Death Canyon (41 page)

Jake yelled to Terrell.

“We need medevac, Chief.”

It was the first time Jake had addressed him so respectfully.

“On its way.”

Suddenly the windows of the house blew out. Inside, crumbling walls threw dust out the voids, giving the impression that the house was breathing its last breaths.

“How did you find us?”

The chief laughed. “Turned out one of our own was involved. He confessed after hearing about J.P. We threw a tracker on the Shaman's car.”

Makter was the Shaman.

Jake pulled Daniel farther from the structure. Then he walked to Noelle, put his arm around her, and pulled her close. They watched the house fall under the starlight.

It was evening. Jake and Noelle stood behind Noelle's cabin, looking toward the Tetons.

“J.P. asked me a funny question the other day. He wanted to know if I thought mankind could continue to manipulate the earth—you know, to use it, without screwing things up. Like, would nature carry on no matter what?”

“ ‘Nature will find a way' kind of thing? Rather prescient line of questioning, don't you think?” Noelle smiled.

“He can be pretty sharp.”

“And what did you say?”

A stiff but warmish breeze pushed sage and pine past their nostrils, comforting them immensely.

“I didn't really have an answer at the time.”

“And now?”

“I think nature
will
find a way to some extent, but there's a line. I think you and I were lucky enough to stop this thing right before it crossed that line.”

“How do you mean?”

“Despite everything that happened out there, the geysers will continue to erupt, the elk and bison will graze, all of those things will find a way to carry on. But it was damn close.”

“And if we didn't stop it?”

“I don't think there's any question that it would have been the end of the Northern Rockies as we know them.”

Noelle playfully tousled Jake's hair. “At least. Well done, counsel. Did you hear Yellowstone reopens tomorrow? And the development? The Old Breast Milk Ranch?” She laughed.

“Nixed. Thank God. Their financiers backed out.”

“The Hot Rock project?”

“The feds will explain it away, like they always do.”

They looked around at the black silhouettes of the pines against the granite-gray mountains, taking it all in.

“Feel like going into town?” Jake asked.

*  *  *

Noelle and Jake talked a bit on the drive to Jackson, but they mainly just held hands and enjoyed each other's company. The sense of relief was palpable.

When they got to Airport Junction, they found traffic.

“What's this?” Noelle asked.

“Big flight must've come in. It's summer now, remember? Three months of traffic, lines, and general insanity.”

“Ugh. What do they say? ‘If they call it tourist season how come you can't shoot 'em?' ”

“Maybe not apropos given what we just went through.” Jake smiled at her. She squeezed his hand and laughed.

The line of rental cars in front of them lit up the highway all the way from the airport down past the normally pitch-black elk refuge and into town, where the tourists dispersed in different directions looking for their hotels.

It was comforting to Jake in a way; it represented a return to normalcy. In a contrary sense, it troubled him.
So many people.
He hated to think like one of the Shaman's crazed followers, but he wondered to himself how sustainable this situation was, not only in Jackson but throughout the whole world.

“Whatcha thinking about? You look upset.”

Jake snapped out of it. “Nothing, I'm great. Where to for dinner?”

Noelle leaned over and gave him a long, hard kiss on the cheek. “Can't we just go back to your place?”

When they pulled into the bed-and-breakfast, the SUV's headlights lit up two eyes on the perimeter of the driveway. It was Chayote. He cautiously trotted to meet them where they parked. When they opened the front door, he hopped up on the porch, sat down, and cocked his head.

Jake tried for what seemed like the umpteenth time. “C'mon, Chayote! Come on!” He slapped his hands on his knees to try to create some excitement. The dog only cocked his head farther to the side and wagged his tail ever so slightly.

“What's
his
deal?” Noelle asked.

“Shy, I guess.”

“He's yours?”

“Not really.”

Noelle knelt down and hit on the magic words. “You
hungry,
buddy? You
hungry
?” This word he knew.

In a fraction of a second, the dog bounded to the door, rearing up playfully on his way. Noelle held out her arms to receive him, but he turned and skidded past them into the house.

Jake and Noelle heard crashing from inside as he frantically tried to find a feeding bowl.

“Great,” Jake said sarcastically.

“Oh, c'mon, it'll be fun!”

Jake smiled uneasily as Noelle went through the door searching for the dog. He looked around for a moment at the wilderness spreading out into the night. Then he walked inside.

Noelle was unbuttoning her shirt and shaking off her pants at the bottom of the stairs. Jake smiled and walked toward her.

“Easy, your hands are freezing!”

“Sorry.”

Noelle shrugged. “I'll get over it.” She started to lead him up the stairs.

From the front door, a jovial shout: “Hey-yoooooooo!” It startled them. Noelle ran back down the stairs and tried to cover up, but it was too late.

“That kinda party?” J.P. asked, staring at Noelle. “I'm into it.” He started pulling off his hoodie. An attractive woman in nurse's scrubs stood next to him, a bemused smile on her face. He turned to her. “Just kidding.”

Noelle gave J.P. a puzzled look.

“Ongoing treatment is all. Doc said I might need physical therapy.”

The nurse laughed and smacked J.P. playfully on his shoulder.

“All right! Get your clothes, the night is young. I've got beer for the dudes and champagne for the ladies!”

*  *  *

Thirty miles upriver, a small fire burned on a sandy west bank of the Snake. A spruce bough shelter was hidden in the tree line. Inside Sam chewed on the inner stalk of a marsh reed, wondering what his next mission would be.

Several people lent a helping hand with feedback and research: Matt Kessler, Pat Cooper, Bob Peters, Lara Bertsch, Joshua Siebert, and last but far from least, my super-agent Margaret Riley and editor extraordinaire Paul Whitlatch. Also at Scribner, a huge thank-you to Stephanie Evans, Ben Holmes, Leah Sikora, and Nan Graham.

A special thanks to my friends in Jackson for, among many other things, sharing with me the experiences that helped create Jake Trent's world: Allen Riley, Charlie Senn, Sam Allen, Karl Koch, Mark Rector, Spencer Van Schaack, and Silas Collins, just to name a few. Let's go fishing soon.

© KATIE BERTSCH

DAVID RILEY BERTSCH,
a native of Pittsburgh, graduated from Penn State and the University of Pittsburgh School of Law. Since 2009 he has lived in Jackson, Wyoming, where he is a professional fly-fishing guide.

www.davidrileybertsch.com

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