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The man’s remains—possibly a man, she couldn’t be certain, because there was no face that she could see—had had dirt scratched over them. Bear did that with a half-eaten kill. The viscera had been eaten. Part of an arm lay nearby. And as if to leave proof of ownership, she could see where the bear had crapped.
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit! Not the bear shit, but oh-my-god-get-me-out-of-here kind of shit.
She’d seen wildlife kills before. Nature wasn’t neat; it was messy and brutal. But she’d never before found a half-eaten human, and her stomach heaved. She fought down the nausea, fought the abrupt sense of panic as she suddenly imagined the bear looming right behind her on the trail just like in her nightmare.
Swiftly she pulled her rifle from the scabbard on her back, jacked a round into the firing chamber. The reassuring mechanical sounds of metal parts moving were all she could hear. She did another three-sixty check. No bear, no cougar, or coyotes attempting to raid the bear’s kill. Nothing. The “nothing” was almost as terrifying as “something,” because she knew the bear was in the vicinity. They didn’t willingly abandon their kills. It wasn’t close enough to scent her, though, or she’d have already been fending off an attack.
But if it came back for its kill, and crossed her scent trail, would it track her? Black bears did that. They stalked people. Humans were just part of their food chain.
She returned to the trail, heading back for the camp as fast as she could safely go. She checked the time, calculating distances. This had to be reported immediately, the Montana Fish and Wildlife Department alerted that there was a man-eater in the vicinity. The body had to be recovered and identified. But it was already so late in the afternoon that she’d barely have time to make it back to the camp before dark; there was no way they could make it to Ray Lattimore’s.
Even though Mitchell Davis hadn’t seemed thrilled with anything about the hunt, she bet he’d make a stink about it being canceled. She’d have to either refund the money or give them an extension on this hunt, if they could stay longer.
Or they could stay at the camp while she rode back to Lattimore’s. If she left at first light, she could be back tomorrow afternoon. She’d be able to travel faster if she was alone. Maybe she could convince them to do that.
The sun had already sunk below the mountain peaks when she got back to camp. Neither of the two men were in sight. “Davis!” she called. “Chad! We have a problem!”
Chad almost immediately popped out of his tent, and Davis emerged, his cold and dark expression in place, from his tent a few seconds later. “Did you find bear sign?”
“Yeah,” she said grimly. “I also found a body. Looks like a bear killed him. We’ll have to head back down the mountain in the morning to report it.”
“A body?” Chad echoed faintly.
“Bullshit,” said Davis. “It was probably a wild animal you saw, and you panicked.”
“Last time I checked, wild animals don’t wear plaid shirts, or carry digital cameras,” she snapped. “We go tomorrow to report it. If you don’t want to make the ride, I’ll go by myself. It’s up to you. We can either extend the hunt a day or reschedule.”
He looked around, disgust in his expression. “I want a refund.”
“Fine, you’ll get a refund.” It wasn’t worth arguing about. Someone had died a gruesome death, and this asshole didn’t like being inconvenienced. Sure, she needed the money, but she’d get by. Dare Callahan’s offer was still out there.
To her surprise, Chad said, “I want to stay. Angie rides down and back tomorrow, it’s just one day.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “There’s no reason to leave.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Davis growled. “The body will have to be retrieved, and that’ll take at least one team. Then the Fish and Wildlife Department will have people all over this mountain, hunting for this particular bear. Everything will be spooked. This close to the end of the season, there won’t be any decent hunting until next year.”
He was probably right, and she didn’t care. “I’ll refund your money,” she said with finality in her tone. “We ride back down tomorrow. I’m leaving at first light, so be ready.” Because as of this minute she no longer considered Davis a client, she narrowed her eyes at him and said, “And you can saddle your own damn horse.”
Supper, what there was of it, was strained and silent. Angie kept her rifle close to hand, because the theory went that once a man-killer, always a man-killer. Couple that with a black bear’s propensity for stalking, and she had more than enough reason to be alert. It seemed everyone was angry at everyone else, so they all retired to their respective tents as soon as they returned from the food-prep site.
She secured the zipper on the tent flap so it couldn’t be opened from the outside, then sat on the cot for a while, so mentally exhausted she needed a minute to regroup. She couldn’t get the gruesome image of the mauled body out of her head. Yeah, she had to deal with people like Mitchell Davis, her business had taken a nosedive, and she had to deal with Dare Callahan, but all of that was nothing when balanced against what had happened to that poor guy.
Sleep might be impossible, but at least she could rest. Eventually she went through her nightly camp routine, using the wet wipes for the camp equivalent of a bath. Sleeping in jeans could get uncomfortable, so she always brought a pair of sweatpants to sleep in. In the summer she’d pair that with a T-shirt, but this time of year the T-shirt was exchanged for a sweatshirt. Between the sweats and the sleeping bag, she was usually toasty warm without having to resort to the camp heater. After pulling on a pair of thick socks, she crawled into the sleeping bag. She checked to make sure all essentials were right there at hand. Rifle—check. Boots—check. Pistol—check. Flashlight—check. She was as safe as she could make herself.
She reached out to turn off the camp light, and took one of those deep meditation breaths, because the darkness inside the tent was absolute. Normally that didn’t bother her, and from experience she knew that after a while her eyes would adjust and there would be a very, very faint lightening, but tonight she felt as if the darkness was alive, pressing down on her. She lay very still, listening to the night, forcing herself to breathe.
Maybe she dozed, maybe she didn’t. She heard the first far-off rumble of thunder, and lifted her hand to look at the luminous face of her watch. Thirteen after midnight. Great. She’d been hoping the rain would hold off, given that she had to ride back to Lattimore’s, but it looked as if the weather front was rolling in right on schedule. She could almost feel the air ch
anging, gathering force and electrical energy. The wind began whipping through the trees, producing a sound that was almost like a low, mournful whistle.
At first she thought it was the wind she heard. She’d been restlessly trying to find a comfortable position within the confines of the sleeping bag, which normally felt roomy enough, but tonight seemed to be twisting around her legs. With a sigh she forced herself to stillness, because she had to get some sleep, even if it wasn’t much.
The noise came again. Angie stopped breathing, every muscle in her freezing as she listened. Her heart rate doubled. Bear? Without thought she darted out her hand, touched her rifle, and just the feel of the smooth wood settled her heart rate down.
She cocked her head, listening.
No, not a bear. And not the wind, either. Voices. She definitely heard voices, too far away for the words to be distinct. There was a sharpness, a tone, that told her an argument was going on. For whatever reason, Davis and Chad were going at it, though it was probably more Davis berating Chad for the hunt being a total failure than anything like a real argument. But—
At this time of night? Really?
