Linda Howard - Prey

“Damn straight, cowboy, and don’t you forget it.”

After she’d been fortified by two cups of coffee and a bowl of hot oatmeal, she felt jazzed and ready to go. “Okay, let’s see how it goes.”

He got to his feet and held his hands down to her. Without hesitation, Angie placed her hands in his and he effortlessly pulled her to her feet. She balanced on her left foot until she was fully upright, then shifted her weight until she was centered on both feet. He released her hands, and she took a step, then another. Her ankle ached, and she limped, but she could walk much better than yesterday’s hobble. She took a few more steps and felt the joint loosening even more. “It feels better than I thought it would,” she commented.

“Hiking is going to make it hurt, you know that.”

“I know. But the alternative is waiting another day, and I don’t want to do that.” There was nothing they could have done before, but now that the weather had cleared, and she could walk, if they delayed any longer and Chad escaped because of that, she’d feel guilty. She didn’t want Dare to go on by himself and he didn’t want to leave her here, so she would walk. As long as her ankle would bear her weight, she’d keep going.

With the decision made, there was no point in delay, so they set about getting ready. Dare stowed the lantern and camp stove in the storage bin, secured their trash to be taken care of on a return trip, packed away his dried food supplies. “You’ll need a walking stick,” he said, taking a small hatchet from the storage bin. “I’ll take care of that while you pack what we’ll need in case we have to spend the night on the trail.”

While he was gone, Angie completely emptied her saddlebags, then looked over their supplies and set about packing the necessities: food and water, fire steel for making a fire, trash bags they could use as tarps if needed, the sleeping bag, which she folded and rolled as tightly as possible, and tied with the attached cords.

She opened the new box of shells she’d grabbed from her tent the night of the storm and reloaded her rifle, then put the rest of the shells in the saddlebags. Her heavy coat was dry, thank goodness; with that and her sweats, she should have enough clothes to stay warm even if they did have to stop for the night. They would also have a fire, the sleeping bag, and each other for warmth-they’d be okay, not comfortable, but okay.

Dare came back up the ladder, carrying a limb that was about five feet long and two inches thick. He’d trimmed off all the smaller branches to even the limb, except for one he’d left sticking out an inch or so, as a natural stop for her hand. “See how this fits you,” he said. She took the limb and walked up and down with it, using it for support; it was sturdy without being too heavy, and he’d cut the length with a good eye for her height. Satisfied, he dug some black electrician’s tape out of the storage bin and wrapped it around the limb where her hand fit, so the bark wouldn’t abrade the skin from her palm and fingers.

Out of curiosity, she said, “Why do you have electrician’s tape here, when there’s no electricity?”

“Because the shit sticks to everything-and you never know when you’ll need it. I’ve made a splint for a broken leg using tree limbs and electrician’s tape, I’ve repaired radiator hoses, fuel lines-you name it. It isn’t perfect, but it’ll usually get me by.” While he was talking, he was expertly loading his own rifle. “We don’t know what’s happened to Krugman or where he is. He could be ahead of us, if he didn’t drown trying to cross one of the rivers, but you never know. Someone inexperienced would probably head straight down, though. We aren’t likely to run into him, but we’ll keep an eye out, anyway. You have everything?”

“Except for what’s downstairs.”

He didn’t start naming off items, double-checking to make sure she’d packed them, simply nodded and swung the heavy saddlebags over his own shoulder before heading down. He trusted her to know what she was doing, she realized, a lump forming in her throat. Of course, she knew that she knew what she was doing, but it meant something that Dare took her expertise for granted.

She pulled on her coat, dropped the walking stick and sleeping bag down to him, then slung the rifle over her shoulder and went down the ladder under her own steam, which felt damn good. Her ankle was stiff, and she was careful about how she placed her foot, securing her balance and keeping a firm hold on the ladder rung just in case, but she made it down without incident. They finished loading up: her sweats, their slickers, then they left the cabin that had been their sanctuary for the past two days and stepped out into the cold, clear morning.

Chad poked his head out of his tent, blinking at the bright sunshine. Yesterday the damn rain had finally let up, but it was too late in the day to start out, so he’d had to spend another night in this godforsaken tent. If he’d had to spend much longer listening to the rain pounding against the heavy canvas, he’d have gone fucking crazy. Some people actually liked hunting and camping, but they were idiots. The only reason he’d done it last year was because one of his clients had made such a big deal about going on a hunt, so Chad had thought he’d impress the stupid bastard and earn some brownie points, but he’d hated every minute of it.

On the other hand, he’d been smart enough to see the potential for ridding himself of a problem, and he’d been prepared. Davis had been a little quicker on the scent than he’d expected, which annoyed him, but still, if it hadn’t been for elements beyond his control, namely Angie finding that body on the mountain and deciding she had to notify the backwater cops right away, everything would have gone just the way he’d planned.

After pushing himself so hard that first day, trying and failing to get down the mountain, Chad had stopped trying to deny himself much-needed sleep. No bear had come lumbering through the camp, Angie was nowhere around-he’d been terrified, and for nothing. That was a lot of energy wasted. So he’d slept when he was tired, ate when he was hungry, drank when he was thirsty. He’d been almost bored to death, but that was all.

He was warm, dry, and fed-not well fed, but not starving, either. The crap he’d been eating was sustenance, but that was about all he could say for it. He’d thought a time or two about the food tied high at the cook site, out of reach of bears and other animals, but he figured if the bear was still anywhere around it would be there, closer to what was left of Davis, so that had been enough to dissuade him from trying to get the food supply. Not only that, he didn’t want to wade through what was left of Davis; once was enough.

He’d left the tent only when he had to, to see to the horse. He wasn’t a great animal lover, but he needed that horse to be in good enough shape for him to ride it down the mountain. If anything happened to the horse he’d either have to walk out or try to make it back to where he’d left the other three horses, and hope they’d still be there. Just taking care of the horse that was here seemed like the easiest course of action.

He walked around outside the tent, testing the footing. Frost covered everything, making the footing even more slippery. Damn, it was cold! He wasn’t wild about slogging through the mud, but he had no choice. The day would probably get warmer, and the longer he waited the more the flash floods would recede, if he could afford to wait it out. But he couldn’t. He had to assume that Angie was alive and that she was also setting out now that the rain had stopped. The one thing he couldn’t do was let her get down the mountain ahead of him.