Three-Inch Teeth, page 25
In the soft yellow light of his headlamp, Sheridan’s face looked like a blank mask. He knew how terrified she likely was, and he understood.
“Got that, Marybeth?” he whispered.
“Got it, Joe,” Marybeth said with fake cheer from inside the tent blanket. She obviously didn’t want to alarm Kestrel in any way and make her cry out.
Joe felt his phone chime in his hand and he looked down at the screen, both hoping and fearing that it would be Nate.
Instead, it was a text from Sheridan, who was ten feet away.
“I started a text thread between you, me, and Mom,” Sheridan said. “That way we’re all on the same page.”
“Smart,” Joe said.
“Dad,” Sheridan said, “if you text us, don’t worry about misspelled words or punctuation for once in your life. That’ll take too long.”
Joe nodded, duly chastened. “Got it,” he said.
As he padded down the hallway toward the back door, Joe could hear Kestrel identifying an owl and Marybeth praising the child once again.
*
AFTER LOCKING THE back door behind him, Joe covered the ground from the house to his work shed in short mincing steps so he wouldn’t trip over anything in the dark. His headlamp was off. Even though he hadn’t seen or heard an oncoming vehicle in the trees, he didn’t want to be spotted if someone was lurking in the shadows of the heavy timber.
Although he normally enjoyed the location of their state-owned home in a private and heavily wooded alcove of river cottonwoods with the river to the west, it bothered him that he wouldn’t be able to see a visitor coming until they were less than a hundred yards away. The heavy brush and timber also muted sound, as did the musical flow of the river.
He eased the door of the shed open and stepped inside and placed his Remington Wingmaster twelve-gauge shotgun on the workbench. He’d loaded it with double-aught rounds and he jacked one into the receiver so it was ready. Double-aught buckshot was devastatingly effective at close range, with nine large-caliber pellets capable of penetrating car doors if necessary.
Because Sheridan had arrived via the two-track river road from the Yarak, Inc. compound instead of the county road, she’d arrived at least ten minutes faster. If Cates was coming by the more conventional route, he could show up at any minute.
Joe drew out his phone.
I’m in the shed with good views of the house and the road. Is everything okay in there?
Before he sent it, he recalled Sheridan’s admonition and changed it to:
I’m outside. Everything OK?
She instantly responded with a thumbs-up emoji.
*
JOE GAVE IT a few minutes to simply keep watch and let his heartbeat calm down so he could listen for approaching vehicles. It was a cold night and his breath puffed into clouds of condensation near his mouth and nose. He slipped on a thin pair of gloves so that his fingers wouldn’t go stiff in the chill.
Assured that all was quiet outside, he raised his right hand and used his teeth to remove the glove. He needed help with the situation, and he needed it as fast as he could get it.
He tried once again to connect with Nate and once again there was no response. Instead of leaving a message, he sent a text:
Liv was attacked and killed at your home. Kestrel is safe with us. Come as fast as you can.
Then Joe stared at the glowing screen of his phone for a moment, trying to figure out what he was going to do next. Call dispatch in Cheyenne and request assistance from any available law enforcement personnel in the vicinity? He discarded the idea quickly. His home was remote and it might take more time to explain the exact situation he was in to the responding officers than he thought he had.
He quickly ruled out calling either Elaine Beveridge or Ruthanne Hubbard. They’d want him to explain and justify his request, and he could only imagine how skeptical they’d be about his theories that the killings were caused by a man and not a bear. Plus, he didn’t want to have to detail who Dallas Cates was and their long history together.
So he punched up Jackson Bishop’s personal number and activated a call. It rang twice.
“Undersheriff Jackson Bishop,” the man said in a clipped tone. “What can I do for you, Joe?”
Joe was grateful he’d connected with the likely next sheriff of Twelve Sleep County. Bishop exuded calm authority.
“I need you and as many guys as you can round up to come to the game warden station right away,” Joe said.
“I know where it is. What’s going on?”
“This is going to sound crazy,” Joe said, “but I’m convinced that an ex-con named Dallas Cates has been using the bear attacks as cover to try to kill people he blames for ruining his life—including Judge Hewitt this morning. He killed Liv Romanowski less than an hour ago at her home and I think he’s coming here.”
Bishop hesitated and said, “That does sound crazy. How’s he doing it?”
“I don’t know. Either he’s got a bear of his own or some kind of machine. It doesn’t matter—we’ll figure it out, eventually. But I’m guessing he’s coming any minute and my family is threatened.”
“Joe, are you saying that this Cates guy has figured out how to kill people and make it look like a bear did it?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I know it sounds far-fetched, but I’m convinced of it and I need your help.”
“How many subjects are with him?”
“I don’t know that, either. There’s at least two of them, including Cates.”
“What are they driving?”
Joe said, “Late-model white pickup with a topper on the back. Carbon County plates.”
“Jesus, Joe …”
“I know.”
“I can’t just issue commands to a department I’m not even in charge of. I guess I can ask Elaine …”
“Do whatever you have to do,” Joe snapped. “Just do it as fast as you can and get out here. I’ve got to get off the phone so I can be ready when they show up.”
“Man, oh man,” Bishop said. “I’m thinking …”
“My family is in the house with the lights off,” Joe said. “I’m in my toolshed at the side of the house. Don’t shoot me when you get here, okay?”
“Okay,” Bishop said. Then: “I think I’ve got everybody’s cell numbers and I can ask Ruthanne to dispatch as many deputies as we have on call.”
“That’s a good start,” Joe said. “And, Jackson, keep in mind that Cates is likely armed and dangerous. Same with whoever is with him.”
“Do you really think he has his own bear?” Bishop asked.
“I don’t know,” Joe said, exasperated. “Just hurry.”
“I’ll text you when we’re near the scene,” Bishop said.
Joe disconnected the call and placed the phone down on the workbench. There were no new messages from either Sheridan, Marybeth, or Nate.
Sheriff on the way, he texted them. Stay cool.
Sheridan responded with three more thumbs-up emojis.
*
IN THE SHADOWS of the heavy brush behind the game warden station sign on the county road, Axel Soledad felt the vibration of an incoming call on his cell phone. He was instantly annoyed. He turned his back to the road so the glow of the screen couldn’t be seen from a passing motorist.
“I told you to never call me unless it’s on a burner,” Soledad hissed through gritted teeth.
“Pickett called me direct,” Bishop said. “He knows you’re coming. He asked that we scramble some guys and get out there. He knows all about Cates.”
“Shit.”
“I can slow-walk things on my end,” Bishop said. “These rubes are completely incompetent, so that’s easy. But you might want to wrap up and get the hell out of here.”
Soledad nodded in the dark, well aware that Bishop couldn’t see him. He said, “Delay as long as you can, then wipe your phone history and don’t contact me again unless you use the encrypted app or you’ve got a burner.”
“Gotcha.”
“I’m detaching from Cates and his band of idiots,” Soledad said. “I’m going solo.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
“You’ll hear from me when we activate, Sheriff Bishop.”
“Well, not yet,” Bishop said. “But I like the sound of that.”
Soledad stuffed the phone into his pocket. A car was coming, and rather than retreat farther into the brush, he quickly glided out onto the asphalt on his crutches until he stood astride the center line.
As the headlights of the car washed over him, Soledad slumped a bit and let his head loll slightly to the side. He needed to look damaged and unthreatening.
A dented 2012 Honda Civic with green and white Colorado plates slowed to a stop ten yards from him and the driver’s window rolled down. A white-haired birdlike woman in her seventies stuck her head out and said, “Are you okay? I could have hit you standing in the middle of the road like that.”
“Thank you for stopping,” he said with a faux grimace. “They left me here on the side of the road. I don’t even know where I’m at.”
“Do you know where the game warden station is?” she asked. “I haven’t been here in ages and I’ve got … business there with the game warden. My name is Katy Cotton. What’s yours?”
“Dallas Cates,” Soledad said.
“Who left you? Who would do something like that?” she asked.
“My friends,” he said. “Or at least I thought they were my friends.”
“That’s just awful. Do you need a ride into town?”
“God bless you,” he said. He clumsily made his way to the side of her car, as if he’d never used his braces before.
“Come around and climb in,” the woman said.
With lightning motion, he slid the thin blade out from its brace sheath and drove the point into her eye.
Then he dragged her body to the ditch on the side of the road and climbed into the Civic and drove away.
*
THE MUFFLED POP-POP-POP of gravel under tires made Joe bend forward toward the open shed door to hear more clearly. He’d been in solid darkness long enough without any artificial lights that he could make out vague shapes and shadows outside.
He grabbed his shotgun off the workbench and moved closer to the opening and stood framed within it. The moon was a slice like a fingernail clipping in the clear night sky, but the stars were so clear and sharp they cast a light blue glow atop the dry grass.
He turned his head toward the bank of trees on the other side of the meadow where the gravel road emerged and he could see it.
A vehicle was very slowly coming through the dark timber with its lights off. It was boxy and there were no interior lights.
It was a pickup, for sure, with a camper shell or topper covering the bed. Joe couldn’t see any figures inside.
The truck crept forward until it cleared the trees. It was barely moving, although there was no doubt it was headed for his home.
Joe stepped back into the shed so he couldn’t be seen. He removed his gloves and let them drop near his boots while thumbing the safety off his shotgun with a barely discernible click. Locating his phone, he turned his back toward the open door so there would be no glow from the screen as he touched it to life.
He texted Sheridan and Marybeth: Truck outside the house. DO NOT LOOK OUT OR OPEN THE DOOR.
He watched from the shadows as the vehicle did an extremely slow three-point turn in the yard in front of his front door. As the pickup faced him, he felt his insides clutch up and he raised the shotgun and fitted the butt against his shoulder. The vehicle had County 6 plates.
Joe couldn’t see the driver in the dark, nor a passenger if there was one. Reflections of the stars dotted the windshield and slid across it as the truck maneuvered. He thought he heard whispering from the vehicle as it executed the turns and began to slowly back up to the front door.
When a tiny red laser dot appeared at eye level on the door frame, it seemed incredibly bright in the darkness. Joe quickly looked away, but the red dot, like an angry apparition, lingered in his vision.
This would be a good time, he thought, for the sheriff and his men to show up.
That was when Joe detected movement in his peripheral vision far to his right in the direction of where the pickup had emerged from the trees. The form was big, pear-shaped, and low to the ground. It moved across the grass in an almost liquid flow. He recognized the hump on its shoulders and saw a shimmer of starlight undulate on the grizzly bear’s thick coat.
The bear crossed the road quickly and kept moving until it reentered the woods on the other side without slowing down.
Joe was astonished and confused. Was this the bear Dallas Cates had somehow recruited? It was a preposterous notion, he knew.
Then, like a ghost, another figure emerged from the dark timber where the bear had come out of. It was over six feet tall with blond hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Nate’s .454 Casull revolver was out and gripped in front of him in both hands as he walked silently and deliberately toward the front of the pickup.
*
THROUGH THE SLIDER in the back, Dallas whispered to Bobbi Johnson to kill the engine and get out.
“Make sure the interior lights are off when you get out,” he said. “Knock on the door and say you need to talk to the game warden.”
“Why are their lights off?” she asked over her shoulder. “What if they’re not home?”
“His truck is right over there,” Cates said. “Didn’t you see it on the way in?”
“I guess I did.”
“Bobbi, quit screwing around,” Cates said. “We’re in range and we’re ready.” He tried to keep his voice calm and friendly. This wasn’t the place or the time to have an argument.
“Knock on the door and step to the side just like you did before,” he said. “He’ll have to answer. He’s the damned game warden.”
“You’re sure?” she said. He knew he had her.
“Yes, baby,” Cates said. “Then we can go get your sister.”
Johnson turned and appeared to steel herself to the task. She was convinced, he thought. Her hands were on the steering wheel at ten and two like she was prepared to drive off, although he knew that wasn’t possible with the engine off.
Then she raised her head and stared at something through the front windshield and he saw her mouth drop open.
The bullet punched through the windshield and took off the side of Bobbi Johnson’s head. Blood, brains, and long dirty blond hair stuck to the glass on the inside of the open slider. The concussion of the gunshot rocked the pickup.
*
JOE SAW IT happen before he could call out or stop it.
Nate had approached the front of the pickup and, without any hesitation, raised his weapon and fired into it. The plume of orange from the muzzle of his revolver overwhelmed the lingering red dot in Joe’s vision.
Joe heard a scream from the back of the pickup from under the topper. There are people back there.
He ran from the shed toward his house. Nate didn’t respond when Joe yelled, “Nate, stand down. It’s me.”
Someone hurled themselves out of the open back window of the topper and fell in a heap near the rear bumper. Joe saw the man scramble to his knees and raise his hands over his head.
“I surrender,” the man appealed to Joe. He was gnomish with a broad face and tiny wild eyes that reflected starlight. “I’m Lee Ogburn-Russell and I was forced by Dallas Cates to be here. I surrender, Officer.”
Nate suddenly loomed behind Ogburn-Russell from the other side of the pickup and shot him point-blank in the back of the head. The man’s lifeless body flopped forward into the grass.
Then Nate swung to his left and aimed through the open back window and his revolver barked three times in rapid succession.
Joe reached up and clicked on the headlamp fitted over his hat as he ran to his friend. Nate was now bathed in harsh light and in the midst of dumping his five spent casings at his feet and speed-loading fresh rounds into the cylinder.
When Nate looked up at Joe, he was almost unrecognizable. His face was a blank white mask and his mouth was turned down. His eyes were rimmed with red and his pupils were sharp black pinpricks.
“Nate, I …” Joe started to say, when Nate shook his head sharply and retreated around the back of the truck to the other side.
Joe peered into the back of the pickup and the first thing he saw in the beam of his headlamp was a set of massive open steel jaws less than a foot from his face. Inset along the jaws were long yellow grizzly teeth stained with dried blood.
He cried out and dropped as if his legs were cut out from under him. His glimpse of Dallas Cates, balled up and still in the front of the bed, registered almost as an afterthought.
Joe heard the pickup roar to life and a cloud of exhaust from the tailpipe choked him. Nate had obviously shoved the dead driver aside in the cab and started the truck.
He pulled himself back to his feet and caught a glimpse of the back of Nate’s head through the gore-streaked rear window and slider.
“Nate!” Joe called as the vehicle sped away. “Nate, stop!”
*
JOE TURNED WHEN the porch lights came on at the front of his house, and Sheridan stepped out holding her rifle and watching the taillights of the pickup blink out as it rocketed through the trees.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yup.”
“Are we safe from Dallas?”
“Yup.”
“Who is the dead man?”
“Said his name was Lee Ogburn-Russell.”
“Was it Nate?” she asked.
“Yup.”
“Does he know?”
“I’m pretty sure he does, honey.”
Marybeth shouldered through the door holding Kestrel against her breasts. The little girl was crying.
“The gunshots upset her,” she said.
Joe nodded dumbly. He had trouble unseeing the steel jaws, the three-inch teeth, Dallas’s body, and Nate’s terrifying face in the light of his headlamp. Joe slid on the safety of his shotgun and turned toward his pickup.
“Where are you going?” Marybeth asked.
