At once, the driver and passenger doors opened and a man swung out of each.
"Get back in the vehicle," she said, surprising herself with the force of her command.
The driver wore glasses and had silver hair and an owlish look on his face. He was tall, probably mid-fifties, dressed in jeans, a white shirt, and a blazer. He didn't look like a man on vacation. The passenger was shorter, with a smaller build and an eager, boyish face and dark, darting eyes. He looked vaguely familiar and seemed to know it by the way he avoided her.
Then things happened rapidly, but with absolute, terrifying clarity.
The driver turned and reached for his door handle, but the passenger didn't. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Demming's backup, behind her and to her left. Demming fought the urge to look over her shoulder, but she did when the passenger seemed to signal something to her backup with an almost imperceptible nod of his head.
They knew each other.
Demming snapped a glance over her left shoulder, saw the ranger she recognized with a gun leveled on her-not his serviceweapon but a cheap throw-down-heard the sharp pop, and felt as if she'd been hit in the ribs with a sledgehammer. She didn't feel her legs give out but knew they had when all she could see were the dull black glints of obsidian chips in the pavement inches from her face. A flash of white-her hand- on the cold asphalt, scuttling across her vision like a crab for the weapon she'd dropped when she was hit. Where was it?
"Again," the passenger said. His voice was clear.
Demming turned her head to see the black hole of the muzzleof the weapon two feet from her face and the coldly determinedlook on the face of the shooter. She wanted to ask, "Why you?" Closing her eyes tightly, she clearly saw Jake and Erin at home, watching the clock, waiting for dinner. part five National parks are the best idea we ever had. Absolutely American, absolutely democratic, they reflect us at our best rather than our worst. -Wallace Stegner, 1983
23
Thirty-five minutes later, a caravan of law enforcement vehicles and the EMT van coursed through Mammothwith lights flashing, sirens on, turning the quiet night into a riot of outrage, angry colors, and grating sound. Joe stepped outside his cabin into darkness to see what was going on. The few other visitors in the cabins were doing the same, either parting curtains or opening their doors.
The caravan blasted through the village and down the hill towardGardiner, leaving a vacuum in its wake. It took five minutesbefore he could no longer see the lights flashing on the sagebrush hillside of the canyon or hear the scream of sirens.
Given the inordinate number of emergency vehicles and their display of lights and sound and the dearth of visitors remainingin the park, Joe immediately thought something bad had happened to a ranger-maybe his ranger-and a chill shot through him.
He jogged to a pay phone near the utility building, called Demming's home. Erin answered crying.
"My mom's been shot!" she sobbed. "Somebody called for Dad and said my mom's been shot."
"Is she still alive?" Joe asked, his head swimming.
"I don't know, I don't know…"
"Erin, stay calm," he said, not feeling very calm himself. "Let's not get upset until we know how badly she's hurt. Don't assume the worst. People get shot all the time and live through it."
His words seemed to help, even though he felt like he was lying. The tiny clinic in Gardiner was popping with activity when Joe arrived. NPS cruisers and SUVs filled the parking lot, and the EMT van that had delivered Demming was parked underthe EMERGENCY entrance overhang, doors still open.
Ashby, Layborn, and a half-dozen rangers Joe didn't recognizecrowded the small lobby. Layborn was in full dress, Ashby in sweats and running shoes, his hair wild, as if he'd just been called from a run or a workout.
"Is it true?" Joe asked.
"Damn right," Ashby said. "They found her on the road next to her car. At least two gunshot wounds, maybe more. We don't know yet."
"Is she alive?"
Ashby nodded. "Slight pulse, I guess. But her breathing was so shallow the first on the scene thought she was dead."
"Who was the first on the scene?"
Ashby nodded toward Layborn, who had been watching Ashby and Joe with obvious interest.
"Who did it?" Joe asked Layborn.
The ranger shrugged, said, "Last we know, she called for backup to pull over a black SUV matching the description of the vehicle you saw yesterday. I was on my way but by the time I got there she was already down. I never saw the other vehicle. We found a weapon, though, a thirty-eight tossed on the pavement.We've sent it to ballistics and should get some prints."
Joe shook his head. "If you found it that easily it's probably a throw-down. My guess is it'll turn out clean and untraceable."
Layborn and Ashby exchanged looks. Ashby said, "That's what I'd guess too."
"Man oh man," Joe said, running his fingers through his hair, then angrily rubbing his face. To Ashby, "Have you alerted everyone at the exit gates so the son of a bitch can't get out?"
Ashby's face fell. "We don't man the gates after dark this late in the season. There's no one there to stop them."
Joe turned away in frustration.
A few moments later an emergency room doctor wearing jeans, Teva sandals, and a sweatshirt reading WILDERNESS, SCHMILDERNESS opened the door and addressed the rangers.
"She's in critical condition," he said, glancing down at his clipboard. "We're trying to stabilize her but it doesn't look good. I called off the Life-Flight chopper to Billings for now because I'm concerned about moving her at all. If we see some progress, I'll call them back."
Layborn asked, "Is she going to make it?"
"Didn't you just hear what I said?"
"But if you were to guess…"
The doctor shook his head, said, "I'll keep you posted."
Joe found Ashby staring at him. "What?"
Ashby stepped close to Joe so he could speak in a whisper. "I just keep thinking that Judy would be okay now if you hadn't showed up," he said. "Can we see her?" Jake asked Joe. Erin stood behind her brother in the living room of their house, her face drained, her hair stringy.
"I don't think so," Joe said. "The doctor wouldn't allow anyonein."
Jake said, "I'd like to get one of my dad's guns and find whoever did this." He said it with such controlled fury that Joe reached out and put his hand on the boy's shoulder.
"We'd all like to do that," Joe said. "But we don't know who did it yet. All we know is that he was driving a black SUV."
"Will they find him?" Jake asked, challenge in his voice.
"Yes," Joe lied.
He made sure they had food in the house and promised to call them the minute he knew something and to come get them if they would be allowed to see their mother.
"Can you get in touch with your dad?" Joe asked. "Does he know what's going on?"
"We tried to get him on his cell phone," Erin said. Her eyes were vacant, wounded. "He didn't answer."
"Keep trying," Joe said. "He needs to get back here."
Joe wrote down Lars's cell phone number and put the slip in his pocket, thinking he would try later himself. Maybe it would be best if Lars heard the news from him instead of his children, he thought.
As he left, he looked hard at Jake. "Keep the guns in the closet, okay?"
Jake said, "They're in a gun safe in my dad's bedroom." "That's good."
"It would be if I didn't know the combination," Jake said.
"But you won't let him open it, will you, Erin?" Joe said.
"No."
Jake turned on his heel, punched the air, and strode angrily to his room, where he slammed the door shut.
"You're in charge," Joe said to Erin.