Stabenow, Dana - Shugak 09 - Hunter's Moon Page 8

  George shouldered his rifle. "Well, let's leave our gear here and go--"

  Hearing his name, Berg stepped reluctantly into the open. "Here I am."

  George looked from him to Kate. "So you did find him."

  "Yup."

  "Well then, why--" The words trailed off as George looked over Kate's shoulder. His jaw dropped. "What the hell?"

  Even Kate, who knew what she was going to see when she turned, was impressed by the view.

  Dieter was a marvelous sight. He was scraped cleaner than he had been when he slid down the tree but face and shirt were nonetheless dyed an arresting shade of deep blue, with here and there an interesting streak of moose blood, slowly going brown. The colors complemented the dark red stain on the gauze binding his upper arm, which had started to bleed again.

  Eberhard trailed a very distant second, the moose rack bobbing on his pack. Even absolute loyalty went only so far.

  George drew in a breath of pure enjoyment before recollecting who and what Dieter was. "Jesus, Kate," he said in a low voice as Dieter approached, "what the hell did you do to him? I know the guy's an asshole, but he is a paying customer."

  "I didn't do anything," Kate replied with perfect truth. "Dieter hunts his own dogs, don't you, Dieter? Or in this case, bears."

  Dieter caught only the tail end of this remark, and by the unfriendly look he shot Kate it wouldn't have mattered if he'd heard it all. She had made the cardinal error of being present during two episodes in which he had not appeared to advantage, and he would never forgive her for it.

  "Bears?" George said ominously.

  Kate raised a hand. "Let it be, George. The bear managed to save itself."

  Dieter caught sight of Senta, refastening her belt buckle after tucking in her shirt, and his face hardened. She returned his look with a long, cool stare of her own, entirely unintimidated. Her eyes drifted down over his body, lingering on the bandaged arm, an eyebrow lifting over the stain, nostrils forming an aristocratic wrinkle when they caught a whiff of the smell. Ice Queen, I, Dieter, zip. Kate gave a silent cheer.

  They stood staring at each other, blue eyes into blue eyes, identical expressions of obstinacy on identically square-jawed faces. Dieter broke first. "We're going back to camp," he said. "Now."

  It was an order, not a question.

  George looked at the rack bobbing off the back of Eberhard's pack board and said, "I see you got one, guys, good for you." He looked at Kate's empty pack board at Dieter's. "Where's the rest of it?" Kate could see the alarm, followed by a slow burn. "Kate? Where's the rest of it?"

  Kate was saved from answering by the distant report of a rifle shot.

  George spun on his heel to face toward camp, but Kate was before him, hand cautioning silence.

  It seemed more like ten seconds before the second shot came. Another pause, followed by a third.

  "Shit," George said with emphasis.

  "From camp, do you think?" Kate said.

  "Sounded like it," George said shortly. "All right, we've got trouble, everybody back to camp on the double. Get your gear on and let's get going. Move, move, move!"

  As they assembled and donned their gear, George drew Kate to one side.

  "Where's the rest of the moose, Kate?"

  "I gave it to Crazy Emmett."

  George paled beneath his tan. "You saw Emmett?"

  "Yeah. Right after the guys took off up the trail with the trophy."

  "The guys took off?"

  "Yeah, they decided they didn't want the meat."

  "Goddammit, I--" George's skin went whiter. "Wait a , minute. You were alone when you met up with Emmett?" "Yeah," she said, "you might have told me how needy he is." He grabbed her arm. "Are you all right? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

  She shook her head. "No. I'm glad I had my rifle, though. He didn't look to me like a man who'd take no for an answer." "He isn't," George said with emphasis. "Remind me to tell you about a little encounter Emmett had with Ramona a while back. All right, people," he said, shouldering his rifle and moving to stand at the head of the group, "are we ready?"

  There were nods, a curt one from Dieter, a sheepish one from Berg, no response from Senta and Eberhard. "Okay. I'll take point, Kate, you take drag. The rest of you, keep up." He directed an unsmiling look at Berg, who blushed and shuffled his feet. He also, Kate noticed as she fell in behind him, had his pack board on backward.

  During the ninety minutes of the forced march back to camp, she wondered what Berg was doing in the Alaskan Bush, on a hunting trip for which it was painfully obvious he lacked inclination, aptitude and skills, or even a basic sense of survival for that matter. Baby bear could have brought Mama along to share the blueberries, and Berg had left his rifle twenty feet away from him when he went for his snack and a nap.

  Between Berg and Dieter, they'd been damn lucky they hadn't been the ones who'd had to fire the trouble signal.

  SIX.

  I'm going to move. Really. Eventually.

  WHEN THEY GOT CLOSE ENOUGH TO THE LODGE THAT the trail was clearly marked, Kate and George trotted ahead, leaving the others to follow in their own time. Jack was waiting for them on the airstrip, his face drawn into stern lines but otherwise looking whole and blessedly healthy. The knot in Kate's stomach relaxed. Mutt, standing at Jack's knee, saw Kate first and bounded forward, all irritation gone at being left behind. "Hey, girl," Kate said.

  Mutt leapt up, front paws on Kate's shoulders, and anointed Kate lavishly with her tongue. "All right, all right," Kate said. "Enough.

  I'm okay."

  Mutt looked her over critically, decided she was telling the truth and dropped down to all fours with a satisfied

  "Whuff." She fell in next to Kate as they trotted after George, all three heading for Jack, who was standing next to a mound covered with a blue plastic tarp.

  "Who?" George said, voice tight.

  "Fedor."

  "One of the kids?"

  Jack nodded. George swore, long and fluently, but swearing didn't make it not so.

  "Was he shot here?" Kate said.

  "No. Up the creek. We brought him in." "You moved him?" Kate said. "You moved him, Jack? What, are you out of your mind? You wish to experience firsthand the effective methods of rehabilitation as practiced by the Alaska Department of Corrections, is that it?"

  "I didn't move him," Jack said shortly, and Kate shut up. It was obvious he was restraining his temper and that the effort was taking considerable control. "They had him in a makeshift sling made out of some tree branches and their coats and were halfway home by the time Gunther and I caught up with them."

  "Oh my," Kate murmured, "the troopers are going to just love this."

  "Tell me something I don't know," Jack said glumly. "The other hunters told me where they found Fedor; I can probably find it again. I tried to get Klemens to show me where he was shooting from so I could at least mark the area, but he can hardly talk, he's so broken up. Poor bastard."

  "Not Klemens," Kate said, dismayed. "It wasn't Klemens, Jack, was it?"

  He took a deep breath, let it out. "Yeah. It was Klemens." "Damn." Kate thought of yesterday afternoon, and Klemens dozing contentedly in the sun on the banks of the creek. "Poor Klemens."

  "Correct me if I'm wrong," George said with mounting fury, emphasized by his extreme care with his words, "but I believe you were supposed to be with Gunther and Klemens?"

  "I was," Jack agreed. "I don't have any excuse, George. He got away from me. I was setting Gunther up for a shot at one of those bulls, and when I looked around Klemens wasn't there. I didn't even hear him leave. I figured he'd stepped behind some bushes to take a leak or something, that he'd be right back. Only he wasn't." He looked George straight in the eye. "I screwed up. I'm sorry, George."

  George, about to reply with even more care, caught Kate's eye and was put forcibly in mind of other events that had taken place that afternoon. It took a visible effort but he swallowed what he had been about to say.


  Pulled back, the tarp revealed the pallid face of Fedor, the life drained out of him like wine from a bottle, leaving only the hollow vessel behind. His fair lashes lay thick upon his cheeks, an innocently incongruous contrast to the bullet hole in his forehead, just beneath his hairline and slightly off-center. He was lying on another tarp, and without moving his head Kate could see that most of the back of his skull was gone.

  George tossed back the tarp. "I don't get it. Klemens and Eberhard are the only two nimrods in this bunch who know one end of a rifle from the other." "He said he saw the brush rustle, a flash of brown. He thought it was a moose and shot."

  George flicked up the tarp again. Over his safari suit Fedor had zipped the fluorescent orange vest that George demanded all his hunters wear before he'd take them out on the trail, especially in a group this large. "Who was supposed to be watching Fedor? Old Sam?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, why wasn't he!"

  "George," Jack said. "You know it happens."

  Kate gave him a sharp look. Who was he trying to convince, himself or George?

  "It doesn't happen on my hunts," George snapped. He ran his hands through his hair. "Oh, hell."

  Berg, Senta, Eberhard and Dieter were approaching. Jack looked around at the sound of their footsteps and saw Dieter. "Jesus, what happened to Dieter?" He looked down at Kate. "What did you do to him?"

  "I didn't do anything to him," Kate snapped. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

  Senta was a little ahead of the three men. She saw the group standing around the blue plastic mound and the blond eyebrows on the lovely brow creased. "What is it?"

  "Someone's been shot," George said bluntly.

  She gasped, one hand going to her mouth. "What? Who? One of us? Who is it, George?"

  "Fedor."

  "Fedor?" Senta stood very still, her face blank. "Fedor has been shot?

  Dead?" "See for yourself," George said, all trace of lover banished for the moment.

  Eberhard walked around Senta and raised the tarp. He and Dieter looked in silence on Fedor's still face. Senta fell back a step, said something in a shaken voice that Kate couldn't catch and whirled to come face to face with Dieter. For a moment nobody moved. Then Senta broke and ran for the lodge.

  Berg took one look and fainted dead away, landing full length on his back on the gravel with a thump that raised a small dust cloud. No one rushed to his aid.

  Eberhard let fall the tarp and exchanged a glance with Dieter. Dieter said something in German. Kate thought she heard Klemens's name. But Eberhard and Dieter hadn't been anywhere near them when Jack had told them who had done the shooting; they couldn't have heard that Klemens had pulled the trigger.

  Eberhard saw Kate watching them. He gave her a long, unsmiling look, and took Dieter's elbow to move him out of earshot.

  "Goddammit anyway." George gave a heavy sigh. "Okay, I'll fire up the radio, see if I can reach anybody, get a call into the troopers."

  "Troopers?" Eberhard said sharply, halting. "That is like the police, yes?" "Yes," George said shortly.

  Eberhard opened his mouth. Dieter said, "Nein." Eberhard looked at him and Dieter rattled off some more German.

  "Dieter," Kate said. "Dieter!"

  Dieter broke off in midstream and looked around. "Something you wanted to share with the rest of us?" she said.

  He stared at her for a moment. "Nein." "Dieter," George said, "you might want to do some thinking here."

  "About what?"

  "About whether you want to continue this hunt."

  Dieter stared. "What?"

  George nodded at the blue mound. "We've lost a man, your man. You want to pack it in? It's up to you, you're paying the freight."

  "Pack it in? Is that like quit?"

  George nodded. Dieter's face flushed a deep red Kate had seen before, and he said with a force filled with the kind of heavy-handed menace typical of most bullies, "We are not quitting this hunt. You signed a contract. You guaranteed this hunt. I pay, we stay, we hunt."

  "Is there a penalty clause in that contract, George?" Jack said.

  Dieter glared at him. Jack didn't appear noticeably terrified. Poor Dieter, Kate thought dispassionately, there just wasn't enough cower in the Alaskans he'd met so far.

  "No, but if I break the contract by quitting early he could turn me into the Fish and Game if he wanted," George said glumly. "And it looks like he'd want to."

  Berg stirred and opened his eyes. He stared at the sky for a few mystified moments before sitting up and blinking around him. When he saw the tarpaulin-covered mound, his face went white and Kate thought he might faint again.

  Instead, he got unsteadily to his feet and staggered off to camp.

  "You want to talk this over with the others first?" George said to Dieter. "They might not want to stay after this."

  "They do what I say," Dieter snapped.

  George shrugged. "Okay. But tomorrow you don't hunt. Or all of you don't."

  Dieter bristled. "Why?" "Because I say so," George said evenly. "Second because I'm flying Fedor's body into Anchorage tomorrow morning, and you'll be one guide short."

  "The other hunter can go with one of the other guides." "No, they can't," George said flatly. "Two hunters per guide is the best and safest ratio. Although," he muttered, "so far this hunt's looking like it should have been one on one." "Say amen somebody," Kate murmured.

  "Anyway," George said, "tomorrow morning I'll be flying the body to town and bringing a trooper back with me."

  Dieter, predictably, began to sputter. George cut him off with one horizontal slice of his hand. "That's the way it's going to be." He turned and stalked off toward the lodge, ending the argument by refusing to participate in it. Any one of George's ex-wives could have told Dieter how effective a tactic it was.

  Dieter charged off up the strip, Eberhard following. Jack moved closer to Kate and raised a hand to her face. She rubbed her cheek against his palm and then, as natural as breathing, stepped forward into his embrace. "Are you all right?" she said, voice muffled in his chest.

  "I am now," he said, mouth against her hair, arms tight around her. "I am now." He pulled back and looked down at her, framing her face with both hands. "My light bright shining."

  "What?"

  "A line from a poem. You're my light bright shining, Kate." "Don't be so mushy," she said, but she blushed and had to fight back a smile. "What happened, Jack?"

  Jack looked around. Dieter and Eberhard had walked up the runway a hundred yards and paused to converse in low-voiced, rapid German. As they watched, Dieter gave a sudden laugh, a braying, almost triumphant sound that echoed down the gravel strip.

  "I guess it is pretty funny," Jack observed, "losing one of your top employees like that."

  "A barrel of laughs," Kate agreed.

  Jack was silent for a moment, still watching the two Germans, who were strolling back in their direction now, attitudes indicating not a care in the world to be shared between them.

  "Come on," Kate said. Taking him by the hand, she led him down the strip and through a scattering of alders to the base of a tall, square steel tank with a ladder up one side.

  "What is this? Oh, a fuel tank." "Yeah," Kate said. "Back when this was a gold mine and needed diesel to run the generators, tankers would fly in and fill it up. George doesn't use it." She climbed up, Jack following. The top of the tank sank to echo hollowly beneath their feet, giving off faint booms reminiscent of Dieter's Merkel with every step.

  There was a wooden bench perched at the edge of the tank facing northeast. Jack sat down and pulled Kate into his lap. "Man, I was glad to see you, girl." "Me, too," she said, looping her arms around his neck. "What happened, Jack?"

  He kissed her in lieu of an answer, and she kissed him back, long, slow, sweet kisses that comforted and soothed and aroused. He responded with increasing urgency, pulling her shirt free to cup and caress her breasts, unfastening her braid to spread her hair over her shoulders, tugging at h
er belt and pulling at her zipper to slide his fingers between her legs and into her flesh.

  "Jack--"

  "Shut up. Just shut up. God, you're wet."