“Taylor Crabtree?”
“The word hero is tossed around a lot. The real heroes are often the most unlikely.”
“He saved my life.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Oh my God.”
“Anyway… I should be going. It’s good to see you up and around.”
“You did this just because you felt sorry for him?”
“I did it because I had to. Because guys like Taylor Crabtree are often seriously misunderstood, and I know my attitude toward him changed a lot when I heard what he did. I had formed a pretty strong impression of him because of a previous situation-”
“The webcam stuff?”
“No, before that, actually. And this being a small town and all… A person like you could help turn opinion around-among his friends, I mean. Not now, of course, but maybe when it’s all over.”
“When will it be over?”
Fiona said nothing.
“For me,” Kira said, “it feels like it’ll never be over.”
“It’s early yet. But, honestly, that’s the kind of thing a counselor can help a lot with.”
“You’d know all about it, would you?” Kira said sharply.
Fiona waited until the girl dared to meet her eyes. It took a long minute.
Then she said, equally firmly, “I was in a very destructive relationship before I moved here. I went through some of what you went through but without the drugs. I came here today, in part, because no one ever came to me. No one ever knew what was going on. What was happening. I needed someone to talk to, but I was too scared. I thought it would change people’s opinion of me, lose me my friends. Ruin everything. And then one day I realized I was ruined beyond anything mere opinion could change. And I took action. I promised myself that if I ever even thought someone was going through what I went through, I would intervene. I would do something. I don’t know exactly why I came here. You don’t need me. But maybe I need you. I needed to tell you it gets better, a little better, day by day.” Kira was crying now, her head hanging, her hair falling forward. “You feel it was somehow your fault. A way you acted. Something you wore. That you asked for it. But that’s bullshit. And I’m here to tell you that you have to push those voices from your head.”
Kira was sobbing now. “I feel so… dirty.”
“Talk to someone, Kira. It’s so much better if you talk to someone.”
The head bobbed.
Fiona breathed differently; Kira was the first person with whom she’d shared any of this. It came as a huge relief and terrified her at the same time. Some secrets were more dangerous than others.
“You waited to tell me,” Kira said. “Why? Why didn’t you just tell me this first?”
“I’m still scared. Of him. Of the truth. Of men. Don’t think you can do this by yourself. Memory or no memory, you can get better faster if you let someone in.”
Fiona stood.
“Will you come back?”
“If you want me to.”
Kira looked up, her eyes wet. “I think I’d like that.”
Fiona forced a smile. “Me too. Be seeing you, then.”
58
BRIEFLY, WALT WAS WITHOUT CONCERN. SITTING IN THE pilot’s seat of the glider had this effect on him, gave him a sense of quiet and peace. But then a flurry of radio traffic brought him back: first Brandon complaining about the updrafts, then the pilot of the towplane double-checking the release point as both pilots attempted to measure winds aloft by checking their heading against their actual track over land. Walt asked to be hauled farther north. He was cautioned against this delay by the tow pilot: daylight was bleeding out of the sky, forming a gray haze below, and making what promised to be a challenging landing all the more difficult.
Walt wanted the straightest approach possible. He consulted a handheld aviation GPS, premarked with the lat-long identified by Crabtree. He had one shot at the snowfield a half mile behind the compound. It would be an ugly landing at best. If he missed the field entirely, there would be no second chances. It was all trees and mountains past that one field-a jewel of flat in a narrow valley situated between the tall spines of two ranges. He hadn’t told Brandon any of this, only that they were using the glider to approach silently. Eighteen deputized men were by now waiting on the far side of two different passes, some of whom had begun to advance on foot; the rest would follow by snowmobile on Walt’s command.
The logistics of the strike were as complex as they were dangerous. A week of preparation would have been preferable to a matter of hours.
“I think I’m going to barf,” Brandon said from the seat behind.
“There’s a bag in the seat pocket. Just remember to remove the oxygen mask.” Walt smiled. Some things were worth the wait.
His radio crackled and a male voice called out his tail numbers. Walt confirmed. The man introduced himself as “a friend from the east,” reminding Walt that they were on an open radio frequency that could be monitored by pilots and ground stations alike.
FBI, Walt thought.
“We have confirmed heat signatures,” the voice said.
Walt processed the information: the FBI had tasked a satellite capable of infrared and had obtained a heat signature from the compound. It was active, not shuttered for the winter. People were down there.
“Three bogies,” the voice said.
Good odds, Walt thought.
“Roger that,” Walt said. “Thanks.”
“Was that what I think it was?” a distraught Brandon inquired.
“We’re going in,” Walt said. He eased the joystick forward and the nose of the glider tilted almost imperceptibly. He had one chance at a landing.
In the dark.
In the mountains.
“When I say, ‘Brace for impact,’” Walt schooled, “lean forward and clutch your chest to your thighs. Don’t attempt to look out or sit up until we’ve come to a complete stop. It’s going to be a hard landing.”
“Why does that not sound promising?” Brandon interrupted himself with another spout of vomiting.
“We’re going in,” Walt said.
59
THE ANNOYING AND ALL-TOO- FAMILIAR SOUND OF A SNOWMOBILE roused Mark Aker from a deep and unintended sleep. Even as he drew himself from his slumber, he could tell the vehicle was moving toward him, not away. His back was to the hibernating bear. The cave no longer smelled bad to him, which informed him he’d been there a long time and had slept much longer than he’d intended.
The bear had wedged itself into the cave’s extreme recess, with little space between the rock, root, and caked mud that it was backed up against. Mark lay in front of the bear, facing the mouth of the cave. His watch face had lost its luminescence. He had no idea what time it was but was guessing evening. He was hungry and thirsty and had to relieve himself, but didn’t dare move for fear of disturbing the bear. The experience of cozying up to a hibernating bear might have once been a grad school dream of his. Now it seemed surreal. He wouldn’t have believed such a story if he’d heard it himself, and yet here he was…
Dogs. Barking.
The snowmobile had gone silent. What he heard now sent a chill through him, for he knew Roy Coats owned and trained hunting dogs. Scent dogs. Dogs that could follow a mountain lioness for miles- days-into the wilderness. The handler tracked and followed the dogs by radio collar to the prey, which was typically pinned up a tree. Mark was now convinced that he was the prey; he was the one pinned.
The barking grew louder and more ferocious. The dogs were on a scent-his scent, more than likely. And whereas a human being on a snowmobile might not make anything of a dark shadow that turned out to be a cave entrance, the dogs would follow their noses straight to it.
Mark had been around animals all his adult life. As a vet in Idaho, he’d seen cases that would have never made it into medical school textbooks and would not have been believed if they had. He was more exposed to animals in the wild, or the results of confrontations with such animals, than an average vet. And because of this, he could foresee the events of the next few minutes. They played out before his eyes on the darkened walls of the cave, as if a projector were running. And he didn’t like what he saw.