Dana Stabenow - Whisper to the Blood

"Hey, Dan," Jim said.

Dan's back stiffened. He turned, very slowly, his eyes wary, a thickset redhead with fair skin that flushed easily. He wore bibs over a plaid shirt and high, thick-soled leather boots. "Hey, Jim. Kate. Didn't see you come in."

"Yeah, we noticed," Jim said. "Looking for you, actually."

"Really." Dan took a long deliberate pull at his beer and sat contemplating the bottle for a moment. "What can I do for you?"

"You heard about the snow machine attacks on the river?"

The tension in Dan's shoulders eased slightly but his eyes were still wary. "It's all anybody's been talking about, and my ears work fine."

"Yeah, figures. I was thinking I'd talk to the Johansen boys about them."

Dan raised his eyebrows. "Couldn't hurt. What's that got to do with me?"

"They appear to have changed location. Haven't been home in a couple of weeks, according to their dad." "And?"

"And I don't think they'd leave the Park. So if they're still in the Park, and they've changed addresses, I got to thinking about where they'd go. And while I was thinking I remembered all those abandoned mines along the foothills south of the Step. Lot of old timber they could use to build a shelter inside one of them, put in a wood-stove, pack in some grub, melt snow for water, you'd make it through as long as you wanted to. I was thinking, too, that you'd have the best knowledge of those mines, and maybe even a map."

Dan shook his head. "No."

"You don't?"

"No, I do, but we've been closing those old mines, caving in the entrances. They're an invitation to squatters, and they're dangerous to hikers and backpackers. Every time I hear about a new one I close it up."

Jim shrugged. "Could be one of them was dug out."

"It'd be a major excavation, requiring at minimum one of Mac Devlin's Cats," Dan said dryly. "You can bring a lot of rock down with a stick of dynamite."

"That you can," Jim said with respect. "Any other ideas you might have as to where the Johansens might be holing up?"

Dan scratched his head. "Hell, Jim, place is twenty million acres."

"I know," Jim said with equal gloom.

They shook their heads, and Kate could see that all would eventually be right in the world of their friendship.

She, on the other hand, was growing more and more worried about the whereabouts of the Johansen brothers. They weren't home. According to Dan there was no place for them to go to ground among the old mines. Kenny Hazen would have called Jim if they'd shown up in Ahtna. Where the hell were they?

It was no joke to be out in the Park without shelter at this time of year. Where could they go, especially if they were hurt? There'd have to be trees for fuel, they had to stay warm, and-

She sat up, staring straight ahead. "Hey," she said.

Before she could say any more, the door to the Roadhouse slammed open. Everyone looked around and two men stood in the doorway, one with blood frozen on his face, the other supporting him. "Somebody else got jumped on the river!"

"Fuck," Matt Grosdidier was heard to say clearly.

There was a general movement toward the two men. Jim nodded at the Grosdidiers and made a hole through the crowd, Kate bringing up the rear. The bleeding man started to slip and Luke Grosdidier slid a chair under his butt before he fell all the way to the floor. The Grosdidiers did triage surrounded by a supervisory buzz of commentary, Peter fetching a first-aid kit the size of a hospital crash cart.

Jim let them get on with it for fifteen minutes before he said, "How bad?"

"Not too," Mark said, his usually cheerful face serious as he concentrated on the task at hand. "He's got a goose egg on the back of his head and it bled a little, but he says he woke up on his own. We'll keep him awake, in case of concussion, and he should probably go into Ahtna for an x-ray, but I think he'll be okay."

"Ask him some questions?"

Mark shrugged. "If he's up to it."

Jim shouldered forward and hunkered down in front of the victim. "What's your name, sir?"

The man's eyes seemed to be wandering a little, and he made a visible effort to bring them back under control. "Oh," he said, zeroing in on Jim. "The Niniltna trooper, right?"

"That's me. What's your name, and where do you live?"

"Gene Daly. I live in Anchorage. I've got a cabin on the river the other side of Double Eagle. I was headed there on my snow machine."

"What happened?"

"Wish to hell I knew," Daly said, wincing when Matt pressed a little too hard on his head wound. Matt muttered an apology, and Kate gave him a thoughtful look.

"I was coasting down the river, smooth as you please, making for the cabin with a bunch of supplies, going to spend a week there." He put a tentative hand to his head and winced again. "Everything inside my head just sort of exploded." He looked up. "I woke up and the trailer was gone and I was bleeding and I couldn't get my snow machine started. Woulda froze to death if this guy hadn't come along. Saved my life. Thanks, man."

His rescuer looked anything but pleased at the accolade. Indeed, he was trying to worm through the crowd, on a heading for the door. Jim took three steps and grabbed him by his collar. "Hold on, there, Martin. Been looking for you. Need a word."

Jim frog-marched Martin to the bar, sat him on a stool, and said to Kate, "Watch him for me?"

Kate said to Mutt, "Watch him for me?"

Mutt looked at Martin and gave a single, authoritative bark that established a perimeter of not more than a foot in every direction that was perfectly understood by everyone concerned.

Kate followed Jim back to the victim, who was struggling to remember something, anything else. "No," he said. "I'm sorry, I just don't remember. Wait, maybe, there might have been another snow machine?" He closed his eyes and shook his head, and then stopped, grimacing, as if trying to think hurt his head. "I don't know."

"If you remember something else, be sure to contact me," Jim said, and stood, nodding at the Grosdidiers, who escorted their patient out in an EMT guard of honor. There was nothing the four Grosdidiers loved more than having a patient to minister to. They'd fixed up what was essentially a two-bed ward in their house, and Daly would be well looked after until George took him to Ahtna the following day.

Jim turned to Kate. "Well, you can stop worrying. It would appear the Johansens are alive and well and still in business."

"Not for much longer," Kate said. "Mutt!"

Mutt gave Martin a threatening glare, just to keep in practice, and shot after Kate as she headed for the door. They were both showing a considerable amount of teeth.

"Kate," Jim said.

"Later," she said. The door to the Roadhouse opened and Harvey Meganack stepped inside. He saw what was coming his way and he stepped back hastily, overbalanced on the top step, and stumbled backward. Kate and Mutt didn't so much as break stride, brushing by him as his arms windmilled and he tap-danced backward down the stairs.

"Kate!"

This time she didn't bother answering.

She loaded a fifty-gallon drum onto the trailer of her snow machine, lashing it down. It held gas for the snow machine, not stove oil, but the Johansen brothers wouldn't know that and they probably wouldn't care anyway. Around the drum on the sled, she packed food, stove, and tent.

As angry as she was, she was glad to have a focus, a goal with a tangible end in sight. Someone was hijacking innocent Park rats and hapless Park visitors on the Kanuyaq River. She was going to find them and stop them, and-she patted the rifle-if she had to hurt someone in the process, fine by her. She might even be looking forward to it.

She kept her thoughts firmly focused on her preparations, but somewhere, tucked in a corner of her mind, she knew what was really pushing her down the river.