up so you can get back home before dark. I—uh—it’d probably be best if you didn’t let Polly or anyone else know you told me what’s been going on.”
“Don’t worry about that.”
It didn’t take long for Mark to fill up his empty backpack with the food and clean clothes. Sandy had carefully wrapped up a half pound of hamburger and had included two un-asked-for bottles of beer, which Mark planned to have for supper that night.
Once he was ready to head back up the trail, Mark gave his daughter a long, strong hug. After a quick exchange of goodbye kisses, he turned and started back up the trail, disappearing silently into the tangle of dark green shadows.
As soon as he was out of sight, Sandy had the disorienting feeling that he had never really been there. She felt suddenly lost and lonely as she stood beside the Jeep and stared at where he had gone. She told herself that it was foolish, but she feared that she might never see him again. Tears blurred her vision as she got back into the Jeep, started it up, and drove away.
As soon as the Jeep disappeared around the corner, another figure strode out of the woods where it had been hiding. It was tall and wide-shouldered, and covered with a smooth mat of brown fur. Its left shoulder was marred by a raw wound that had started to scab over. Dried black blood matted the creature’s fur.
In spite of its huge bulk, the creature moved with silent grace as it came over to where the Jeep had been parked. A cold, animal intelligence burned in its eyes as it scanned the area for danger. With a low, soft grunt, it sniffed the air as it looked back and forth between the trail where Mark had gone and down the road where Sandy had gone. Its thick, black lips curled back in a snarl. Then, with a bellowing snort, it took off into the woods, moving silently through the shadowed forest as it ran parallel to the road where dust from the Jeep’s passing still swirled in the late afternoon sunshine.
Chapter Fourteen
Manhunt
“Look, I don’t want to have to keep repeating this, but this isn’t some kind of vigilante committee or anything, okay? And it sure as hell ain’t no goddamned manhunt.”
Guy LaBrea was standing behind his desk, speaking loud enough to be heard above the murmur of the thirty or more men who were crowded into his small office. It was just past six o’clock in the morning. Outside the office window, the sky was slowly blending from pale gray to blue.
“ ‘Least as of right now, neither Mark Newman nor anybody else has been charged with anything in connection with the death of Dennis Cross, so I think it’s best if we all just simmer down.”
“How come?” someone at the back of the room yelled.
LaBrea looked up and saw Dan Jenkins staring earnestly at him. Ever since Saturday night, as soon as he had heard that his best friend and drinking buddy had been killed, Dan had been calling the police station, pressing LaBrea for answers as to what had happened. His question now was followed by scattered grunts and murmurs of approval.
“Why?” LaBrea said. “Because although some of you might not agree with me—” he nailed Dan with a harsh look, hoping to keep him quiet “—we haven’t clearly established any motive in the situation. That’s why! State police evidence technicians have been working on this case all weekend, so let’s let them do their job, all right?”
“How about what happened out at Josh’s?” someone else called out. “Ain’t there a connection?”
Guy shrugged and shook his head.
“Look, I ain’t in on the investigation. It’s out of my hands. The only reason I called you guys in here at this ungodly hour is because I need you for . . . well, for two things. First, I want to try and locate Mark Newman so the staties can question him. Second, and more important, I got a call from the Forestry Department, asking us to assist them in their search for Phil
“Don’t worry about that.”
It didn’t take long for Mark to fill up his empty backpack with the food and clean clothes. Sandy had carefully wrapped up a half pound of hamburger and had included two un-asked-for bottles of beer, which Mark planned to have for supper that night.
Once he was ready to head back up the trail, Mark gave his daughter a long, strong hug. After a quick exchange of goodbye kisses, he turned and started back up the trail, disappearing silently into the tangle of dark green shadows.
As soon as he was out of sight, Sandy had the disorienting feeling that he had never really been there. She felt suddenly lost and lonely as she stood beside the Jeep and stared at where he had gone. She told herself that it was foolish, but she feared that she might never see him again. Tears blurred her vision as she got back into the Jeep, started it up, and drove away.
As soon as the Jeep disappeared around the corner, another figure strode out of the woods where it had been hiding. It was tall and wide-shouldered, and covered with a smooth mat of brown fur. Its left shoulder was marred by a raw wound that had started to scab over. Dried black blood matted the creature’s fur.
In spite of its huge bulk, the creature moved with silent grace as it came over to where the Jeep had been parked. A cold, animal intelligence burned in its eyes as it scanned the area for danger. With a low, soft grunt, it sniffed the air as it looked back and forth between the trail where Mark had gone and down the road where Sandy had gone. Its thick, black lips curled back in a snarl. Then, with a bellowing snort, it took off into the woods, moving silently through the shadowed forest as it ran parallel to the road where dust from the Jeep’s passing still swirled in the late afternoon sunshine.
Chapter Fourteen
Manhunt
“Look, I don’t want to have to keep repeating this, but this isn’t some kind of vigilante committee or anything, okay? And it sure as hell ain’t no goddamned manhunt.”
Guy LaBrea was standing behind his desk, speaking loud enough to be heard above the murmur of the thirty or more men who were crowded into his small office. It was just past six o’clock in the morning. Outside the office window, the sky was slowly blending from pale gray to blue.
“ ‘Least as of right now, neither Mark Newman nor anybody else has been charged with anything in connection with the death of Dennis Cross, so I think it’s best if we all just simmer down.”
“How come?” someone at the back of the room yelled.
LaBrea looked up and saw Dan Jenkins staring earnestly at him. Ever since Saturday night, as soon as he had heard that his best friend and drinking buddy had been killed, Dan had been calling the police station, pressing LaBrea for answers as to what had happened. His question now was followed by scattered grunts and murmurs of approval.
“Why?” LaBrea said. “Because although some of you might not agree with me—” he nailed Dan with a harsh look, hoping to keep him quiet “—we haven’t clearly established any motive in the situation. That’s why! State police evidence technicians have been working on this case all weekend, so let’s let them do their job, all right?”
“How about what happened out at Josh’s?” someone else called out. “Ain’t there a connection?”
Guy shrugged and shook his head.
“Look, I ain’t in on the investigation. It’s out of my hands. The only reason I called you guys in here at this ungodly hour is because I need you for . . . well, for two things. First, I want to try and locate Mark Newman so the staties can question him. Second, and more important, I got a call from the Forestry Department, asking us to assist them in their search for Phil
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