Her thoughts went back to Adrienne. Who could have buried her way up here? And how did she die?
Then a terrible scream echoed down the draw. It sounded like a woman. Mattie dropped her food and rose to her feet, drawing her Glock. Robo leapt up barking, the hair rising on his back. She stood beside him, her service weapon in hand.
Gradually, it dawned on her what she’d heard. In all the years she’d lived in Timber Creek, she’d never heard it before. Hunters spoke of the eerie sound: the scream of a mountain lion. And it was close.
“Holy shit,” she muttered, shuddering from the adrenaline that shot through her system.
She peered into the darkness outside the ring of her campfire light. Mountain lion attacks weren’t frequent in this wilderness, the huge cats preferring to shy away from human contact. But they weren’t unheard of. She kept hold of her handgun while she turned a slow circle, completing a visual probe of the surrounding area. Nothing.
Robo stood motionless, staring off to her left. His hackles stood at attention, and he huffed an angry sound from deep in his chest.
“Where is it, Robo?”
She fired one shot into the air, hoping to scare the lion away. Robo glanced at her when the gun fired but turned back to stare into the night. Creeping forward, she stepped outside the firelight and paused to allow her eyes to adjust. The brilliant whiteness of the newly fallen snow cast a ghostly light on the clearing. Adrienne’s grave lay undisturbed, the black plastic sheet now blanketed in white.
Robo stayed at her side, quiet and steady, searching with her. He seemed less upset than he’d been before, so maybe her gunshot had done the trick. If the cat stayed near enough, she would probably be able to see firelight reflect in its eyes, and she could see nothing like that.
“Is it gone, Robo?”
Not taking his eyes off the forest, he waved his tail once before standing guard. They waited in place for several minutes; Mattie’s heartbeat slowly resumed its normal pace. Robo began to relax somewhat, shifting his eyes between the tree line and her, as if checking to see what to do next. She decided that meant the danger had passed.
Keeping her gun in hand, she went back to the fire and threw another log on the flames. “This fire should help,” she said aloud, thinking it might be the best protection she and Robo had from predators. At least the four-legged kind.
A branch snapped behind her. She whirled, taking a shooting stance and pointing out at the darkness. She stepped to the side, slipping away from the firelight, making sure it wouldn’t backlight her silhouette. A growl rumbled from Robo as he came with her.
She waited. When Robo settled and there was no further sound, she began to feel silly. The mountain lion’s scream had set her on edge. She needed to calm down. Drawing a breath, she turned back to the fire, deciding to build it up to an enormous height for both security and heat.
Robo faced the forest, keeping watch. A gust of wind swirled the falling snow, blurring the boundary between clearing and trees. As the logs in her fire caught and blazed hot, Mattie eyed her dwindling woodpile. She couldn’t afford to let the fire die down, but she didn’t want to sacrifice the deadfall in her shelter. Soon, she’d be forced to leave the safety of the firelight to gather more wood.
She kept an eye on her dog, knowing he would alert her to danger. While she waited, she warmed her fingers and toes and a layer of white formed on Robo’s back. It took a long time, but eventually he let down his guard and returned to her side, looking up at her and waving his tail, apparently seeking warmth and reassurance. “You’re a good boy.” Mattie squatted beside him and held him close as the fire danced and snapped. They stayed together sharing body heat until it started to wane.
“We have to get some more wood.” She hated to go into the forest, but she’d already gathered the small amount of easy fuel she’d found nearby. “Let’s go.”
Taking her flashlight from her utility belt, she crossed the small clearing and entered a world caught between shadow and luminescence. Robo stayed in front, occasionally stopping to stare off between the snow-covered pines. Then he would dart back to her side before heading off again. Mattie pressed the light on and swept it in widening arcs as she searched for logs and branches that would fit into her fire pit but still provide a prolonged burn.
It was slow going, but she gathered and carried enough wood for two trips back to her campsite. After sizing up her stack, she decided one more trip might fill the quota she needed to keep her fire burning throughout the night. Returning to the forest, Robo alternated between staying close and turning away to scan the area. Mattie trained the flashlight for him but, always seeing nothing, she decided to hurry, gather the wood she needed, and get back to the safety of the fire.
She tugged at some deadfall, searching for logs, and uncovered a strange sight. Focusing her flashlight, she could see bits of fur, hide, and small bones. Probably rabbit. And here . . . hair from a fox?
Robo chuffed a series of short growls from deep in his chest, pressing against her legs. She flicked the light on him; his hackles were raised. Her own neck prickled. She could swear she was being watched.
She followed Robo’s stare and directed her flashlight in that direction. Two orbs glowed, reflecting the beam.
She dropped the wood she’d gathered and reached for her Glock. Robo exploded. With a ferocious bark, he rushed the mountain lion. Mattie’s light showed her what he was up against: a huge cougar, snarling and hissing, sharp teeth bared, backed up against a boulder.
Robo charged, his hair puffed up, making him look twice his size, vicious. Mattie raised her weapon and sighted in on the cat. Before she could squeeze off the shot, Robo feinted close, snapping his jaws and barking, blocking her shot. The lion swiped bared claws at him. Robo jumped back.
In a split second, Mattie decided to fire into the air. Even as she raised her weapon, the lion attacked. Robo whirled away but hit a tree. The lion went after him and closed in—too close. Robo dodged. The two animals tangled. Fur, snow, and pine needles flew around them.
Mattie screamed and fired her gun into the air. She rushed toward her partner, shouting, hoping she could break up the fight and get a clean shot. The lion broke off and turned away. She could see its tawny color, its long black-tipped tail. The cat was huge . . . six to seven feet from head to tail. Robo charged after it.
“Robo,” she screamed. “Out!”
Robo hesitated, poised to launch himself at the lion. Mattie shot into the air, calling Robo back to her at the same time. With her dog out of the way, she could try to shoot the monstrous cat, but she knew that Robo might dart into the line of fire, so she held the shot. She’d almost emptied her gun’s magazine, and she needed to preserve the rounds she had left.
The cat slipped out of sight into the forest, its golden fur tarnished by dark patches. Bloody spots where Robo had gotten in his licks. Robo stood guard, growling, each hair on his body at attention. Mattie shone her light on him, searching for wounds. Blood glistened on his shoulder, forming a rivulet that splashed red drops onto the snow. He sank to lie down, still watching the spot where the cat disappeared.
Her gut tightened when she saw the blood. “Robo.”
He struggled to sit, staring after the lion. Mattie went to him, realizing he’d chosen his duty to protect her over his own safety.
She knelt at his side, snow chilling her knees through her jeans. “You’re hurt.”
In the glow of her flashlight, she could see a gaping slash on his shoulder. Bloody patches showed her other wounds on his face and neck. A brief look at these didn’t alarm her. They looked superficial. But his poor shoulder.