Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

Clem sat perched behind the blind, sighted down the barrel of the heavy rifle, and slipped his finger over the trigger. The bear was a big male, moving sluggishly and thick with fat for a long winter that didn’t seem to be coming anytime soon. Clem breathed out and began to squeeze.

The gunned roar of a four-wheeler burst in the air as Walt crashed roughly through the brush. The bear spooked and ran.

Clem threw down the rifle and cursed long and loud as it bounced out of the perch and to the ground. “Goddamnit, you fucking shit for brains! I had him!”

A wild-eyed Walt ignored his cousin. “Rangers! There’s rangers on the ridge!”

Shit. Clem hated to admit it, but it was a good thing after all that Walt interrupted that perfect shot. The .003 Win Mag was a loud gun, and no doubt the sound of it would bring those damn cops running. “How close are they?”

“’Bout a half mile on the other side of the creek.”

Fuck.

“They done found the bait barrels we put out over yonder. What do we do?”

Clem climbed down the short distance and picked up the rifle. The barrels were plain ones with no distinctive logos to tell where they came from, but that asshole Mute might recognize them if given a chance. Clem was sure the biker had seen the ones he stored at the gas station shed. They’d been moved to the cabin, but the damage was already done. So far, Brick hadn’t made any moves, which made Clem nervous.

He growled at his cousin. “What direction they headed in?”

“East.”

Clem nodded in partial relief. “Away from the cabin, then.” He shouldered the gun. “Get them other barrels over there emptied and scatter the food. We’ll load ’em on the four-wheeler and run it low until we get farther away. The sound won’t carry over the water noise.”

“Things is gettin’ real tight, Clem. Maybe we need to do some rethinking.”

“Ain’t your job to think. You just get them barrels taken care of.”

Walt licked his lips as his eyes darted from the squat vehicle to the trio of dark green cylinders. “What if we get caught? What happens to us?”

“We ain’t gettin’ caught.”

“Yeah, but what if we do?”

“I said, we ain’t gettin’ caught.”

“Yeah, but?—”

Clem’s temper snapped, and he arm-barred his cousin across his throat, forcing the bigger man’s back against a tree. “Did you hear me, you piece of shit? We. Ain’t. Gettin’. Caught. Stop with your bullshit and get them barrels done.”

“Hold up. Anyone else hear that?” Weatherman stopped moving and signaled the other two rangers to halt as well. It was hard to detect, but there was a faint sound of a four-wheeler for a brief moment before it was swallowed up by the gurgling creek.

Officer Fine stage-whispered, “Yeah, I heard it too. Comin’ from over yonder.”

He pointed in the opposite direction of where Weatherman thought it came from. The forest could be deceptive, and a compass was always a good companion to have. There were very few markers in this area to follow, and getting lost was always a danger. Hikers got turned around easily, and many times, search parties had to be called in to find them.

Today was not a day for finding people. It was an exploration of bear trails and possible places where poaching sites might be found. Whoever was behind the massacres had to have a central place for curing hides and preserving the parts of the animals they took. The mountains were full of hidden places that had potential. The satellite images showed several tagged bears that used this route regularly, making this a prime target for the illegal hunting; therefore, the three-man team was sent to check it out. Drones were used when possible, but the heavy tree growth made it too difficult and inaccurate to fly them, and the chief wanted precision detailed reports.

All three rangers carried rifles and hoped they wouldn’t have to use them. Any wildlife, including bears, would ignore them, run away, or potentially attack. Weatherman hoped any encounters resulted in door number one or two.

The engine sound no longer dressed the air, but Weatherman was positive that there was a vehicle up here somewhere. He checked his GPS marker and glanced at the other two officers. “Either of you know about any campsites or private land up here?”

Fine shook his head. “Nope. All national forest.”

“We may have company. Be alert.”

The rangers moved forward with higher caution. Weatherman sensed the restlessness in Fine’s accelerated breathing. He wasn’t too thrilled himself at the thought of finding a two-legged predator as well as a four-legged one.

They kept to the left of the creek as they followed close to it. Weatherman was about to tell everyone to turn back when he stepped on something soft and crunchy. He looked down to see a pile of cheap dog food nuggets under his boot.

“Bingo,” he said, motioning the other two rangers forward. He pulled out his tracker and marked the spot. “I think it’s safe to say we’re getting close. It’s getting late, and we need to head back. Tomorrow, we’ll grab as many satellite images as possible of this area within a ten-mile radius. Think that’s wide enough?”

“Should be. What are we looking for?”

“We’ll know when we see it.”