Ken Goddard - Chimera

“Probably depends on who’s tracking what… or who,” Lanyard said with a grin, although his eyes remained wary and curious. “I expect our quarry will know we’re coming from quite some distance away, but it never hurts to blend in a bit. I gather you’ve got a military background?”

“Still on active duty, E-eight, Master Gunny, working on my fourth tour,” Bulatt said with deliberate vagueness as he calmly met Lanyard’s gaze. “Haven’t found anything better to do with my life; although that may have changed recently,” he added with a nod toward Achara, who returned a dimpled grin as she took her home-made bow, quiver of arrows, and four spears out of the truck bed.

“I can only assume your prior military experiences pale in comparison,” Lanyard said with a wink at Achara, who responded with a dimpled grin. “Did Mr. Fogarty fill you in on the rules of this hunt?”

“My understanding is that the three hunters will make their kills with old-fashioned spears; and possibly with a couple of home-made arrows,” Bulatt said, gesturing with his head at Achara’s quiver. “The rest of us maintain camp, cook, wash the pots, cut wood, haul things from ‘A’ to ‘B’, and presumably stand by with the more-modern weapons to make sure no one gets hurt.”

“You’re not joining in on the hunt?” Lanyard cocked his head, staring at Bulatt quizzically.

“No.” Bulatt shook his head. “Carolyn’s the one who wants to take over her father’s hunt; I’m just along to haul the gear, and to make sure she stays safe. Game hunting’s not really my thing.”

“What, you mean to say tracking down a wild creature in the woods with a spear — and in the middle of a raging snowstorm — doesn’t appeal to your sporting blood?” Lanyard was grinning widely now; but his dark eyes were still probing, making an assessment.

“Actually, I do like the way you evened the odds a bit,” Bulatt said. “But I’ve spent the better part of my professional life hunting a species that shoots back, so that’s probably jaded my view of game-hunting. Not quite the same adrenaline rush; although I’ll concede that Carolyn and the rest of you may prove me wrong today.”

“I believe your Mr. Hemingway felt the same way; a man after my own heart,” Lanyard said as he reached into his kit bag and brought out a hand-wand scanner. “Hope you don’t mind,” he said, holding up the wand. “One of the agreed-upon rules is that nobody brings along any tracking devices, transmitters, GPS units or other modern gadgetry that might give one hunter an unfair advantage over the others; and I get paid to see to it that the rules are followed.”

“Sounds reasonable to me, as long as we get to keep our compasses,” Bulatt said as he stuck out his arms, allowing Lanyard to scan first his entire body with the frequency-detection wand.

Then, as Lanyard moved over and scanned Achara, Bulatt pulled a green military compass out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Lanyard. Moments later, Achara did the same.

“Basic survival gear is definitely allowed. Personally, I wouldn’t walk outside the house without mine,” Lanyard said as he examined the small instruments briefly, handed them back, and then tapped the back of his hand against Bulatt’s upper left ribcage. “Mind if I take a look at that?”

Bulatt unzipped his white cammo tunic, drew the four-inch stainless steel Smith amp; Wesson. 44-caliber Magnum revolver from his shoulder holster and handed it to Lanyard.

“Mountain Gun model; nice weapon,” Lanyard said appraisingly as he opened the cylinder, checked the loads, and then handed it back to Bulatt. “Not exactly military issue, though.”

“I didn’t think a nine-mil round was going to do much against whatever Carolyn manages to piss off with an arrow or spear; so I brought along an M14 and a couple hundred rounds of seven-six-two ball, with the forty-four as backup,” Bulatt said, gesturing with his head at the military issue rifle case. “If that doesn’t do the job, you’ll find us up the nearest tree, waiting for the cavalry to arrive.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Lanyard said agreeably as he bent down, opened the rifle case, briefly examined the lethal Vietnam War era rifle, and then looked back up at Bulatt. “No scope?”

Bulatt shrugged. “Like I said, I’m planning on playing defense, not offense. And besides, if we’ve got something closing in on us fast, I’d much prefer open sights.”

“Good on you, mate,” Lanyard said as he closed the case and stood up. “Okay, let’s all gather around for a moment.”

As Hateley, Caldreaux, Bulatt and Achara all moved close, Lanyard reached into the kit bag again and brought out five plastic-sealed maps. He handed four of the maps to the designated hunters.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” he said, holding up the fifth map. “The hunt will take place in this six-hundred-acre canyon enclosure up in the Wenatchee National Forest area of the Cascades north of Mount Stuart; elevation about six thousand feet. I call it a canyon, but it’s more like a wide and shallow granite bowl filled with a lot of big boulders, fir and pine trees, and surrounded on all sides by rocky crags and cliffs. The locals call it “the Maze.” The only easy access route in winter is from the southwest. That’s where your four targets were released, a couple of days ago, along with a three-day supply of food.”

Lanyard looked around to confirm that everyone was paying attention.

“In the last forty-eight hours,” he went on, “we’ve used the chopper here to establish four large bait piles — mostly hay and fruit — at these four locations, each of which is at least five hundred yards from the entrance to the bowl.” Lanyard pointed at four bright green ‘X’s that formed a wide arc running from west to east across the canyon enclosure. “Also, we made sure that each of the bait piles is no more than a hundred yards from a small cave where we’ve stockpiled a two-week supply of food, water, fuel, and a miscellaneous stock of cooking and survival equipment. The caves are the blue ‘X’s.”

“What’s this yellow ‘X’?” Kingman asked.

“That’s a low area at the southwest corner of the bowl where we’ve established a base camp with additional supplies, a landing zone for the chopper, and a sniper post where we can keep a long-distance eye on all four caves and bait piles.” Lanyard said. “The entire Maze slopes uphill from that point. Posting ourselves there also allows us to monitor the entrance to the bowl, to make sure none of the target animals tries to escape.”

“Do you think they will try?” Caldreaux asked.

“I would think they’d want to remain by a known food source, especially during a storm,” Lanyard replied. “But, the truth is, we have no idea how these creatures will react once we begin the hunt; which is why we intend to be out in the field, as much as possible, where we can monitor the situation. The original plan was to have Marcus, Jack or I maintain a rotating watch at the sniper post, while the other two roamed the field. But with Gunny Sergeant Bulattus and his M14 now available for emergency situations in the hunt zone, I think Marcus will want to keep one of us back at base camp on stand-by with the chopper crew to respond by air if something does go wrong.”

“So who gets which bait pile?” Hateley asked.

“That’s up to you four,” Lanyard said. “Not sure that it matters much. All four piles are well separated and close to forested areas where we assume the targets are hiding. The furthest one out from our base camp — number two — might get a little more attention from the wary feeders; but there’s also the issue of dragging your kill further out to an open area where the chopper can make a pick-up. Getting to any of the sites won’t be a problem; we’ll be using the chopper to drop you and your equipment off as close to your selected caves as possible.”