run into those natural beauties in the backcountry.”
Dieter had already prepared himself for the news before Josh examined the tracks. The wolf was headed upstream, toward Indian Creek. When they came across scat just off the trail, Josh leaned down and stretched his hand out to linger above the pile. He looked up. “Warm.”
Dieter glimpsed at the meter hanging from Rocko’s pannier.
“Keep an eye out. A wolf can smell you a mile away,” Josh said. “Can hear you coming from twice that. Especially with low cloud cover.”
“You mean like now?”
“Like now. His senses make him the ultimate hunter. No animal on earth can match it.”
The chopping hum of rotors arose like a thunderstorm.
“Take cover!” Dieter shouted. Josh grabbed Rocko’s lead and they moved under a pair of cottonwood trees as the helicopter passed overhead. It flew low enough to reveal the NPS emblem on the tail section. When it was gone, Dieter looked skyward. “Corey told me they do regular sorties to monitor the wolf packs. But they do that with small planes. If they’re making flyovers in choppers, something must be going on.”
FORTY-EIGHT
From his bedroom window on the second floor, Joseph Vincent Loudermilk watched the patrol car crawling along the highway. He suspected it would turn out like this. But he had his supplies ready, his canvas duffel bag packed and by the bed.
Charlene, the little runaway twat, had probably been found. She wasn’t even able to do that right. She’d spill everything, making him out to be Satan himself.
She never understood the ways of the Lord. God knows he tried to teach her. He had the Sermon on the Mount memorized. How many men in Montana could say that? He delivered it to her how many times? Word for word, just as written by the hand of God in the King James Version of the Book of Matthew.
The law didn’t understand the ways of the Lord neither, but what else would you expect? He was a God-fearing man. He’d never done nothing to his wives or children that wasn’t right, wasn’t part of his duties. He always had the Lord’s approval before he ever laid a hand on any of them.
If that little twat had listened to him, obeyed him, learned from him, she would’ve been a better woman, a better mother and wife. She would’ve had the chance to meet the Lord Jesus Christ in person in the Latter Days. She gave all that up. Why would any woman of sound mind give up that chance?
He crept downstairs and hid by the fancy draperies hanging from the picture window in the living room. Sliding between the wall and a drape, he inched his head along the wall until one eye caught the view out the window. The deputy sheriff’s car was parked off to the side of the road, a hundred yards down from the gate and almost out of sight.
He moved from behind the drapes and yelled for Enos and Jeremiah. Round up the younger kids, he calmly told them. Go into the living room and sit in a circle. Just sit there and stay quiet. They carried out his orders quickly, efficiently. Good boys. Well-trained. They understood.
He rushed into a back bedroom and grabbed an extra blanket from the closet, then stuffed it into his duffel bag. Spotting a small rope on the closet floor, he added it to his cache.
Outside, he carried the bag over his shoulder, an arm slung through one strap. He sneaked beyond the barn and through the trees, getting as close as possible to the gate without being seen from the road, then stooped behind the bushes. He could barely make out the figure down the road of the deputy slouched in his seat.
An elbow protruded out the open window. The deputy appeared to be talking into his two-way radio.
The rusted pickup with Katherine Belle and Marilee stopped at the gate. He ducked down into the bushes and slowly pushed his head up to watch. Marilee opened the passenger door and moved toward the gate, holding onto a ring of keys.
The patrol car pulled in beside the truck and surprised both women.
Katherine Belle turned her head away and as soon as the gate opened, she drove through and stopped.
The deputy walked to the truck and tapped on the window. “Sorry to bother you, Miss,” he shouted, “but I need to talk with you.”
“You’ll have to come back, Officer,” Katherine Belle said, “when my husband’s here.” She glared at him like he was an intruder trying to grab her. Joseph Vincent only heard every other word, but from his vantage point he could read her lips.
“Ma’am, I need to interview a Mr. Joseph Loudermilk. I just have a few questions.”
She smiled and switched to her sweeter voice. “I’m afraid he’s gone away for a spell.”
“I’m sorry, Miss . . . ?”
“Mrs. Loudermilk. I am Katherine Belle Loudermilk.”
“Ma’am, I have good reason to believe your husband is at home.”
“You were misinformed, sir.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll get in my car and follow you to the house.”
“I’d be obliged if you returned later. Your timing is most inconvenient.”
“Sorry, ma’am. Either I talk to Mr. Loudermilk now, or I’ll have to bring him in.”
“Suit yourself. My sister will lock the gate.”
“I would prefer if she wouldn’t lock it while I’m here, ma’am.”
Joseph Vincent picked up the duffel bag and ran for the barn. Katherine Belle was the reincarnation of Judas Iscariot. She’d pay like none of the others ever paid before. He rushed down the path of Divine Revelation behind the barn until he lost sight of the house. He’d stay away for a while, because it would all blow over in time.
He brought along plenty of snack food and could snare rabbits and find berries and plants to eat. An ample supply of water seeped into the Divine Chamber, the ideal spot to commune with the Almighty. Jesus prayed in the desert for forty days and forty nights. He could do that, too. Then he’d go find the harlot, Charlene. Or God would return her to him. Either way, the Lord would administer the blood atonement.
Panting, he climbed to the top of the hill and stopped at a clump of bushes. He paused for a moment to look back down the path and then ducked into a dense grove of quaking aspen. He used one arm to push away t
he limbs that kept snapping back into his face. The cool damp air from the gaping hole in the earth hit him like a winter breeze and he smiled. The cave was his lair, the Chamber of Divine Revelation. The opening was large enough that he only had to lean down to enter. Inside, he stood with three feet of clearance.
A strange feeling suddenly overcame him, a sense that he wasn’t alone. Something was there. Deep within the darkness, that something moved toward him.
Then a voice straight from Hell echoed from the Chamber walls.
“Hello, Poppy.”
FORTY-NINE
The roar of the waterfall grew louder as they hiked. The first to catch sight of it, Dieter shouted. “Will you look at that!”
“Hancock Falls,” Josh replied. “Named after one of the early Yellowstone explorers. Must be an eighty-foot drop.”
The imposing falls plummeted down onto massive boulders spread about in the narrow fast-flowing river before them, not more than thirty yards wide. Dead trees that had drifted over the brim lay scattered in a churning pool. What the falls lacked in width it made up for in height and sheer volume of flow.
Josh spotted more tracks and bent down to examine them, then pointed toward the river. “They lead to that flat rock on the water’s edge. Take a look at how those larger rocks line up. He’s crossed to the other side.”
“No way we can wade that,” Dieter replied.
“Let’s hike up above the falls and look for easier places to cross.”
“Do you think he’ll still be following the river?”
“You can put money on it. Who knows what drove him to cross at this point. Less he senses a path to get around the falls. On upstream he could just as well come back to this side.”
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