Burning Bright (Peter Ash #2)(17)

A giant grin on his face.

This was turning out to be a pretty interesting day.





7





They moved as quickly as they could through the trackless tangle of rocks and underbrush. But some of the deadfall jumbles were twenty feet tall, and a single misstep could mean a twisted ankle or worse.

Peter didn’t know what the hunters would do. But it was a reasonable possibility that they might split their forces. Keep two men at the tree and send two men back down to the trailhead to look for her car. If they hadn’t found it already.

If they could track June’s phone in real time, they probably also knew where she’d been.

He was hoping they’d lost the signal in the mountains and only picked it up again when she climbed the tree.

Maybe there were eight of them. Maybe they had reinforcements already at the trailhead. Maybe they really were government. Maybe June was an escaped mental patient. Speculation was useless without more information. Peter had a distinct lack of information. So he’d work with his instinct, which had proved useful in the past.

As they slogged down the steep slope through the endless brush, each step taking twice as long as it should, Peter’s instinct told him it was very possible that at least some of the hunters would get to the trailhead ahead of them. A map and compass would come in handy about now.

He felt better when they reached the creek. They could move much faster and in a more direct line, although they were sometimes up to their knees in frigid water. June was pretty sure this creek eventually ran through a culvert under the logging road below the trailhead, so they could come up behind any watchers. She said she’d hidden her car up an overgrown spur and around a curve that would shield it from view.

The road announced itself as a patch of light ahead of them. Now Peter thought they might be ahead of the hunters, although probably not by much. The creek made a pool at the culvert, which was partly blocked by sticks and brush. He could hear the sound of a river on the other side. He took the lead and belly-crawled his way up the muddy verge, feet soaked and cold. He stopped when his head came level with the gravel. Nobody there. The road just an unsightly scrape in an otherwise beautiful wilderness.

She crawled up beside him. She tilted her head uphill. “The trailhead is another few miles that way. Room for maybe ten cars.” She tilted her head downhill. “My Subaru is that way. Past the next curve there’s an old logging spur on the right, you’ll see the gate. It’s unlocked.”

Peter wanted to see if the hunters had left anyone up at the trailhead. If so, maybe ask a few questions. But they were likely to be heavily armed. And if something happened to him, June was alone and screwed.

He looked up the road, and down. There were no signs of human life but the damp gravel road and the woman beside him. Her face was flushed. He could see her pulse fluttering in her throat.

“You ready?”

She took a deep breath, let it out. “You bet,” she said.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

They came up to the road with nobody else in sight, down through the graveled tunnel of trees and around the turn with no sound but their own boots on the gravel. The gate was welded tube steel, rusty but strong. It opened with the soft scream of distressed metal.

Then up the old track, which looked like it hadn’t seen a road grader for a decade or more. Bushes grew out of the middle of the road, and runoff had washed out small sections. But her little white Subaru wagon was right where she’d left it, an old four-wheel-drive at least thirty years old. There were a lot of them on the road in the West, where underbody rust was only a distant ugly rumor. A good car. Durable, well made. A classic.

Peter did wish it was a few years younger.

“You maintain this car?” he asked. The tires looked pretty good. He was very happy about the sunroof.

“Of course I do.” She sounded a little indignant. “She’s my girl.” She popped the hatch and dropped her pack inside.

“Shocks?” he asked. He retrieved her pack and propped it on the back seat beside his own. Better access from the front. “When did you change those?” He undid the traps holding the compound bow to the tie panel, then returned to the rear hatch and surveyed her neatly organized gear.

“Last year.” She was stretching her legs. “I had to do the whaddayacallits, too, ball joints and tie rods, the whole front end. It cost me, like, three grand. Why?”

Peter took out a dozen energy bars, some powdered lemonade, and four big bottles of water. He also found a nice wooden box with a lid, about eight by eight inches by three feet long.

He opened it up. More arrows.

“Bad road,” he said. “And you’re going to be driving fast.”

He hoped like hell she was a good driver.

? ? ?

WHILE JUNE TURNED the car around, Peter jogged back to the gate.

She rolled down her window as he walked the gate closed behind her. She had her seat belt on and snugged up tight. “How do we know they’re coming?”

Because they know every place you’ve been since they hacked your phone, Peter thought, but he didn’t say it.

“They’re pros. They already found you at least twice.” He jogged around to the passenger side and slid in. “They’re coming.”

“I can’t outrun them,” she said, revving the engine. It sounded pretty good. “Not in this old girl.”