“Hey, Paul,” one of the men hailed the leader. “Where do you want us?”
“Dave and Rich. Fan out. Work the brush. The boss said to get rid of anyone poking around, whether they’re human or shifter,” Paul told the others. “Jon, work with me. We’ll drive whatever comes from the bushes toward the other team, so it can’t escape.”
Scott knew a lot of people who hunted, and he had heard them talk enough to know they followed the rules and hunted in season. More than once, they had complained about the people who made things worse for everyone by breaking the law, and that included a particular disdain for poachers.
Real poachers were bad enough, but Scott realized that these were hired guns sent to clean up any survivors from the crash or maybe those investigating the accident.Hitmen.
They are looking for us,his coyote confirmed.That’s bad.
Scott knew he couldn’t stay where he was. But moving posed a different risk. He froze, and just then Jon looked right at him through the bushes, raised his rifle, and fired. Instinct took over. The bullet missed, and he bolted from cover. Paul gave a war whoop and shot again, his aim going wide.
Paul went left, while Jon went right, trying to box Scott in. He didn’t know whether the other two would circle around to cut him off or stick to the original plan. Panic drove him, and he let his animal mind keep control.
Another shot fired, and the bullet hit a tree far too close for comfort. Scott dodged and wove. He didn’t know this area, which put him at a disadvantage if this was home territory for his pursuers.
Are they driving us into a dead end? If we knew where we were, we’d know shortcuts. We’re running blind.
Heart thudding, they kept moving, Scott was glad to trust his coyote’s instincts. From the angle of the sun, he knew it had been several hours since the crash.
If we run deep into the woods, we might get away from the hitmen, but if Justin does mount a rescue, they’ll never find us.
Hoping instinct held true, his coyote led the pursuers in circles around the crash site. Scott knew they couldn’t keep up the pace forever, and that as soon as they tired, the poachers would close in on them.
It’s a damn shame to survive a plane crash and get shot to be skinned for a fur collar.
Scott heard other animals in the forest, but they didn’t attract the hitmen’s notice. Heart thudding, and panting, they couldn’t run much farther. By now, they had circled all the way around to just beyond the crash site.
If the bad guys shoot us when we’re like this, will we turn back before they can take our pelt? At least anyone who finds the plane might find what’s left of us.
Too late, Scott realized that he had been suckered into a trap. A wall of rock cut off his escape, and the four hired guns closed in.
“Got you now.” Paul raised his rifle.
Not without a fight.
They launched with a howl at Paul, all teeth and claws, making a last, desperate stand. They knocked the rifle from the man’s hands, and Paul stumbled, falling into Jon and ruining his shot.
Before Dave and Rich could regroup, a full-grown wolf sprang from cover and knocked Jon to the ground. The wolf bared his teeth and locked onto the man’s gun wrist, causing a scream of pain. In the next instant, a brown bear broke from the brush at a full run and let out a roar that made the other two hitmen freeze.
The bellow of a bull moose shook the silence of the forest as the huge creature closed menacingly on Paul and Jon, casually trampling their fallen rifles and leveling his antlers as if daring them to challenge him.
“Drop your guns.” Justin came up behind the bear and moose, carrying a rifle. “On your knees.”
Paul bled from deep scratches on his face and neck. Jon cradled a badly bitten wrist when the wolf stepped back. Dave and Rich looked poleaxed, clearly never expecting to be caught.
As the bear, wolf, and moose glowered at the hitmen, Justin used the men’s belts to bind their wrists and took a length of rope from his backpack to tie their ankles.
“You can’t just leave us out here,” Paul protested.
“Sure, I can,” Justin replied.
“That’s illegal,” Dave argued.
“So’s poaching, or being hired killers,” Justin answered, unperturbed. “Don’t worry, we’ll report you to the authorities. They’ll come to pick up the trash. If something doesn’t eat you first.” He secured their ankle rope to a tree.
The wolf, bear, and moose stood near Scott, looking mighty pleased with themselves.
Justin. Russ. Brandon. Sheriff Armel. Thank you.Coyote Scott dipped his head to show gratitude. He led the others to where he had buried his clothing but stumbled as the trauma of the day caught up with him.
