Forbidden River

Cody. Where was Cody?

Wait—a military loner with a death wish? Had she got him all wrong? Exactly what had he stashed in that kayak?

No. The tourist—the hole in his chest. That was no goring. What about his girlfriend and the other couple? The search had concentrated on the river but maybe the river wasn’t the culprit.

Whatever the situation, she had to retreat, one good, quick decision at a time. Get Cody; get out of here. Maybe lure the shooter away from the chopper and double back to it. Raise the alarm over the radio, alert the police Armed Offenders Squad. Alert the fucking army. Fly over the glacier, find the climbers.

The shooter had stopped. Gone stealth to stalk her? The forest had silenced, the birds flown off. She couldn’t even hear the river with her eardrums blown by the gunshots, just her own fast breath. She leaped across the tussock, to leave less of a trail than striding through, and ducked into the trees. Her jacket was black, at least—unlike Cody’s bright blue one.

She inched into the scrub, watching over her shoulder. Even tiptoeing, her sneakers crunched. When she could no longer see the hut, she exhaled. First task: find Cody.

Movement, to her right. Her breath caught. A weka charged from the undergrowth, its panicked little legs whirring like a squat brown Road Runner.

A noise, ahead. She swiveled and her nose smacked into a big navy-clad shoulder. She lifted a knee to the guy’s nuts but he spun her and caught her tight around the waist, pinning her arms. She stomped but missed his foot.

“Tia! Jesus!” he hissed.

He released her and she wheeled around. Oh God, it was Cody, his eyes wide, checking their surroundings. He’d taken off the blue jacket, leaving a skintight long-sleeved thermal. Damn, how much noise had they made?

“What the fuck is going on?” he whispered.

“Some nutter with a rifle—I didn’t get a look.”

He nodded sharply. “Let’s find cover.”

She followed him toward the river and down a rock bank, ignoring the hand he held out. Ahead, through the trees, the water rushed over stones, lit bright by the sun. A dog barked. The shooting started up again. More automatic fire. She pressed her back against the clammy stone. Next to her, Cody did the same. Ricocheting shots, smashing glass, clanging metal. Another dog joined in. “They must be in the clearing,” she whispered.

Cody’s eyes met hers, his jaw squared. “He ain’t conserving ammo.”

“Did you see him?”

“No.”

“How do you know it’s not a woman?”

His mouth twitched. “I’m kinda more concerned about the firepower. Gotta be an assault rifle—pretty much the same weapon we use to hunt humans.”

“Did you just make a joke about hunting humans?”

“Wasn’t meant to be a joke. Sometimes when you’re looking through the scope, it feels like that... You okay? You’ve gone a little gray. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not that.” She told him about the body. His expression grew grimmer by the word. Jolted out of holiday mode and into work mode. Lucky for her he wasn’t a lawyer or a...pianist. “He really is hunting humans.”

“Okay,” Cody said, as if that wasn’t at all problematic. “I’ll lure him away while you get to the chopper.”

“Yes. Then you can double back and join me.”

“No. You go without me.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“It makes sense. I’ll have to lead him far enough away that he’s out of range as you’re lifting. Going by that firepower, I’m thinking maybe a mile. No point in me then giving him time to return.”

“You don’t know this bush. I’m guessing he does—and so do his dogs. You might get lucky for half an hour, but...”

“He?”

“For convenience’s sake.”

A flicker of a smile at his tiny victory. “You said it yourself—I’m a risk taker with a death wish.”

“Cody, I’m not leaving anyone else here.”

“You’re leaving me.” His hand went to his hip, then froze. Checking for a nonexistent weapon. He fisted his fingers, and released. “Look, I’m not some hippie backpacker. I’m good at getting shot at. I’ll lead them away, then swim the river so the dogs can’t get me—assuming they can’t swim.”

“If they’re hunting dogs—and they sound like it—they’re all muscle and mouth and no fat. No buoyancy, especially in fresh water. They’ll sink like rocks.”

“Good. Then I’ll hide until help comes. Easy.”

“That river is basically just melted snow and ice. You swim it without a change of clothes, you’ll be hypothermic by midnight.”

“My clothes are pretty much made of plastic. They’ll dry quick.”

She shook her head.

“Tia, none of the options here are good. There’s no easy decision in a situation like this, no risk-free choice. You know that. You’ll be taking a risk in lifting off. I’ll be taking a risk in running and hiding. But if you don’t get away safely, we’re both screwed, and so are those climbers and the other tourists, if they’re still alive, and so are the next people who come wandering up here.”

Dammit. “Help probably won’t come until first light.”

“I can handle a night in the open.”

“A lot of tough guys say that, going in.”

A dog barked nearby. She shrank against the rock. Cody slung his arm across her belly, pinning her with his elbow. Like she was going anywhere. The gunshots had stopped.

She tiptoed to reach his ear. He was a couple of inches taller. In another situation she’d consider that the perfect height. “We’re downwind,” she whispered. “The dogs won’t be able to smell us yet. I’ll go back the way I came. You—”

She froze. A second later he held up a palm, frowning. Through the trees ahead skulked the silhouette of the shooter, rifle held low across his hip, machete slung across his back like a ninja sword, two dogs running alongside. One was a short dirty-brown mutt, wide across the forelegs, thick neck, big jaw. Bred for fighting. The other was a greyhound cross, its nose skimming the river stones. Pig dogs—an attacker and a tracker? With the sun in his eyes, the guy wouldn’t spot her and Cody, but she stilled her breathing anyway.

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