He doesn’t answer. When he sees Blake, he only wrinkles his nose. He’s been to war. He might have mostly served in the military police, but he started as a medic, and he’d continuedusing those skills where possible. He’s seen worse, including to people he knew. I might feel a pang, thinking of this body as the man I spoke to only yesterday, but it’s not the same as what Anders went through.
“Could be tricky,” Anders murmurs. “I’d suggest doing it in halves, since he’s…”
“Almost in half already.”
“Yeah.” Another nose wrinkle, acknowledgment that he’s suggesting committing a further indignity.
“I would agree,” I say. “We need to get him out of here. It’ll be easier in halves, as awful as that is. Is the hatchet in the ATV?”
“It is,” he says, and grimly retreats out the cave mouth.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I’m on watch now with Storm. The plan had been for me to switch and let the guys carry the body down. Now that it’s in halves, Dalton is coming out with his wrapped bundle while Anders must be finishing up. I didn’t see the process of separation. Not that I’m squeamish—my parents were both doctors, as is my sister—but that’s when Dalton and I switched places.
Anders insisted on doing the work, which wasn’t more than separating the spine. Dalton hadn’t watched that. As a lifelong hunter, he’s not squeamish either, but I suggested Anders might not want anyone seeing him doing it, and Dalton accepted that as an excuse.
Dalton passes me with only a nod. By the time he’s down the hillside, Anders is following, his body half wrapped in a second tarp.
“Good thing I brought two,” he says as he passes me, and we exchange tight smiles.
I stand on watch with Storm and the rifle while they situate the body. The ATV is a side-by-side. It can hold four people, but the third and fourth person ride in the cargo area and facebackward. That means one of us needs to sit with the body and Storm. I take that spot over Dalton’s protests.
“I’m the smallest,” I say.
They’ve tied down the tarps and their contents, so at least I won’t need to hold on to them. I still check that they’re secured. Then I climb in, and Storm hops up beside me. The guys sit in front, with Anders driving.
Anders takes it slow. It’s open ground here, which helps, but it’s also rocky. I bounce around despite the custom-installed seat belt. Typically Storm would lie in the cargo area, but that’s in use, and she insists on sitting on the other seat and looking around. I’m resisting the urge to hold on to her bandana to keep her from falling over the side.
Eventually, the ground levels out, and I let myself fall into thoughts of what I saw in the cave. Not the condition of the body—I really don’t want to dwell on that. I’m focusing on the parts that affect an investigation, all the data I’d noted and filed away as I laid out the tarp.
I’d been partly mistaken about the bruises around his neck. They weren’t the thick ones left by manual strangulation. Instead, it’d been a thinner, more regular line, with spots where whatever had been used to strangle him had cut in. Not a wire—that would have sliced in more. A rope seems thicker than the mark I saw, and it would leave scraping. A cord or something similar.
The body had been partly in rigor. Going into it? Or coming out? That’s hard to tell without checking internal temperature. Either he was killed last night and is coming out or he was killed very early this morning and is going in.
The next thing I’ll want to check for is signs of defense. Healthy people don’t sleep through strangulation. How hard did he fight?Couldhe fight? Was his attacker behind him? Blakeis wearing a jacket and long trousers, so there was no obvious sign of injury, at least nothing I could discern at a sweeping look. Nor could I check his—
Something moves out of the corner of my eye. It’s off to the north, just past the tree line. The moment I realize what it is, it bursts from the forest, leaving no doubt.
I whirl and grab Dalton by the shoulder as I shout, “Bear!”
He twists so fast his shoulder knocks into me, and I duck, making sure he can see. Then he lets out a curse and shouts “Go!” to Anders.
Anders hits the gas. The ATV lurches, and I grab for Storm’s bandana, yanking her down under my feet, my legs going over her to pin her there.
It’s the grizzly, and it’s coming fast. We’ve stolen its meal, and it must have smelled it—along with hearing the ATV. It’s running full out, and for a creature its size, it is blindingly fast.
Dalton is shouting at Anders to be heard over the engine. Anders yells “Hold on!” and the ATV rockets forward over the rough terrain.
Behind us, the grizzly roars, and I can finally hear it over the engine… because it’s that close. I know the rules. Never try to outrun a grizzly. Do not look at that massive beast, rolling with fat, and think “I can beat it.” You can’t. Not unless you can qualify for the Olympics, and even then, you will wear out first.
Grizzlies are known for fast sprints, tiring quickly. But “quickly” only means they cannot maintain that speed for hours.
We hit even rougher terrain, and my head smacks the roll bar. Dalton reaches back to steady me, but I motion for him to just hang on, that I’ve got this.
I don’t have this. I have a Newfoundland who is not belted in by anything except my legs. I’m wearing only a lap belt—the full restraints are up front. I’m banging back and forth, and all my focus is on Storm. I must keep her in the ATV. If she falls out, she’ll be dazed, and the grizzly will attack before she can flee.
The only saving grace is that Dalton and Anders secured the body parts and secured them well, leaving one fewer thing for me to worry about.
