Hunters (14 page)

"That would leave only three at the camp," she said.
"We need all we have there. That's our major statement, and I'm not
going to risk screwing it up for revenge. Ned Craig will just have
to wait. We'll get to him eventually. But we'll get to him."

N
ed Craig at that
moment was with Megan at Larry Moxon's place. Larry, long divorced,
lived alone in a small log house a mile north of St. Mary's, and
had told Ned when he called in at the end of the day to bring Megan
over for dinner and what he called "a war council." Ned didn't know
what he meant, but Larry said he would explain when he got there.
"Just get Megan and come straight here," he told him. "Nowhere
else. Understand?"

Ned didn't, but did as Larry told him. When
he drove home, he was surprised not to find Megan's car in the
driveway, and when he saw what looked like dried blood on the
porch, he nearly panicked. But when he found her note, he went down
to the
Banner
office, and after they got through holding
each other, she told him about the crazy stranger, and he told her
about the wild shot that had nearly hit him. They drove out to
Larry's then, agreeing that there might be some connection between
the two events.

Larry Moxon was talking on a cordless phone
as he let them in. "You're kidding," he said, "the same thing on
all three?" He raised his eyebrows at Ned, who stood uncomfortably
with Megan, his hand on her shoulder. "Yeah...yeah...looks that
way, doesn't it?" Larry listened for a while longer, then thanked
the caller and hung up.

"Ed Bradson up in McKean County," he told Ned
and Megan. "Everybody's compared their notes—or their bodies—and it
looks like either the same person, or a group. Whoever killed them
notched their ears."

"Killed who?" Ned asked, not at all liking
the cold lump that refused to leave his throat. "What the hell are
you talking about?"

"You didn't hear the news? Three more people
died today," Larry said, leading them into the living room and
beckoning them to sit. "A hunter in Jefferson County was stabbed to
death. Another was shot dead in McKean County, and a third was shot
in Clearfield County. All three of them had their ears notched.
Sound like there might be a little connection there?"

"I knew it," Megan said, putting her hand on
Ned's. "That guy today...and you getting shot at, it all ties
together...and what happened yesterday."

"Sure as hell looks that way," Larry
said.

Ned stood and paced around Larry Moxon's
small living room. "This is nuts," he said. "Whoever shot at me
today could've got me if they'd really wanted to. I didn't have a
gun."

"But they didn't know that," Larry said. "You
sure had one yesterday. When they missed, they were probably scared
off, figured you'd pop up with guns blazing."

As much as Ned hated the thought of anyone
trying to kill him, what Larry said made sense. "Maybe you're
right. Even so, it's still nuts. What are these killings for?"

"They're terrorists," Megan said with so much
certainty that both men looked at her in surprise. "It's all there.
Yesterday, Ned, that man you shot? He had gutted his victim, hadn't
he? Why? Probably to show what it was like hunting and gutting
deer, that a deer's life was just the same as a man's. And
today—three hunters dead in three different counties, all with
notched ears, the same exact mark on their bodies? What other
conclusion is there? Somebody doesn't like hunters. And they're
probably animal rights activists."

"Hold on, Megan," Ned said. "There's a big
difference between something like protesting the Hegins pigeon
shoot and cutting people apart."

"You bet there is, honey, there's a
chasm
."

"Think the police have figured that way?"
Larry asked her.

"Sure they have."

"They say anything on the news about it?" Ned
gestured to the softly playing TV.

"Nothing," Larry answered. "Just that there
were several deaths in several counties, and they're investigating
the possibility of links."

"They don't want people to panic," Megan
said. "Can you imagine what would happen if people thought there
were terrorists out stalking hunters?"

Ned sat on the sofa. "Easy enough. The
hunters would leave, and the economy of these little counties would
suffer. Hunting season's when a lot of people make their bread and
butter for the year around here."

"That's right," Larry agreed. "Got a few days
in already, but if everybody went home tomorrow, it'd hurt."

"They can't keep it quiet for long," Megan
said. "People have got to know."

"Bet you dollars to donuts it'll be on the
news by morning," said Larry, going to the refrigerator and pulling
out three Straub's. "They won't keep that quiet. Too big a stink
when people find out—and they
do
find out these days. Can't
keep secrets for shit. The big question right now is, what are we
going to do about you, Ned? Somebody tried to shoot you today."

"Somebody was after Megan too," Ned said.

"What?"

Megan told Larry about the stranger on her
doorstep that afternoon. It gave Ned the creeps all over again, and
he knew that he had to get her away from St. Mary's.

"He was after Ned," Megan finished. "He said
as much."

"Then we gotta get you two out of town on the
first banana boat," Larry said. "Come on, help me toss dinner
together, and we can do some thinking."

The three of them made a dinner of spaghetti
with some homemade sauce that Larry always kept in his
refrigerator. Megan whipped together lettuce, tomatoes, and carrots
for a salad while Larry made a Caesar dressing with fresh eggs and
garlic cloves. "Just breathe this on those sonsabitches," he said
as he poured the concoction over the greens, "and that'll suck
their bullets right back down the gun barrels."

Ned chuckled. Larry was right. He was a great
guy to be with, but he used too damn much garlic in everything, and
usually reeked of it. Mondays were the worst. Larry smelled as
though he immersed himself in the stuff all weekend. Ned and the
other WCO's and deputies kidded him about it, but he only laughed
and told them that he'd outlive them all because of it.
Scares
the germs away
, he'd say, and laugh.

But tonight his mood was far less jovial,
although he talked about the other, more pleasant events of the day
readily enough. He drank his wine and ate his meal thoughtfully,
and it wasn't until he had twirled his last strand of spaghetti
that he raised the subject. "So where are we going to put you
two?"

"I hate to leave at the busiest time of the
year," Ned said. "We're all overworked this week, and it just makes
more for the guys who are left." His expression tightened. "And if
what went on so far keeps up, they're going to be even more
pressed."

"You haven't even mentioned the likelihood of
snow," Larry said with a thin smile. "Ned, the hell with all that.
We'll get along somehow, always have. But people are looking for
you, my friend, and I don't think it's to tell you you've won the
state lottery. They're trying to kill your ass. Now what you guys
should do is this. Stay right here at my place tonight and
tomorrow. First thing in the morning I'll call Harrisburg and see
if we can get you quietly transferred somewhere else for a few days
until they catch these assholes—someplace far away and remote." He
smiled at Megan. "Won't that be romantic?"

"I don't feel very romantic, Larry. If you'd
seen that guy today...jeez, he was weird."

"Then the thing to do is put a lot of miles
between the two of you. Agreed?"

Ned thought about it. He hated to run, but
Larry was right. Even if the shot at him had been accidental, the
visit to Megan hadn't. The killings showed a pattern, and that
pattern tied in sure enough to the crazy Ned had shot Monday
morning. If all the killers were friends, it only made sense that
they would want to get back at Ned for killing one of them. And he
doubted if they would stop short of getting back at him through
Megan. It was to protect her as much as himself that he nodded in
agreement.

"Okay," he said. "Call in the morning and
we'll see what happens."

Larry slapped a stubby-fingered hand on the
table. "That's my man. You wait and see, a couple days they'll have
these nuts and you can come back home again. Now who wants some
homemade pecan pie?"

"Depends," Ned said.
"How much garlic's in it?"

N
ed Craig awoke long
before dawn. He had slept poorly, even though Larry had let them
use the double bed in his own bedroom and retired to the single bed
in the guest room.

Ned's sleep had been full of nightmares. He
had fallen from the helicopter again, but instead of landing in the
river, he had landed in what felt like snow, and when he looked at
what he was lying on, he saw that it was not snow, but a vast
blanket of softness the color of blood. He sank into its sponginess
with every move, and wherever he touched it with knees, hands, or
feet, his limbs grew red and wet. It was a thick sea of human
tissue, as though a giant had been skinned, and Ned was an ant
crawling on the surface of exposed, sodden muscle.

He had awakened with only a slight start that
did not disturb Megan. He tried to push the dream from his mind,
but instead remembered other dreams of that night, just as
terrible. If he went back to sleep, he knew he would dream
again.

The dim red numbers of the bedside clock read
4:30, and Ned got out of bed quietly, pulled on his clothes, and
went down the short hall into the kitchen, where he made himself a
cup of instant coffee that tasted as though it had been sitting on
Larry's shelf for decades. Larry had ground beans the night before,
but Ned didn't want to wake the others with the grinder.

So he sat by the kitchen window and looked
out at the darkness, imagining movement, wondering if the killers
were creeping up on Larry's place even now. "Dumbass," he whispered
to himself. "Nobody there..." Still, he sat and he watched until
dawn started to lighten the sky.

Ned began to feel hungry, and thought about
breakfast. It would be nice if he could supply it rather than
sponge another meal off Larry. He checked on Megan, and she was
still sleeping soundly, so he went out to his Blazer and drove into
town.

It took only a few minutes to get to Sally's.
The small parking lot was already full, so he parked across the
street and scurried across into the diner's warmth. Ned could have
sworn it was at least ten degrees colder than the morning
before.

The place was full of hunters filling
themselves with hot food and coffee for the day ahead. There were a
few women, one attractive enough to make Ned involuntarily glance
at her as she left holding a bag. But his attention was distracted
by the hunters who hailed him, looks of concern on their faces.

"Hey, Ned!" One of the men, a hulking hunter
named Bob Lecours, clapped a hammy hand on Ned's shoulder. "What's
all this bullshit we been hearin'?"

"Which bullshit?" Ned sat on the stool next
to Lecours and waved a hand at Sue Ellen, one of the two
waitresses. She nodded back and signaled she would be with him as
soon as she emptied her tray of its orders.

"Bullshit about there bein' a bunch of nuts
out in the woods?"

'Yeah," piped up a little man Ned did not
recognize. "Radio this morning said that maybe those killings
yesterday...and the fella you shot...were all part of this,
watchacallit, this
conspiracy
or something, because of signs
on the body."

It was out then, Ned thought. What the hell,
it would've been sooner or later. "What kind of signs?" he
asked.

"Didn't say," Lecours answered. "You know
anything?"

"No more than you." It was partly the truth
anyway. "People scared to go out?"

Lecours snorted. "Take more than a bunch of
nuts to keep hunters out of the woods. We got guns too, y'know." He
winked at Ned. "Just like you did."

Ned didn't need or want the reminder. Sue
Ellen walked up and he asked her for half a dozen mixed donuts,
three blueberry muffins, and three large coffees. "Just be careful
out there today," he told Lecours and the little man. "You never
know." He paid and tipped Sue Ellen, took his bag, and walked
out.

Ned was halfway across the street when he
heard the roar of an engine. He snapped his head up and saw the
blinding high beams of a jeep bearing down on him from his right.
Clutching the bag of food and coffee, he stepped back to let it
pass, but was startled to find that the jeep tracked him, following
him as he moved back toward the center line. Now he was trapped. No
matter which way he went, the jeep would be on him in another
second.

But in that second he realized that he was
being hunted, and did what he hoped was the unexpected. He tossed
the bag toward the jeep and ran straight into what had been the
path of the vehicle before it swerved to follow him, dashing
straight across the street.

The jeep driver waited an instant too long to
jerk the wheel back to follow him, overreacted, and threw the jeep
into a skid which spun it around so that its right rear tire
thudded against the curb. By then, Ned was safe among the cars
parked on the other side of the street.

In the semi-darkness, he could not tell if
there were others in the jeep beside the driver. The engine
ratcheted once more as it pulled away from the curb and quickly
headed down the street. The lights winked off, and though Ned ran
after it, it was too dark to make out the license plate number. He
looked around, but apparently no one had seen what happened.

One more, he thought. One more try at him.
Larry was right. Somebody was sure enough after his ass, and the
sooner he and Megan got the hell out of St. Mary's the better off
they'd be.