Page 17 of Colton in the Wild
“Remember the cave?”
She knew immediately what he meant. Before they’d set up this semipermanent campsite, they’d explored the surrounding area thoroughly. “The one northwest of the camp?”
“Yes. If we can make it to the tree line, we can head west then up.”
“All right.”
“I’ll take lead and you—”
“I will. You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine,” he repeated.
“You’re the one who’s bleeding.”
He swiped again at the trickle of blood on his face. “I just got nicked by some glass or something. It’s just a—”
“If you say it’s just a scratch, Spence Colton, I will knee you hard enough to make you scream.”
She saw him realize she was in the perfect position beneath him to do just that. And to her surprise, he laughed. “That’s my girl,” he said.
Before she could ask what exactly he meant by that, he was moving.
Chapter 10
By the time they were halfway to the cave, Spence knew a couple of things. One, the shooter was either inexperienced with his weapon, or not at home out here. Was it because he was used to cities with lots of buildings, not trees with branches that moved with the wind? Used to more noise to cover his movements? Crowds to blend into? That, he didn’t know. And it didn’t matter. He only knew he was glad of it. Otherwise, one of those shots might have hit.
They scrambled up a steeper slope, still sheltered by the thick trees. He had only slung his pack over one shoulder initially, but now slid his other arm through the second strap. And aimed a rather fervent curse at himself again at the lack of his rifle usually secured on that side. If he had it, he could resolve whatever this was in a hurry.
The going was a bit rough, especially in spots where only a thin layer of earth covered larger—and more slippery—rocks. He’d gone down on a knee once already and it had been an effort to bite back the yelp of pain. But now that they were out in the open air, moving, any sound could easily carry to the hunter and betray their location.
He spared a split second to hope the guy had gone down a couple of times himself, but Spence never stopped moving. And Hetty, tough, stubborn woman that she was, kept up with him.
That last slip made him think of something else about the shooter. That maybe he was used to level ground—like asphalt or concrete—under his feet all the time. At this point, Spence would take any edge he could get, and that would definitely be one.
He paused to look around, to make sure he was headed in the right direction. It had been a while since he’d been up here. But if they made it to the cave, the situation would shift completely. With its entrance mostly masked by a large boulder and a huge Sitka spruce, most newcomers to the area would never realize it was there. The entrance was narrow, although the cave itself opened up quite a bit once you were inside. That meant anyone coming in after them would have to present themselves in the restricted space. Spence might not have his rifle, but he had his knife. He’d never used it on a human before, but if it came down to the assailant or him, he would.
If it came down to the assailant or Hetty, he’d not only use it but tear him up like a grizzly.
A faint rustling behind them made him spin around. Hetty froze in place. Spence visually searched down low, where the sound had come from.
“Stoat,” he whispered to her, having spotted the small brown-and-white weasel in the underbrush. Summer was definitely here, since the wiry creature had shed its winter-white coat completely. It gave them a tilted-head assessing look and, apparently deciding they weren’t worth any more attention, scampered off into the trees.
They moved on, carefully, stopping to listen every few yards. They heard no more movement and, more importantly, no more shots. Had they lost the shooter? Spence didn’t know for sure, and he wasn’t about to gamble that they had. Not when the stakes could easily be Hetty’s life.
Cursing himself once more for setting the rifle down in the storage shed—and hoping he lived through this, so he could never repeat that carelessness—Spence started moving again. The incline of the slope had lessened a bit, making the going easier, but the trees were also thicker, with branches barring almost every path, making moving silently and invisibly nearly impossible. Practically crawling—actually crawling would probably be a good idea—was the only answer.
He didn’t stop to explain their pace to Hetty. She might not be a hunter, used to skulking around in the woods, but she knew they were under serious threat and she would understand why they were being so cautious. And why he was being so quiet. Besides, she knew this terrain almost as well as he did. That had been a requirement of working for RTA; to know the crucial things about where you were taking people who didn’t know anything about it.
He thought of those days when he’d first been assigned—by his father, so he couldn’t say no—to showing her to and around all their various destinations. One of the things he’d done was to teach her various hand signals. At that time, they had been intended to be used to avoid spooking game, or in the case of some of the critters of the wild, to avoid drawing their attention. Now he had to hope that she’d been paying attention to those lessons and remembered how to communicate silently.
The moment he had the thought, he almost laughed at himself. This was Hetty, and if there was one thing she consistently did, it was learn and remember. If that wasn’t true, he wouldn’t be here now. They’d both be in the drink, along with a crashed plane, probably both dead. But she’d pulled off a safe landing, saving them both.
And now here we are with some crazy person with a rifle trying to take us out, and I don’t have a single damned idea who or why.
He stopped again, scanning ahead, searching for any sign of movement, listening for any sound. Then he felt a touch on his arm and quickly looked back at Hetty. She nodded to their left and slightly lower, making a motion with her hands at her head that it took him a moment to figure out. He couldn’t stop his smile when he realized it was from back on that day when she’d asked if there were signals for particular animals and he’d jokingly put his hands up on both sides of his head to signify a moose’s antlers.
He looked where she’d nodded, saw nothing at first. But Hetty also didn’t make mistakes, so he waited. And after another minute or so, he saw movement: a large, brown, antlered head reaching down for some no-doubt tangy green summer growth.
