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Dalton found a trail, and he’s following it, and I have no idea where that’s taken him. I only know that someone fired a single shot, and now the forest is silent.
Was it Mark firing off a warning shot at Dalton and Anders?
The sun has started to drop. Shadows mean he’s not going to see distant figures moving in the forest and know they’re human.
Yolanda looks over sharply and whispers, “Did you hear that?”
I close my eyes to listen. I’m about to say I don’t hear anything. Then a man’s voice comes, raised, snarling something in anger. It comes from off to our right, in the direction we’d take to get to Mark’s camp.
A shout. Then another shot, and this time I pinpoint it. Behind us and to our right. There’s a mountain there—the one closest to Haven’s Rock.
“I need to investigate that,” I say.
“Um, of course? Especially considering your husband, friend, and dog are all out here.”
“I mean thatIneed to go, obviously, and you should head back to town.”
“Didn’t you bring me as backup?”
“To help find Eric. Not to investigate gunshots.”
“Consider the liability waiver signed. Now go. I’ve got your back.”
“How about a weapon?”
Yolanda reaches into her pockets, feels around, and pulls out a stubby pencil.
I slap my pocketknife into her hand, and we set out.
I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all. Someone has fired multiple shots, and I strongly suspect it is a man who murdered his wife, and I’m leading a civilian toward those shots. I would much rather send Yolanda back to town. But she’s not a child. She’s a woman who definitely knows her own mind and makes her own choices, and the more I argue, the more determined she is to accompany me.
I don’t sit there while I argue. I’m on the move, and she’s behind me, and eventually, I have to accept that it would be more dangerous to send her back alone. Also, the more we argue, the more likely our target is to realize someone is coming.
We’ve caught the sound of shouting a couple of times. One voice, I think. Male. Could be Mark. Definitely not Anders or Dalton.
I use those shouts to zero in on our target. They are at the mountain, near the bottom. Once we draw close, the voice stops, but Yolanda picks up the sound of someone scrabbling on rock. Her hearing is better than mine, and we go another twenty feet before I hear the same thing.
Mountains come in all forms, even in the same geographic areas. Some can be scaled with good pairs of hiking boots and lungs. Just keep going up, through trees and brush and over rocky but navigable areas. Others require actual climbing gear, and they’re for the pros. And then there are the ones in the middle, climbable but not meant for an easy afternoon hike. Those require a lot of navigating and a lot of scrabbling over difficult terrain.
Those noises come from a section of mountain that fits squarely in the last category. Sparse trees, mostly stunted and scraggly. Lots of rock. Someone is up there, moving around, and once I can see the mountain in the fading light, I stop and hunker down, squinting and listening.
Whoever is up there has gone silent. Did they hear us coming? Is it the shooter?
I can imagine Mark perched up there, spotting Dalton and Anders below and firing off warning shots. But we heard what sounded like someone desperately trying to get away. And we heard those angry shouts.
The shooter has pinned someone down on this mountainside. They’re up there, far too exposed with the scrubby tree cover. They’re moving, trying to get to safer ground. Darting from spot to spot.
Yolanda and I crouch in the shadows of a huge pine tree, both of us scanning the area above. Then, without a sound to give them away, a figure appears. They’re hunched over andmoving slowly. We’re about a hundred feet away, and from this angle, I can only make out light hair.
“Is that Eric?” Yolanda whispers.
I want to say Dalton would never be so foolish as to scrabble along a mountain making the noise we heard earlier. But he would if he wanted to draw attention, as he did the other day when Mark fired at us. It might also not have been Dalton we heard, but Anders moving in another spot. Whoever is up there is taking it slow and moving soundlessly.
Moving soundlessly, yes, but I can see them easily, their figure dark against the light rock. Dalton would know better, wouldn’t he? Unless he was desperate to distract attention from Anders.
Please tell me you know what you’re doing, Eric. Please tell me you don’t think you’re hidden.
“Is it Eric?” Yolanda whispers again.
