Page 42 of At Midnight Comes the Cry
“That’s… not a comforting thought.”
They stepped through a screen of spruce and hemlock to find themselves on the lower edge of a scree of shattered slate and limestone. The dry creek bed ran off in one direction, and trees marched up a slope on the other side. “Crap.” Hadley cast about, looking for some sign. “How are we going to pick up the trail in this?”
The chief came up behind them. “The creek bed is the most likely way to go. We could—”
“Guys. We’ve got company.” Paul was unslinging his rifle, looking to the top of the rock spill.
Hadley turned and clipped her jaw shut over a scream. A bear stood on the solid limestone outcrop that capped the scree. It looked almost cute, until it yawned and shook its heavy black pelt, revealing daggerlike canines she had no wish to see closer. “Why isn’t it in a cave somewhere?” she whispered. “Aren’t they supposed to hibernate?”
“Speak in a normal voice.” Paul sounded as calm as Clare had when the plane was trying to turn itself inside out. “It helps him recognize us as people instead of prey.”
“Oh, great.”
“He’s a male, right?” The chief stepped forward and slowly raised his arms. “They hibernate later than the females.”
“That’s right.” Paul also raised his arms. Hadley did the same. “Although they’re usually tucked in by now. This fellow may be the last one standing this season.”
The bear turned and disappeared behind the ridge. Hadley let her arms drop. “Holy—”
The bear reappeared. This time, it stood on its hind feet, sniffing the air. It turned and disappeared again.
“That’s odd behavior from a male.” Van Alstyne cautiously lowered his arms. “A mother checking her cubs behind her, yeah, but—”
The bear reappeared. This time it stared at them for a long moment before grunting, deep echoing sounds like an immense motor turning over. Then it lumbered over the ridge for the third time.
Paul reslung his rifle. “You two stay here.” He started up the scree, slipping and sliding on the unstable rocks.
“Paul.” Van Alstyne used his chief voice. “Come down from there.”
“I’m following the bear. You two stay here.”
“Paul, don’t be…” Crazy? Reckless? “Irresponsible. You’re supposed to leave them alone, not chase after them. EvenIknow that.”
He ignored her. She looked at the chief. He sighed and began scrambling upslope after the ranger. She followed. At least focusing on her footing kept her from imagining becoming a bear’s dinner on the other side. Mostly.
They climbed over the broken and chalky edge to see the bear, well ahead, disappearing into another wooded area, with Paul trailing after.
“In for a penny,” the chief said. They wove between the trees, pushing prickly undergrowth out of the way, keeping their eyes on Paul, who presumably could still see the bear. The glimpses of sky through the forest crown showed gray and white, until they pressed closer and Hadley realized she was looking at another rock face, a strip of the mountain’s bare bone rising toward the sun.
Paul had stopped. They caught up with him in time to see the bear walk to the crumbling, bracken-blown base of the cliff and sit down. They all stood a moment, frozen in a tableau, and beneath her warm layers the hairs on Hadley’s arms rose, and she shivered. There was a sensation, for just a moment, of being in a wild and wind-blasted church.
Paul took one step toward the bear. “Thank you, brother.”
The bear made a clicking sound, rose, and strolled away along the rock wall.
When it was out of sight, the chief walked toward where the bear had been sitting. Hadley realized, coming closer, that what she had seen as rockfall and frost-dead ferns wasn’t natural. Stones had been piled up and half-covered with branches of scrub brush.
“Paul.” The chief’s voice was terrible and gentle. “Let me.”
“He was my family.” Paul picked up the first stone. Hadley bent to help, and Van Alstyne did as well, the three of them uncovering what someone else had tried to hide.
When they revealed his face, Paul let out a deep-chested moan. He dropped to his knees and kissed the dusty forehead, rocking back and forth, wordless. The chief squeezed his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Paul. I’m so damn sorry.”
Hadley sucked in her breath when she uncovered the gaping gunshot wound that had killed him, the blood gone hard and black. She carefully picked away the smaller stones and bits of twig and leaves, and then, not knowing how to handle this cross between a crime site and a wake, pulled her scarf from around her throat and laid it gently over his chest.
She and the chief finished removing the rubble. When they were done, the three of them stood and looked down at the body of PierreLaduc. Paul wrestled a long chain with a saint’s medal over his head, kissed it, and placed it at Pierre’s throat.
“I wish Clare was here.” The chief rubbed the back of his neck. “She would know what to say.”
