Badger Games (34 page)

The dust was totally obscuring. He decided that the best thing was to crawl under the truck, with its high clearance. Jammie was calling, “Kibosh! Get down! Get down!” The shotgun was still blasting, then stopped. Joe crept forward. Through the wreckage of the room he could see no sign of any movement. One headlight was still on, but the truck's engine had died.

He crawled on. Within a few seconds he was certain of what he had expected: the living space was empty. The entry into the drift was open. They had gone. But how recently?

“Okay!” he called out. “They're running!”

Jammie appeared. She saw the situation. “They may not have gone far,” she said.

“You want to wait here?” Joe said. “Or pursue them? We'd be in trouble in a hundred feet if Boz is waiting for us.”

Jammie insisted on venturing at least a little ways into the tunnel. Unfortunately, they had only the single headlight of the wrecked truck for illumination.

“I've got a light in my car,” Jammie said.

“Well, get it,” Joe said. “Time's wasting. I'll stay here with Frank.”

She was back in ten minutes with the car. The light she brought was sufficient for them to venture into the tunnel far enough
to convince them that Boz and Kibosh had bolted for the other exit. The tracks of the two men were easy enough to follow. Jammie was all for pursuing them.

“No,” Joe said. “For all we know, they've got an hour's head start. That's too much. I think you or I could hold this end, in case they double back. The place to wait is at the mouth, here. With any luck, we can maintain some kind of communication. But I'm for getting to the other end.”

Jammie conceded the point. She would stay.

Joe and Frank raced down the hill. While Joe drove recklessly down the mountain, Frank tried to call Paulie. He was unable to get through until they reached the freeway. “Keep a good watch,” Frank told him, explaining what had occurred. “We'll be there as quickly as we can.”

In fact, it took them more than a half hour. Joe drove straight across the meadow, bouncing over rocks and hoping he wasn't going to rip out the transmission. At last, however, he had to cut the lights, and he stopped. They piled out of the Durango and raced over the ridge and down to the river.

The river was freezing, much swifter and deeper than Joe had thought. It seemed only a foot or two deep, but once they were in the water it proved to have much deeper holes and was flowing quite fast. At one point, he lost his footing and was swept downstream, barely keeping the H&K aloft. But he regained his feet and saw that Frank was already on the bank.

“It looked like such a placid stream,” Joe said, shivering when he caught up to Frank.

“There's places to wade, if you know the stream,” Frank said. He was wet only to his knees.

It was still very dark, but dawn was beginning to show in the east. Paulie appeared. “The entrance Kibosh used is up there,” he said, pointing at the cliff.

The entrance was little more than a dark spot, apparently seventy-five or eighty feet above the gravelly talus that sloped up from the river's edge, here, to the base of the cliff.

“As soon as the sun gets up,” Paulie said, “in about twenty minutes, the rays will strike the ridge up there and then the edge of the sunlight will quickly begin to drop down, lighting up that whole cliff face. It's quite a sight, just a blaze of red and gold.”

Morning mist was rising off the river. It was cold.

Helen was waiting in the sparse shelter of some low brush, about fifty feet downstream. She had the other Glock and Paulie had the little .410 shotgun. Joe wished he had thought to bring another gun; the guns were back in the Durango, across the river. He sent Frank back to get the other AK-47 and the Stoner rifle. “Be sure you get plenty of ammo,” he told him.

B
oz had never been so glad to see anything like that pale patch of sky at the mouth of the tunnel.

“By God, Kibe, we found it!” he exclaimed. He ran to the opening and suddenly caught himself. “Jesus Christ!” There was a huge drop to the river. Another step and he'd have fallen to his death.

“Now what?” he said as Kibe came up beside him.

“Aw, don't worry,” Kibe assured him, “there's a path. Jist gotta take it easy.” He paused and looked out. He was dead tired, to say nothing of still being dazed from when Boz had knocked him against the rock back there. He felt a little shaky. “I believe I'll set a spell,” he said, “till I get my bearin's.”

“Might be better to wait till it gets a little more light,” Boz agreed. He looked dubiously at the narrow path. From up here he could make out the top of Frank's house, beyond the ridge. Daybreak was a broad swatch of deep purple and red, staining the sky beyond the black silhouette of the mountains to the east, and growing redder by the minute—you could almost believe it was a massive
conflagration over there, a forest fire. The sky above was lighter, especially toward the east, but many stars were still visible. Everything nearer at hand was in deep shadow. The path, what Boz could see of it, was at least a couple of feet wide, quite manageable. But like Kibosh, he was leery of trying an immediate descent. He didn't feel all that stable himself.

He sat down by the opening and felt around for his remaining bottle of whiskey. He comforted himself with a long draught. He looked over at Kibosh, who was drinking from a jar of water. Now was as good a time as any, Boz thought, to get rid of this encumbrance. He unconsciously felt his pocket, where the Star automatic nestled. But then it occurred to him that he still had to get to the house. Kibosh might come in handy as a hostage.

“Kibe,” he said, warmly, “you're a good man. You got us through. I thought I'd die in there. But we still got a ways to go.”

“Sun'll be up soon,” Kibosh said. He'd noticed Boz's gesture toward his pocket. He reckoned that his night of terror was not over yet. He wondered if he'd have a chance to push this bastard off the side. He would do it cheerfully. He was worried now, about his friends. Would they remember this exit? He hoped so. But what if they hadn't come to Seven Dials last night, after all? There was a good chance that he and Boz had undertaken this trip through the mountain in the dead of night just from being spooked by a bear, or a curious nocturnal badger that had come snooping around the Seven Dials, drawn by the smell of the sausages in the smoker. It could have been nothing more than a curious skunk! Maybe no one had been outside the door of the Seven Dials at all. Maybe Frankie and Paulie were still sleeping over there, at the house.

The sun was rising quickly but hadn't crested the mountains. Kibosh knew it would soon illuminate this cliff face, a grand sight if you were out there on the meadow. The morning fly hatch would be coming off along the river, which he could now see was blanketed
with mist, below them. The trout would be rising. It would be a great thing to be down there with a fly rod, he imagined. Probably, at this time of year, some kind of
Trico
hatch, followed by some
Baetis,
maybe some caddis. He could weep.

“It's getting pretty light pretty fast,” Boz said. “Time to go.” He hefted the deer rifle and gestured for Kibosh to lead.

So there goes that chance, Kibosh thought. He picked up the backpack.

“Leave it,” Boz said. “We don't need it no more. We'll have to move fast, once we get down from here.”

They stepped out into the still dim daylight. Above them, the sun was catching the top of the cliff. They began to move cautiously down the path.

Below them, Joe saw the two men leave the hole in the wall and set out on the path. At last! Until this second he had feared the worst. It occurred to him suddenly that he could have been wildly, completely wrong, that Boz might not have been in the Seven Dials at all. The only evidence was the presence of Frank's truck, but Boz could have abandoned it for any number of reasons. He could have allies, supporters he had contacted, who had come and picked him up. He shook his head, marveling at his failure to take that into account. But here they were, moving along the cliff wall like silhouette ducks in a shooting gallery.

He hoisted the H&K. From this steep angle he could see only the head and shoulders of Kibosh and more of the upper body of Boz. The angle was miserable. It was too far for the H&K.

Paulie had explained that the trail came down to their right, then switched back and headed toward them. From their position among the jumbled rocks they had very good cover. The trouble was, as the two men approached, Kibosh would be in the line of fire for much of the time. The best thing would be to wait until the hikers reached a point about fifty feet from the very base, the talus. At that
point, they would be no more than a hundred feet away. There was a path that led down to the river that angled farther to their left. Helen was down there, well hidden in the brush. If the two men got that far, they would pass within touching distance of her.

Joe looked at Frank, crouching nearby in the rocks. He was clutching the Stoner rifle gingerly, the tension evident in his face. “You okay?” Joe asked.

Frank looked up and nodded at him. “Ready as I'll ever be,” he said. “Do we just wait for them?” It seemed too easy.

“He's got the rifle,” Joe said. “If I can get to that rock there”—he pointed to a large rock at a point where the men on the path would pass, about three feet above—“I'll be below him. I'll shout for him to drop the gun. If he doesn't drop it, I can take his legs out.”

“You'd be in my line of fire,” Frank said. “I'm not much of a shot and I don't know this gun …”

“You'll be all right,” Joe said. “Just remember what I showed you. When he gets to the farthest point of the descent, before the trail switches back, I'll make a dash. If he sees me, Kibosh will be in our line. But maybe I can creep a little closer now. It's worth the risk.”

To Paulie, crouched a little farther down the trail, Joe called softly, “Hold your fire. That shotgun will be as dangerous to Kibosh as to Boz. It could be useful later, though.”

Joe looked at the field of broken rocks between him and the covering boulder. It was in deep shadow. He crept out and began to make his way, in a crouch, across the space. Above him, now farther away than initially, he could see the two men carefully picking their way down the ramplike path toward the switchback. He scuttled forward, missed his step, and banged his knee painfully on a sharp rock. It was painful, but he didn't cry out. Worse, however, the H&K had also banged against a rock. He saw Boz turn sharply, and Joe lowered his face to the rocks, afraid that the paleness of it would be visible. He waited.

Boz heard a metallic noise. “What was that?” he said to Kibosh, stopping and crouching.

Kibosh turned. “What was what? I didn't hear nothin'.”

“You didn't hear that clank?”

Kibosh shook his head. “Rock,” he said confidently. “The sun warms the rocks and they expand. They'll be more falling.” He pointed upward. The sun was rapidly creeping down the cliff. As if in demonstration, a fist-sized rock came tumbling down, twenty feet away, struck a projection of the cliff, and spun out into space. “Little by little,” he said, “this mountain is falling down.”

But he had heard the clank, all right. His heart bounded within him. Boz seemed convinced, however. He leaned back against the cliff and drank from his bottle.

“Almost dry,” he said. “Hope they didn't drink all my vodka back at the house.” He bared his teeth in his dirty, bristly face. It was a smile. He drank the last of the whiskey and then hurled the bottle out in a great arc. It smashed on the rocks below. He laughed. “No one there.” Suddenly a thought struck him. “You had another bottle in that pack, didn't you? Damn! Go back and get it.”

“You want me to go back?” Kibosh asked.

Boz reconsidered. The narrow path had been quite scary when they were farther up. Now that they were only twenty feet or so from the ground below, as rocky and jagged as it looked, he felt much more secure. Even if he fell here, the worst that was likely to happen was a broken leg, not death. The thought of climbing all the way back up there, in his spacey condition, was not appealing. He figured he could cover Kibosh with the rifle, in case he tried to escape … but what if he ducked back into the mountain? There was no way he was going to go back in there after him.

“To hell with it,” he said. “I'll get more at the house. Come on, let's go.”

The bottle had crashed not far from Joe. It had startled him, then he'd realized what it was—just Boz heaving an empty bottle. He lay there, his face still down. Finally, he dared to peek upward. The men were moving. But they had made the turn and were coming his way. He was lying in the open, no real cover, just small rocks not much bigger than a bushel basket nearby. And the sun was racing down the face of the cliff. If it reached him he would be too obvious to be missed, unless the men had already passed. He lay still and begged Kibosh mentally to hasten, get past him.

A gentle breeze, stirred by the warming air above, began to shift the still dense mist off the river and toward the cliff. The cold fog rolled over Joe.

Oh, yes, he breathed. Now he could hear the men's shoes scraping on the path. He glanced at the H&K. It was set on automatic fire. The clip would empty in a second. Did he dare to set it on the three-shot cycle? Would it make a noise? He decided against it.

The steps came closer. Somehow Joe kept his face down. The mist helped. They were abreast of him. Moved another step beyond. He scrambled to his feet.

“Drop it!” Joe yelled.

Boz spun, lost his footing for a second, and reeled back against the cliff, sitting down roughly. He hoisted the rifle to his shoulder, pointing in Joe's direction—the scope was a nuisance at this range. Kibosh stooped, found a rock, and hurled it at Boz. It struck him on the shoulder as he fired, the shot going wild. Boz swore, racked the bolt back and forward to bring another cartridge into the chamber. Kibosh began to run down the ramp, toward Paulie's position. Boz looked first in the direction of Joe's voice, but all he saw was mist. He turned toward the running Kibosh and lifted the rifle.