Yellowstone Standoff (20 page)

40

T
he lump is right up under the edge of the skull, against the bone,” Keith said. His fingers continued to probe. “The cut's still fresh.”

He pressed at Chance's neck. The dog whined.

“There, boy,” Keith soothed. Then, to the room: “Got it.”

He held up a beige-colored object a quarter-inch thick and an inch square, glistening in the light of the fire.

Chuck studied the object from across the room. Its color triggered something in his brain. He unzipped the outside pocket of his pack and took out the clear plastic bag containing the sliver of bone he'd collected from the wall of ice at the base of Trident Peak. He crossed the room and dangled the baggie beside the object Keith had removed from beneath Chance's skin. In the firelight, the sliver and object shone with the same off-white color.

Keith handed the object to Chuck. Like the bone sliver from the glacier, it was moist and slippery in his fingers. He tucked the baggie containing the bone sliver beneath his arm and applied pressure to the object, bending it back and forth with both hands. A tiny, black, rectangular piece of plastic popped from its center.

“Ah ha,” he said. “The chip was inside.” He held it out for Toby's inspection.

“Identical to the one from Number 217,” Toby said. He looked toward Sarah's body. “What did you know that you shouldn't have?” he asked her. “What was it you found out?”

“Whatever it was, we need to find out, too,” Chuck said. Anxious to learn what Randall was up to in the mess tent, he
handed the chip to Toby. He returned the sliver of bone to his pack and picked up the rifle from beside the door. “I'll do a quick reconnoiter,” he said to Janelle from the doorway. “You're doing great in here.”

She rested her hand on Kaifong's arm. “I just wish there was more I could do for her.”

He stepped outside. The air had chilled with the onset of night. Scientists in clusters of three and four stood watch along the front of the cabin and mess tent. LED lanterns swung on hiking poles in the wind, casting an eerie glow into the meadow. Inky blackness pressed toward the cabin and tent from beyond the thirty-foot perimeter of muted lantern light. Mist and clouds blotted out the stars.

He found Randall seated at a table inside the mess tent. Jorge sat opposite him. A lantern swayed from the ridge pole, lighting the interior of the tent. Randall's pack rested beside him, the drone strapped in its fiberglass frame.

Shattered bits of the satellite phone lay on the tabletop in front of Randall. He turned one of the pieces over in his hand. Its smooth plastic surface reflected the combined light of his headlamp and the lantern overhead. “I thought I might be able to put it back together.”

Chuck eased his grip on the rifle. So this was what Randall was up to. “Any luck?”

“It's pretty much hopeless, man.”

“Keep trying,” Chuck said. “It'd be great to get through to somebody.”

He ducked outside and studied the researchers to his right and left, their folding knives belted to their waists. Someone had murdered Sarah and drugged Kaifong. But who?

He wormed his way through the crowd to the cabin's west side, where half a dozen flashlight-wielding scientists stood
with their backs to the log wall, facing the meadow. Three lanterns illuminated wet grass at the side of the cabin, while the concentrated beams of the flashlights reached to the edge of the forest two hundred feet away. The scientists acknowledged Chuck's presence with glances and curt nods before returning their attention to the black wall of trees rising at the bottom of the clearing.

Chuck continued on around to the back of the cabin and mess tent. There, a handful of researchers aimed flashlights up the hill at the tent platforms. Chuck studied the slope alongside them—no sign of movement.

Clarence's full-throated cry came from the east side of the mess tent. “Hey!” he yelled. “Back off!”

A deep roar ripped the night air.

Chuck sprinted around the corner of the mess tent, rifle raised. Clarence stood alone, his back to the canvas wall of the tent, his flashlight piercing the darkness beyond the dim half-circle of light cast by a pair of lanterns set on poles against the tent wall.

“It's gone,” he said.

“A grizzly?” Chuck asked, his chest heaving.

Clarence nodded.

“You're on your own over here?”

“They took off around front when the bear showed up.” He pointed at the corner of the tent. “Probably the smart thing to do.”

“Are you okay?”

“I barely saw it. As soon as I yelled, it disappeared back out of sight, roaring as it went.”

“It must be the one from the west side of the valley. It crossed the river, too.” Chuck shook his head, flummoxed. Common sense said the grizzly should not have followed after
the wolves. He stopped himself. Why was he thinking in terms of common sense? Nothing about the last few hours—Sarah's murder, Kaifong's entrapment, the wolf's attack in the woods—was, by any measure, common.

Clarence swung his flashlight, revealing the empty trail climbing south away from the cabin. “
Nada
,” he said.

Another roar sounded, this time from north of camp. A handful of scientists surged back around to the east side of the mess tent.

“Stay here, would you?” Chuck asked Clarence.

“
Por supuesto
.”

Chuck slipped through the researchers to the north-facing side of the tent.

“Look!” Justin cried out from the front of the cabin.

Flashlights swung north. The combined wattage illuminated the wall of forest at the bottom of the meadow. Something big and brown appeared among the trunks of trees at the edge of the forest before disappearing deeper into the woods, moving from east to west.

Seconds later, someone shouted from the west side of the cabin, “There it is, see? It's running!”

A chorus of wolf howls rose from the forest to the west.

Chuck pushed his way through the knots of scientists gathered in front of the cabin. He met Lex as the ranger stepped outside.

Lex's bandaged wrist hung at his waist. Fire burned in his eyes. “What's going on out here?”

Chuck filled him in.

“So they're circling,” Lex said.

“The grizzly, at least.”

“It's a standoff, then.”

“We just have to keep it that way.”

Clarence's cry came a second time from the east side of the mess tent: “Bear!”

Chuck frowned as he and Lex sprinted back toward Clarence. Mere seconds ago, the grizzly had shown itself two hundred yards away, on the opposite side of camp. It couldn't be in two places at once.

Half a dozen researchers stood in a clump at the northeast corner of the mess tent. Chuck muscled through them, then came to an abrupt halt.

Captured in the beam of Clarence's flashlight, a massive grizzly charged from the trees, its jaws wide open.

“Stop!” Clarence pulled the canister of pepper spray from his belt.

The bear did not slow as it neared the semi-circle of lantern light. Clarence released his spray. A cloud of red mist formed in front of him. Lex slipped past Chuck to Clarence's side, yanked his canister from its holster, and sprayed it alongside Clarence. Chuck leaned his shoulder against the tent's corner post and sighted down the barrel of the rifle.

Tongue trailing from its mouth, the charging grizzly reached the edge of the lantern light, thirty feet from Clarence and Lex. Another leap. Twenty feet.

Chuck thumbed off the rifle's safety, peered down the barrel, and aimed at the bear's head.

A deep, ragged V gouged the grizzly's right ear.

41

T
he grizzly—Notch—entered the cloud of pepper spray. A shiver passed the length of its immense body. Its snout turned down and it closed its eyes. Despite the spray, however, it gathered itself and took another enormous leap.

The grizzly landed scant feet from Clarence and Lex. Before Chuck could draw a bead on it, the bear swung an enormous forepaw, batting Clarence across the chest. Clarence flew backward. He struck the canvas wall of the tent and collapsed to the ground. Chuck sighted down the barrel of the rifle as the grizzly hunkered over Clarence and turned to face Lex. Chuck set the bead at the front of the gun's barrel on the bear's sloped forehead. He raised the rear V of the gunsight to the base of the bead, lining up the barrel. He took a breath, held it, and squeezed the trigger.

The report of the rifle shot was jarring, the flash from the barrel's mouth bright in the dim glow of the lanterns.

Chuck blinked to reestablish his eyesight as the bear fell. His ears rang. The tang of gunpowder filled the air, mixing with the sharp bite of the dissipating pepper spray and the rotten odor of the bear's breath.

He levered another shell into the chamber and sighted down the barrel at the grizzly, lying in a heap on the ground. Chuck held his position, shaking, and eyed the bear over the top of the gun. A dime-sized hole in the bear's forehead led to the blown-out back of its skull. Bits of brain matter speckled the creature's shoulders. The grizzly's eyes were open and unblinking, its chest still.

Notch, the bear that two years ago had attacked and killed Joe and Rebecca of the Wolf Initiative's Territory Team, was dead.

Chuck lowered the rifle. In the space of hours, he'd killed one each of Yellowstone's magnificent, top-of-the-food-chain predators. He exhaled sharply. In both instances, he assured himself, he'd exercised the only option available to him.

Clarence lay against the canvas wall of the tent. Blood spread through the front of his jacket where the bear's paw had struck him, but he managed a pained smile. “Lured it in for you, didn't I,
jefe
?”

At Lex's direction, the scientists who were gathered at the front corner of the mess tent lifted Clarence and carried him to the cabin. When Lex followed them, Chuck found himself alone with the bear.

He squatted beside Notch, his heartbeat slowing. The grizzly was enormous, easily seven hundred pounds. Chuck stroked its thick fur. Even in death, the creature was awe-inspiring.

Bile built in his throat. He'd acted in defense of Clarence and Lex, but at enormous cost.

Randall approached with the drone in his hands. The lantern light caught the sadness that filled his eyes the instant he saw the grizzly. “It charged?”

“Right through the spray.”

Randall nodded, stiff-necked. He aimed his chin at the drone. “I gave up on the phone and got to jonesing on this instead.”

He lifted the copter to reveal a headlamp taped to the side of the hanging video camera. “I've never flown at night, but I thought we could give it a try with the light.” The headlamp's beam was aimed the same direction as the camera's lens. “I was
thinking the noise combined with the glare might help keep the animals at bay.” He looked at Notch.

“The wolves are still out there,” Chuck said. “And the other grizzly.”

Randall nodded. “Let's do it, then. Grab the tablet from inside, would you?” he asked before disappearing back around the corner of the tent with the drone held out before him.

Chuck stroked the bear's shoulder once more before following Randall. Two dozen of the camp's researchers milled in front of the mess tent and cabin. Chuck sent the nearest four to keep watch where Notch's body lay. He studied the scientists' faces as they passed him, wondering if he was looking into the eyes of Sarah's killer.

He grabbed the tablet computer from the mess tent and exited in time to see Randall round the far side of the cabin. Before joining him, Chuck pushed open the cabin's front door. Kaifong still lay on the table, unconscious, while Toby leaned far back in his chair, his eyes closed, and Keith crouched in front of the fireplace, dabbing antiseptic into the cut on Chance's neck.

Clarence sat in a chair between the fireplace and table, his shirt unbuttoned to his waist. Blood ran from four parallel gouges centered on his bare chest, the trickles gathering on his bulbous belly. Purple bruises outlined the ragged edges of the cuts. Lex, Carmelita, and Rosie hovered at Clarence's side. He winced as Janelle pressed a wad of gauze to his wound.

“How're you doing?” Chuck asked him.

“I'm alive.” He shifted in his seat to look across the room at Sarah's still form.

Chuck ducked outside and caught up with Randall, who stood among the scientists on sentry duty along the west side of the cabin. Chuck rested the rifle against the cabin's log wall and took the drone from Randall in exchange for the tablet computer.
Randall focused on the tablet, gripped in his left hand, while he fingered the toggles on the face of the control console, slung at his waist, with his right.

The drone's rotors kicked in and gained speed, whining, until the copter lifted from Chuck's palms into the night sky. Randall handed the tablet to Chuck, then freed the console from its holster and balanced it in both hands, his thumbs on the toggles.

Chuck held up the tablet for Randall. Its screen displayed only grainy grays and blacks.

Randall's eyes roved between the departing drone and the fuzzy screen. “I'm not sure this is going to work,” he admitted. “I'll have to fly just above the trees to be able to see anything.”

The drone ascended as it traveled west across the meadow, the glowing light of the headlamp receding until it appeared as one more among the handful of stars now visible between openings in the clouds.

The drone disappeared beyond the treetops to the west. The video feed remained grainy, but its hue was now green instead of gray, and the treetops passing close beneath the drone were easy to make out on the screen.

“This might actually work,” Randall said.

“What are you thinking to do?” Chuck asked.

“I want to find the wolves. Maybe the other griz. I'm hoping the noise plus the light will push them away from camp.”

He brought the drone to a halt. The tablet provided a stationary view of the forest canopy. Another round of wolf howls rose from the forest to the west.

“Come on,” Randall said. “Show yourselves.”

He nudged the toggles. The drone and camera described a slow circle. Here and there, small sections of forest floor appeared as patches of dark gray amid the green treetops. A
flicker of movement appeared in one of the dark gray patches. The flicker stopped, becoming a spot of dusty gray centered in the small opening.

“There,” Randall breathed. “Gotcha.”

The drone flew lower. On the tablet screen, the spot of lighter color became an oval, an oblong form—then a wolf, head up, watching the copter as it approached.

“Careful,” Chuck said, remembering the wolf that earlier had flung itself at the drone.

Randall extended the console in front of him, working the toggles as the copter descended. In the camera frame, the wolf backed off. Its eyes were white, refracting the light of the headlamp. The drone hovered a few feet above the ground. The wolf stood directly in front of it.

“Shouldn't you be higher?” Chuck asked.

“Not if we're gonna get it to do what we want, man.” Randall advanced the drone toward the wolf. “Scat!” he shouted. “Git!”

The wolf took a tentative step toward the drone, then another. The creature crouched, its eyes fixed on the craft hovering before it.

“Don't do it,” Randall said.

He shifted the controls. The drone lifted just as the wolf leapt. The animal opened its jaws, aiming for the dangling camera and headlamp. The tablet screen went dark.

Randall cut loose with a long string of curses as he frantically thumbed the console's toggles. The screen remained black.

“We're down,” he said. “I can't believe it!” He shoved the console into its holster and sprinted toward his downed craft, his headlamp lighting the way.

“Randall!” Chuck yelled. “Stop! Don't be stupid!”

He dropped the tablet, grabbed the rifle, and took off in
pursuit, pulling his headlamp from his jacket pocket and centering it on his forehead as he ran.

Randall disappeared into the woods, the forest swallowing the light of his headlamp. Chuck entered the trees behind him, Toby's rifle swinging at his side, his free hand clenched in anger. Randall was risking his life by going after the drone, and risking Chuck's life as well.

“Randall! Come back!” Chuck called ahead. The woods absorbed his cry. He looked around him as he ran, his headlamp beam flashing past bushes and tree trunks. His foot caught on something. He tripped and sprawled forward, extending his hands to break his fall, the rifle flying free of his grasp.

As he struck the ground, he tucked his shoulder and rolled. Springing to his feet, he swept the beam of his headlamp across the forest floor in front of him.

Grass. Twigs. Rocks. Mud.

But no rifle.