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Ninety yards behind him, the bear was padding closer and closer to his prey, the scent now blowing strong in his nostrils.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chad had worked his way to within fifty yards of his targets, which was as close as he dared go without running a huge risk that Angie or the big guy might see or hear him. Besides, they were getting into some rocks that would provide them with cover, and beyond the rocks was the edge of the meadow. If he let them get to the trees, he’d have a harder time getting off a good shot: too many shadows, too many tree trunks. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder, sighted it on the middle of the guy’s back, allowed for the curve of the hill, the distance, and the light wind. He’d never met the man with Angie, had no animosity toward the soon-to-be-dead guy, but he was in the way and that was reason enough to take him out.
Killing was easy, as Chad had discovered when he’d shot Davis. One well-placed bullet and a life could be snuffed out for good; alive one moment, dead the next. One moment a problem, the next … no problem at all. He wouldn’t say that he got off on it, but he’d been surprised at how easy it was, how completely regretfree he felt afterward. He did what had to be done, that was all.
He took careful aim, took in a breath, let it out halfway as he’d been taught, and pulled the trigger. The man with Angie jerked, and as he fell he pushed Angie away from him. She took one off-balance, stumbling step, and fell. Before Chad could reacquire her in his scope, she scrambled behind one of those damn rocks.
“Dare!”
Angie was screaming his name almost before she hit the ground. The rifle shot had come from so close behind them that she’d heard the reverberating blast almost simultaneously with the deep “Uhhh!” sound Dare had made, then he’d shoved her away from him even as he was falling to the side. Instinctively she half-rolled, half-crawled to one of the rocks and crouched there, already getting her feet under her to launch herself across the opening to where Dare was sprawled.
But then he dragged himself to a sitting position and barked, “Stay there!”
Blood was pouring down his face, but his voice was as strong as ever; Angie froze in place, relief and adrenaline searing through her system and throwing all of her senses into hyperalertness. Dare was hurt, but he was mobile, he was conscious. He was also losing a lot of blood, so she had to do something, and fast.
She didn’t have to wonder what had happened; she knew. Somehow Chad had come up behind them. In a flash she knew it wasn’t even that much of a coincidence, because the flooded creeks would have forced him in the same direction they’d been traveling.
“Where are you hit?” she called frantically, because Dare was wiping blood from his eyes and it was streaming down, effectively blinding him, as fast as he wiped, but surely to God if he’d been shot in the head he wouldn’t be—
“Shoulder,” he grunted, his tone tight against the pain.
Shoulder?
Didn’t matter. She had to get to him. Ducking low, she darted her head to the side to look around the rock, to see if she could locate Chad’s position. Another shot boomed, chipping off some rock above her head; Chad had been anticipating that she’d take a look, because she’d have to, but he’d expected her to stick her head up over the top of the rock instead of peeking around the side.
“Fuck!” Dare exploded. “Don’t do that again.” He struggled onto his knees, reached for his rifle, then let loose a long, inventive string of curses as he wiped his sleeve across his eyes.
Angie shrugged the sleeping bag roll off her shoulder, pulled her rifle into position, and slapped the bolt down. “Damn it, Dare, you can’t see! Stay where you are.” She kept her voice low but forceful, the words punching through the air. “What’s wrong with your head
?”
“It’s just a cut. I hit a fucking rock.”
But it was a cut that was bleeding profusely, directly above his right eye. Now that he was on his knees she could see the dark stain on the back of his coat, just below his right shoulder. He couldn’t shoot, at least not effectively. He could hold the rifle with his left hand and pull the trigger, but if he hit anything it would be pure luck because he couldn’t see to aim.
She knew where Chad was, about fifty yards away and uphill, slightly to the right. He had shot twice, so he had one more shot before he’d have to reload. If she could bait him into shooting, then she could set up her own shot while he was reloading, wait for him to stick his head up—
Behind him, the horse suddenly began whinnying in a shrill, unmistakably panicked sound. Chad whirled around, his back to the rock. What the hell? The chestnut was rearing, shaking its head, pulling hard on the simple loop Chad had used to tether it. Fuck! If the stupid horse bolted, how was he going to get off this stupid fucking mountain?
Then, with a convulsive jerk, the chestnut pulled its reins free and thundered down the mountain toward him.
Chad froze for a split second, all of his options flashing in front of his eyes and none of them good. If he didn’t catch the horse he was screwed. If he left the cover of the rock Angie would probably shoot him, and he was screwed. Either way, he was screwed.
But maybe she wouldn’t be expecting him to try for the horse. He had no time to weigh the odds, no time to do anything except act. Chad lunged from the protection of the boulder, desperately trying to catch the horse’s reins as it thundered by, but it swerved to avoid him and he missed.
Convulsively, expecting the white-hot pain of a bullet to tear through him at any second, he threw himself back toward the boulder. God, he couldn’t believe it, he was still in one piece. Screwed, stranded, but in one piece. He grabbed his rifle, and as he did a dark blur of movement in the tree line caught his attention.
A massive black bear padded out of the trees straight toward him, its head low and swinging.
The horse was in the way. She couldn’t believe it when Chad jumped for the panicked animal, but as she brought her rifle up to her shoulder the chestnut swerved, coming toward her, and she couldn’t make the shot. Swearing under her breath, using words that would make Dare proud, she ducked back down. The chestnut swerved again, thundered past Dare’s position on the far side of him, heading toward the tree line below them.
Another shot came from above, but there was no hot zinging sound, no chips of rock flying, no dirt kicking up. She didn’t stop to wonder why the shot went so wild, she just knew that was the third one and now he’d have to reload, so she rolled to a kneeling position and braced her rifle barrel against the side of the boulder, leaning forward and putting her eye to the scope.
A scream clogged in Chad’s throat. Hastily he jerked the rifle up, fired, but the bear was moving and maybe he hit it, maybe he didn’t, but it kept coming. Swiftly he worked the bolt, ejecting the spent cartridge, slammed it home again, pulled the trigger, but as soon as he heard the click he knew the firing pin had hit an empty chamber.
Almost sobbing in terror, he fumbled in his coat pocket for the box of ammunition, dropped it, bent to scrabble on the ground for it. The bear kept coming, he could see its eyes now, feral, piggish. He tried to fit a cartridge into the chamber, fumbled, dropped it, too. Close, close, God, the fucking monster was so close and he couldn’t make his fingers work; he fumbled another cartridge from the box but couldn’t get the stupid fucker to go into the chamber—
