Michael had been right. When Ben finally shed his veneer, he was scary.
“I need you to stay here,” he said harshly, leaving no room for discussion.
Emma didn’t argue.
“Cover me as I cross. Then keep an eye out for Atwood and Skyler. Fire two quick shots if you see them coming up the stream.”
“What about Beaker?” she asked softly.
He looked across the natural bridge. “He’s out there, watching and waiting.”
“You’ll be careful?”
He gently kissed her. “I love you, Emma. And I’ll be back. We have an important date in two weeks, and I intend to be there to see what you think of my wedding gift.”
He kissed her again, then pulled out his handgun and walked away.
Emma lifted her rifle to her shoulder and steadied it on the boulder she was leaning against, watching the opposite shore for any sign of Wayne.
Chapter Twenty-two
T he earth continued torumble with occasional shivers, rattling small rocks and rippling the ever deepening water. Medicine Creek finally found its new route around the dam, and its newly created falls cascaded down the path Ben had used to portage the canoe. Small trees were uprooted and earth and mud gave way with devastating effects. Her retreat was cut off. She was trapped except for the route Ben had taken across the old falls.
Emma wished she were here under different circumstances as this wonder of nature played itself out. She was witnessing no more than a gentle blip in the life of the earth, but to her it was mystical.
Michael would be fascinated.
She thought of her nephew, knowing he was valiantly coming to her rescue. She didn’t doubt Homer had found the lodge eventually, and that Mikey had found the message they’d sent. And she knew nothing would stop him from trying to save the two people he loved. She knew she didn’t have to worry about him barging into an ambush, as Mikey was smart enough to be cautious.
Sometimes he seemed as mystical as the land he’d grown up in. He knew things: when the rain was coming, when the seasons were changing, and when weather was brewing. He was able to read the signs like a soothsayer, and had surprised Emma more than once with an urgency to batten down the camps and secure the plane. When no more than a rainstorm was forecast, Mikey would make her prepare for a gale, and he was rarely wrong.
He would know Wayne was near, and would come with stealth and purpose.
Which scared her. As much as she didn’t want Wayne’s blood on Ben’s hands, she certainly didn’t want Michael involved. He was too young and innocent to become embroiled in the mess.
The forest behind her suddenly erupted in a flurry of breaking branches and heavy breathing. Emma swiftly turned, only to lower the rifle barrel when Pitiful came charging toward the stream. The animal’s eyes were huge saucers of brown with white rings of panic surrounding them. His nostrils were flared and his sides were heaving as he broke through the trees, his single antler pulling down branches.
Unable to understand what was happening in his woods, the panicked bull splashed into the receding waters of Medicine Creek, letting out a bellow that sounded like a desperate child calling for help. He stood in the middle of the stream, shivering with fright and panting.
“Pssst,” Emma hissed, trying to draw his attention. “Pitiful.”
The young bull cocked his head in her direction, let out a loud bugle of joy when he spotted her, and came charging through the water toward the dam. Emma stepped behind her rock for protection.
Wayne Poulin grabbed her around her throat in a hold that nearly cut off her air.
“Drop the rifle,” he said, pulling them both out of reach of the confused moose. “Who’s here with you?”
She didn’t answer, and he tightened his hold on her throat.
“It’s … it’s John,” she gasped, tugging on his arm so she could breathe.
“John Lakes? The old hermit?”
“He found me yesterday and was helping me home.”
“Where is he now?”
“Our canoe got damaged, so he left me his rifle and went for help.”
“Call off that moose or I’ll shoot it,” he warned.
Pitiful was trying to climb up the steep bank of the stream, becoming more frantic with each unsuccessful attempt.
“I can’t control him, Wayne. He’s just a scared, dumb animal.”
Wayne aimed his handgun at Pitiful. Emma bit his arm. He screamed and used his gun to strike her in the head, but she ducked, taking the blow in her shoulder. She elbowed him in the ribs as hard as she could, kicking him in the shin at the same time. But her right knee gave out, and they both fell to the ground.
With a curse of outrage, Wayne secured his grip on her, hauled them both to their feet, and started dragging her over the bridge the earthquake had made.
Bellowing, Pitiful turned in the water to follow.
Halfway across the old falls, Emma heard a deadly snarl just before Wayne screamed in pain. His arm around her slackened as he turned to face the new threat.
Emma broke free, but her feet got entangled in Wayne’s, and they both fell onto the edge of the boulders. She saw that Beaker had a death grip on Wayne’s arm holding the gun … just as she tumbled over the edge of the dam.
It took Ben several precious seconds to realize he was actually seeing a battle among a man, a woman, a moose, and a dog. All of which was taking place on top of a forty-foot-high bridge of granite that was too narrow to hold more than one of them.
He watched helplessly as Emma fell. He started out onto the bridge, but stopped when he saw she’d only fallen about ten feet, landing on a ledge wide enough to hold her safely. She was dazed but alive, which freed Ben up to deal with Poulin.
Beaker was making a mess of the man. The shepherd had been waiting for this moment, but Wayne still held his gun, and was slowly forcing it down in the dog’s direction.
Ben raised his handgun and aimed it at Wayne, waiting for a clear shot.
In the end, Emma’s pet moose struck the fateful blow. The panicked bull finally found a foothold and pulled himself out of the water, his head lowered for purchase, and his single lethal antler rammed into Wayne Poulin’s ribs.
Poulin was thrown into the air with enough force to send him sailing out over the falls. He hit several outcroppings on the way down, finally landing in the pool at the bottom. Ben ran to the edge and looked down to see Poulin’s broken body floating facedown in the water.
Then he looked over at Emma.
Her head leaned back against the granite ledge, and her eyes were closed. She didn’t open them when she spoke. “Ben?”
“I’m here.”
“Get me down.”
She still hadn’t opened her eyes. She wasn’t looking down, and she wasn’t trying to look up at him.
“Are you afraid of heights, Emma?” he asked, understanding finally dawning when he saw her death grip on the ledge.
“Yes!”
Ben was incredulous. “You’re a pilot, for chrissakes. You spend most of your time in the air.”
“I’m not wearing any wings at the moment, Sinclair. Get me down—now!”
“I’ve got to go find my pack, Emma. There’s a rope in it.”
“Wait!” She finally opened her eyes and tried to look up, then gasped and shut them again.
“What?”
“Is … is Beaker okay?”
“He’s fine, Em. He’s standing right beside me.”
“And Pitiful?”
“I assume so. He ran off.”
“I heard Wayne fall, Ben. It was a sickening sound.” Her voice shook with distress. “Is he dead?”
“He’s dead.”
“I—I wish I wasn’t glad.”