I helped. We scattered a layer of green on the tarp and placed a pile a foot high at the front edge. While lying down, we could observe the clearing with the entrance to the tunnel and the trees beyond where I would expect people investigating the gunshot to arrive. From down there, they couldn’t see us.
If people came, we could move backward, remain hidden by the top of the hill, and quietly leave by a back way. Behind us were more miles of the Cascade Mountains and beyond them, even more. I hadn’t scouted the area extensively but suspected we’d soon run out of people and find deeper snow to move through.
Maybe a good idea, or a better one, would come to me while we waited and watched. The problem was not the initial escape. I felt confident about that. It was what came after. No shelter. No food. Constant cold. And of course, the daily fear of being discovered.
Shortly after dawn, a movement below drew my attention. Sue stiffened beside me, telling me wordlessly that she had seen it also. Shortly after, three figures appeared, moving ahead eight or ten yards apart, side by side, like the military would do. Each held a rifle as comfortably as if it was an extension of their arms. All the rifles had scopes, and their clothing were all variations of army camouflage, like a mix-and-match from a grab bag of leftovers. They were heavyset, all three wore beards, and they moved carefully, searching. They knew someone nearby had fired that shot.
Despite the weapons and military dress, they didn’t seem military. Each dressed differently, the camo patterns varied even on the individual, and their long hair and beards didn’t fit my image of troops. At the edge of the clearing, they paused and used their scopes to examine everything ahead before advancing into the open. I reached out and pushed Sue’s face into the tarp as I did the same to mine. Spotting hair and our hats behind the little brush we’d placed in front of us would be almost impossible if we remained still. They would spot our faces in their scopes instantly if we watched.
I used my ears. The men didn’t speak. I heard the snap of a branch and when I looked again, they were moving parallel to the hillside, away from us. They had missed the tunnel entrance. Their footprints were clear as two of them walked across the clearing, while the third remained under the cover of the trees protecting their backs. He used his scope to scan the entire area again as if suspecting they were in the right place, but he found no evidence of us.
If they had spotted anything out of place, they would have, at least, whispered to each other. In the crisp, cold morning air, we’d have heard that exchange, if not the words. From our vantage, I realized that if more people arrived to search for us, they would see the tracks of the three below and realize they had seen nothing in the clearing and quickly move on. They might even follow the three men and think them responsible for the shotgun blast.
That was my recent way of thinking. Everybody hunts everybody else. Kill them all. Avoid people if possible and if not, shoot to kill. My train of thought went back to the pair at the skier’s cabin. I’d let them go when I was so near them, I couldn’t have missed a shot and Sue had seemed to approve of that action. She had no idea of how close I had come to shooting both. I’d keep that to myself.
I whispered, “Good job.”
“Being too scared to move is cause for thanks?”
My smile was unintentional. We remained still and waited. I had to pee but held it. To give in and stand to find a place to relieve myself might get us killed if there were more searchers we hadn’t spotted. An hour later, emptying my bladder became critical.
Sue slowly slid away from me, to the edge of the tarp and slipped her pants down. She relieved herself in that position and pulled her pants back up. She saw me look and said with a wry grin, “I can wash later.”
She was right, and I had to pee. I moved to the other side and rolled to my side. Afterward, we grinned at each other like school kids who had enjoyed a smoke behind the fieldhouse. We were good for another few hours of watching.
Near midmorning, a shot rang out, breaking the crisp air like a sheet of glass breaking on the pavement. Then another. Then rapidly, two more shots. The last two were higher pitched—a different gun. The last shot we heard was the same tone as the first two. Five in all. Then nothing.
In my imagination, it sounded like someone had fired two times, a different person fired twice, followed by a final shot. If it had been only a single shot, I’d have thought the shooter hit was he aimed at, like a hunter taking down a deer. The series indicated either the second shots were returning fire, or more than one person firing at a single target. There was no way to tell without investigating. But it the circumstances said there were at least two shooters out there.
“What do we do?” she asked.
“We have to go find out what happened, but not right away.”
We waited a while longer, thinking the three who had passed this way might return and we didn’t want to run into them in the heavy underbrush. Nobody returned. I pointed to our right. “The shots came from over there in the direction they went.”
She was thinking about the same thing. “If we run into them, or others who were investigating them? What then?”
Sue’s perceptions and insights were beginning to annoy me, primarily because she was usually right. I’d already warned her about rushing to investigate gunshots and now I was about to do the same. After seeing three men we believed were hunting us, I needed to know. “We’ll be careful.”
“Why do it at all?”
This time I drew in a breath before answering. It provided enough time to hide my fears and true feelings, and it gave me time to determine the words I’d use. “The other time, the single shot we heard, didn’t really concern us. One shot, too far away to be a danger. This time, there are three men who nearly found our hideout. They were searching for us. They all carried similar rifles that should make the same sounds, more or less. That’s not what we heard, so there are more people out there who are shooting.”
“Searching for us?”
“I don’t know. What seems likely is that our three visitors met up with another person or group and had themselves a gunfight. We don’t know who won. Or what they are up to. I think we need to risk a little spying without getting involved.”
“Me too,” she agreed. “We don’t need those people sneaking up on us at night.”
I had made her wear a tan shirt of mine over the pink jacket she wore. I wore a red flannel shirt and a dark green coat over it. Movement is the first thing to give you away. Color is the second. We made sure our bright colors were hidden. “Leave our things here. We’re going to move fast and sneaky. We’ll circle around a bit and try to find out what happened. But no unnecessary talking. Not even whispering.”
She quietly followed me, wearing a slight scowl. It was impossible to tell who or what it was directed at. I decided it couldn’t be directed at me. I was just trying to help and keep us safe.
We traveled up on the higher ground where we had more of a view, then down the other side of the hill. We went quickly at first, then slowed as we neared where I felt the shots had been fired. There was less snow and we moved under the trees, heading in the general direction of the Sauk River. There were no bridges or crossings I was aware of in that direction, so I assumed the three who were searching for us were on our side, between the river and the mountains. That was a narrow stretch to search.
We moved undercover and watched carefully ahead, especially when we got nearer to the river. Sue’s hand lightly touched my elbow. I pulled to a stop and she leaned closer. I bent down to put my ear next to her mouth. She mouthed softly, “I heard talking.”