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“Farther from town.”
“Yep. Only she panicked and ran off the game trails. There are running footprints through a softer area just to the left, along with a sign that she fell at some point—there’s a handprint in the dirt.”
He pauses and mutters a curse. “And now that I say that, I see she fell here, too.” He points out the marks. The ground here is harder than where the moose stood, but there’s a scuff markright behind those two clear footprints. She saw the moose, and it must have done something to make her stumble back. She fell, got up, and then ran.
Ran headlong into the darkening forest.
“What were the conditions last night?” I ask.
“Partly overcast,” he says.
“Which is worse than overcast,” I say. “If there’s no moon, you know it’s dark. She heads into the forest without a light, the sun sets, but there’s enough moon to see by… until there’s not. She bumps into a moose, panics, and runs back the way she was going, thinking she’s heading toward town.”
“Yeah, looks like she veered—”
Dalton goes still. One hand reaches for Storm. The other drops toward his holster, and as I see that, my own hand does the same.
I touch the butt of my gun as I scan the forest. When Dalton pulls his weapon, I do, too. His gaze sweeps the woods. Then it stops. He sees something. I follow his line of sight, and I tell myself I’m just not aligned right to see whatever he does, but the truth is that whatever he’s spotted is probably right there, too camouflaged for me to make out.
Dalton raises his gun to his side. It’s a revolver. Yes, a modern one—a .357 Smith & Wesson—but still a throwback to another era. I’ve always suspected the gun is more for show than protection. He’s an excellent hunter, but handguns are not his thing, and if he takes it out, that’s more than nerves. It also means that whatever he sees is human.
An animal would have Dalton reaching for his bear spray. Oh, he’d shoot a bear—or wolf or wolverine—if he needed to, but if a predator is charging, the bear spray is more effective. Guns are for threats that will see them and stay back. Guns are for people.
“I can see you,” he says after a moment. “You’re twenty feet in front of me, behind two pines. If you can see me, you know there’s a gun pointed at you. What you probably don’t see is the second gun, to my left. Now, I’m a fair shot. She’s a better one. Still, neither of us has any interest in pulling a trigger today. We’re looking for two people who went missing—”
The crash of undergrowth. My arm swings up, finger off the trigger, but even before it’s raised, I know whoever is in that forest isn’t running at us—they’re running away.
Dalton lets out a string of curses and starts after the fleeing figure. He makes it two steps before glancing back at me.
“Go,” I say. An old injury to my leg means I’ll never run as fast as I used to. “I have a gun and a dog. I’ll stay right here.”
He lifts a hand in thanks, and then he’s gone. I keep my gun raised, my body tensed, waiting for any sign that the person is leading him into a trap. The crashing of undergrowth says otherwise. It’s a panicked run.
Penny? Bruno? Or an innocent hiker who bumped into two people armed with handguns? In their place, I’d run, too.
I’m really hoping it isn’t a hiker. Oh, I’d feel bad for scaring them, of course, but I’d be a lot more concerned about us encountering tourists on our first post-build foray.
That really is our biggest fear. We surveyed the area as well as we could, making sure there were no active mining operations or hunting cabins or any sign that people—even a lone seasonal trapper—used the area. That doesn’t mean we couldn’t find ourselves in the middle of a route that suddenly became internet famous among dedicated hikers.
Even then, the land still isn’t free for the taking. It’s Crown land and Indigenous land, and we’re squatting on it, only hoping that our altruistic intent at least mitigates the trespass.
I survey my surroundings. It’s boggy to the east, where themoose had been grazing. To the north, low mountains are barely visible through the tall pines.
Dark shadows on the mountains promise cave entrances. I consider climbing a tree for a better look, but pines really aren’t as climbing-friendly as the maples and oaks of my youth. Still, I eye a possible contender, also as a way to get a better look at the landscape while I’m waiting for Dalton.
I said I wouldn’t leave this spot, and yes, I’m an adult, capable of walking twenty feet and returning to this location, but I won’t give him the heart failure of returning to find my spot empty.
I’m still eyeing the tree—thinking that when he comes back, he can boost me to the lower branches—when I realize I’m alone. Oh, obviously Dalton took off, but a moment ago there’d been a Newfoundland beside me, and now there is not.
“Storm?” I say, swinging around in alarm as I scan the trees.
She whines, and that has my heart tripping faster until I finally spot her half hidden behind brush. She lowers her head and whines again.
I exhale and stride toward her, presuming she walked away to do her business, that whine telling me she knows she shouldn’t wander, but she had a reason.
She’s not crouched to relieve herself, though. She’s snuffling the ground.
“Tell me you don’t smell blood.”
