Somewhere Montana (2 page)

“At this rate, we’ll never reach the cabin before dark,” he growled.

“It’s only noon,” answered Grandfather Two Feathers. “We won’t be more than another hour or two.”

“Well, it would help if this snow would let up,” complained Mac, trying to see out the windshield the wipers barely kept clear. As if he had ordained it, they drove out of the heavy snow into the weakened edge of the storm. He immediately shifted up a higher gear and picked up speed. The wide tracks churned over the snow as if the Snowcat sensed the urgency of the mission. The engine roared a bit louder as they began the ascent up the mountain.

“I hope we make it in time.” A flashback, of racing across a desert in a Humvee only to reach the site of the downed helicopter too late, flicked through his mind. He pushed the machine harder.

“
Easy, Mac. I don’t think our speed, or lack thereof, will change the outcome.”

“Why can’t I let it go?” He groaned.

“Give it time, Son. You’ve been home only a month. You are strong. The atrocities you saw and endured would have downed a lesser man.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” mumbled Mac, stroking a gloved finger over the scar running from above his left eyebrow across his nose to the middle of his right cheek.

* * * *

Sage finished the bowl of soup she had heated on the stove. She was amazed she had eaten the whole can. Limping to the front door, she opened it to step out onto the small porch. It had stopped snowing, the sky still gray with menacing clouds. Fatigue had set in and she thought she might catch a nap before continuing her plans. She might even take one of the pain pills the doctor had ordered. The relief would be a blessing.

She remembered the good times she had there during the winter survival camps she attended. She wondered if Callum and his parents were at the ranch. Were Grandfather Two Feathers and Grandmother Little Mouse still there? Hopefully no one was aware of the plane crash and came looking for survivors. That would only endanger them.

If Marcos discovered where she was, he would want to be rid of any possible interference. The place she had chosen to hide, the cavern behind the waterfall, was defensible by one person. Providing she was strong enough, she could take care of herself. She needed a couple days to fight back from the trauma of Marco’s attack and the injuries she sustained in the crash.

Had the snowstorm been heavy enough to hide the noise of the crash? It was far enough from the ranch house. She could only hope.

Was Callum home from his deployment to Afghanistan? She prayed he would stay safe. It would be wonderful to see him again. Her thoughts drifted back to the night of his rejection. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. She couldn’t face him again. What would he say? Would he even acknowledge he knew her?

She weighed the pros and cons of her feelings. Every man she had met since, she compared to Callum and they came up short. Was she still in love with him? Or was it an infatuation that never had a chance to be fulfilled? There wouldn’t be any opportunity to find out now. No man would want her with the scars she bore.

She couldn’t dwell on that now. Her survival was more important. She mentally went over a list of necessities. Any supplies she took from the cabin she would send the money to replace after she disappeared. The only things she considered were simple foods and bandages. Were there still snowshoes and winter equipment in the storage closet? She would have to check that out before she considered the much-needed nap.

Leaning on the porch railing, she savored the quietness and beauty of her surroundings. She had always loved this area in all seasons, but winter held a special feeling of solitude. It also brought memories of Sasha, the cougar that had befriended her many years ago. Was he still around? Would she see him while she hid in the cavern? He would now be ten or twelve years old. Had he survived the wilderness and hunters? How she would love to see him. The only one that accepted her as she was and expected nothing except love and understanding in return. Her protector from nature’s unexpected dangers.

Are you out there, Sasha? Do you even remember me? Will you come to me?
She looked around, hunting for a glimpse of him. He wouldn’t approach the cabin. Hoping she would spot his tawny coat somewhere in the tree line, she whistled softly the three notes she always used to call him. She repeated it twice more, but he did not appear. A feeling of sadness overwhelmed her. She couldn’t lose the only one she considered a true friend.

Suddenly alert, she listened and could hear the rumble of a heavy engine. It seemed to be heading straight for the cabin.

“No! They can’t find me here,” she exclaimed, hurrying back to the kitchen as fast as her leg would let her. Quickly she grabbed her things and stuffed them in her pack, adding a couple dry trail meals and bandages. She wiped down the sink and counter, removing most traces of blood. Then she shrugged on her parka and zipped it tight. Checking the closet by the back door, she found a rifle and several pairs of snowshoes and skis. She smiled as she grabbed what she needed, hefted her backpack, and went out the back door.

Thank you, Grandfather Two Feathers, for your training.
This should buy me some time to get to the cave, she thought as she sat on the step and strapped on the snowshoes. She lashed the rifle across the top of her pack and swung it up onto her back. Using the ski pole as a cane, she started off for the trees, keeping the cabin between her and the trail the snow machine would be traveling.

Soon Mac stopped the Snowcat in front of the cabin. Both men got out to scan the area.

“There’s the wreck,” said Mac, starting toward the debris.

“Looks like one made it out all right,” called Two Feathers. “There’s tracks leading into the cabin. I’ll check it out.”

“Be careful. No telling who it is or what condition he’s in,” Mac yelled back. He hurried to the plane, noting the tracks leading away, the left leg a more dragging than stepping sign. Easing up to the door, he saw the patch of blood and reached down to brush away the snow that partially covered it. He climbed aboard and breathed easier when he realized there was no one else there. It took him only a minute to assess the interior.

He found blood smears on the pilot’s harness, along the side of the pilot’s seat between it and the copilot’s, and on the floor in front of the passenger seat near the door. He checked the suitcase still strapped into the other passenger seat. Grabbing it to take with him, he snapped around at the crackle and hiss he heard from the cockpit. Then he saw the wisps of smoke coming from under the panel and the odor of burnt wiring reached him. The creak of the metal framework of the windshield spurred him into action.

Exiting the plane, he swung the suitcase up on his shoulder and started for the cabin. As he passed the tail section, he checked the tail number. It seemed familiar.
N516SB. I’ve seen that around this area before. Well, let’s see what the pilot has to say.
He dropped the suitcase in the Snowcat and made his way into the cabin. Two Feathers was checking the stove in the kitchen.

“I’ve checked the rest of the cabin. No sign of him. He had to be injured. Several pieces are missing from the trauma kit. There’s some blood along the front of the counter by the sink,” the older man informed him. “Snowshoe tracks are coming to the back door. And by the looks of the fire, he can’t have been gone long.”

Mac checked the tracks through the window, then opened the closet beside the door.
“Your bear paws and the 30-06 are missing. Also one of the ski poles.” He went outside, crouched down, and inspected the snowshoe tracks. He came back with a grim expression. “This guy is good. He evidently doesn’t want to be found. The snowshoes were strapped on backward and it looks like he’s using the ski pole as support.”

“He must have heard us coming. At least he had a hot meal before he left. How far can he get on a can of soup and a cup of tea? Looks like he was cleaning up after himself, but we interrupted him.”

“Bring the cat around and follow me. There was no sign of anyone else in the plane. So we’re after only one person. I’m going to follow that snowshoe trail and see where it takes us. He can’t have much of a head start and the injured leg will slow him down.” Mac grabbed a pair of snowshoes from the closet and headed out the back door.

He covered the ground at a swift, steady pace until he came to the top of a slope that ended at a small, shallow creek at the bottom. There he stopped for a closer inspection of the tracks. They proceeded down the hill to the creek and disappeared. He followed a few paces, then crouched for a closer look. Smiling, he approached the Snowcat.

“Either he’s getting weak or just plain sloppy,” Mac told Two Feathers. “He’s doubled back on his own tracks with the shoes on the right way. But he continued to use the ski pole in his left hand. The tracks veer off up the mountain. He attempted to brush them out, but not very successfully. It seems like he knows this area. I think I know where he’s headed. The cave behind the waterfall. He could hide out there indefinitely. Evidently he has winter survivor skills. Maybe could be military?”

“Hop in. Save your strength in case we need to take him down.” Slowly they made their way up the mountain, Mac watching out the side window for any deviation in the trail. It wasn’t long before they pulled up beside the waterfall and exited the machine.

“He’s in there,” Mac said. “Stuck some brush in the snow to hide the entrance to the ledge behind the falls. None ever grew there that I knew of.”

“The noise from the falls should have covered our approach. How you want to handle this?”

“Slow and easy. Remember he has one of your rifles. We don’t want to spook him.” Suddenly a loud scream rent the air. Both heads whipped around to face the large tawny cat crouching on a ledge to their right. It was a warning, not the precursor of an attack. The scream was followed by a series of chirps and whistles, ending in a cautionary growl.

“Damn! We should have brought one of the other rifles,” said Mac. “He may be drawn by the smell of blood.”

“No. I think I know who our pilot may be.” Two Feathers smiled. Turning to the big cougar, he said, “Not to worry, big fella. No one is going to get hurt.” Then he strode forward behind the wall of water.

Mac followed, walking carefully over the ice encrusted ledge. They entered the large cavern. In the center, a fire burned in a circle of stones. A backpack leaned against the side. Beside it were the snowshoes and ski pole, but no human.

“He’s certainly made himself at home. But where is he? He wouldn’t be out hunting his supper knowing we’re looking for him. And snowshoes are here,” said Mac, scanning the cavern. A shuffling sound brought his attention to the back of the chamber. A woman eased in around the corner, leaning heavily against the wall for support, the rifle at the ready braced on her right hip.

“What do you want?” she asked weariness evident in her voice and posture.

“You the pilot of that downed plane?” asked Mac. She nodded. He noticed she kept only her right profile toward them, the bangs and her straight, black, shoulder length hair hiding the rest of her face. “We know you were injured and we’re here to help.”

“I’m fine. A couple days rest and I’ll be gone. You’ll never know I’ve been here,” she answered, her words slurring. Mac moved a few steps closer. Two Feathers stealthily stepped a couple paces further to his right. She didn’t seem aware of their movements.

“Who are you?” asked Mac softly, taking a couple more steps.

“Susan Brown.”

“Where are you from?”

“Seattle.”

“Where were you headed?”

“Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, according to the flight plan I filed.”

“A bit off course, weren’t you? Whitehorse is north. You were flying south.”

“Snowstorm,” was all she mumbled before her knees started to buckle and her eyes closed. Mac jumped and caught her, grabbing the rifle from her now limp fingers. He laid her gently on the ground. As he rolled her to her back, the hair fell away from her face.

“Holy shit! She must have hit hard when she crashed.”

Two Feathers knelt beside her and lightly ran his finger over the question mark laceration that ran from the middle of her forehead down around her left eye and over her cheek to almost the corner of her mouth. “That’s not from the plane crash. It’s been stitched. At least a couple days old. The accident opened this section on her cheek.”

“That wound isn’t big enough to account for the amount of blood I saw at the plane. Or for what supplies she used from the kit at the cabin.” Mac stared at the disfigured face. Absently he ran his finger over his own scar. “Have you seen her around here? I don’t remember a Susan Brown in any of your survival schools, unless it was while I was overseas.”

“I never had a black haired, violet eyed Susan Brown in any of the camps. That’s not who this lady is. Give me your penlight.” Gently he opened one eye and shining the light into it, removed a contact lens and held it out on his fingertip. “There’s your violet eyes.”

Lifting her head slightly, he peeled off the black wig to reveal a head of short, ash blonde hair. Then he unzipped her jacket and opened her shirt to reveal the bandages on her left shoulder and side.

“What the hell?” exclaimed Mac.

“That’s what she’s been through, Mac. You recognize Sage Burnett? I knew who we would find as soon as the cougar showed up out there. Remember? Twelve years ago I told you the cougar was her spirit animal. The only time mountain lions were around was when she was at the ranch. Do you remember that lonely, lost little twelve year old?”

“I never forgot her, Grandfather. When she found out I was being deployed to the DMZ in Korea, she gave me the picture of her on Little Bit that Mom had taken. It was her favorite picture, but she wanted me to have it, to remind me of the good times when things got bad. I’ve carried it with me wherever I was sent. Right now it’s in my uniform pocket. Along with the one of her at sixteen, dressed up for the dance we held to celebrate the end of survival camp. Mom had snapped a couple pictures of her and I swiped one.”

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you, son?”

“I probably always will be. What difference does it make? She’s engaged to that senator or governor wannabe in San Francisco. Besides, what could she see in me now?”

“Let’s get her back to the house where we can take proper care of her. You take her and I’ll collect the rest of her stuff.”

Treading carefully along the icy ledge out, Mac carrying Sage, his foot slipped over the edge, throwing him toward the falls. Two Feathers grabbed him by the back of his jacket and pulled him toward the granite wall, before the weight of the falling water could catch him and drag him over the edge.

Regaining his feet, Mac sidled his way to the entrance. As he stepped outside, the big cat blocked his way to the Snowcat. Two Feathers moved in front of Mac and spoke quietly to the animal.

“She will be all right. We are taking her home where we can care for her. She is as important to us as she is to you. But you need to let us pass. The quicker we get her there, the better off she’ll be.” With a low-pitched combination purr and growl, and a flick of his tail, the cougar moved a short distance away, yet continued to watch them.

“Get out her sleeping bag,” said Mac upon reaching the machine. “We can wrap her in that for extra warmth on the trip down. You ride with her in the back.”

“Don’t you want to be with her?”

“I don’t want to let go of her. You’re the shaman, the one better qualified to monitor her. I’m the speed demon. The one to take us the fastest route over rough terrain and still get us there safely.”

Once they had Sage wrapped and secured in back, Mac jumped into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine. He took a long look at the cougar still watching them and, snapping him a salute, put the Snowcat in motion.

“That was one darn big cat. I bet he was a good eight feet nose to tail and weighed about two hundred pounds. Did you see his eyes? I swear I could see worry there,” commented Mac.

“Probably,” the old man answered. “The same as the wolf would be if it were you.” He looked tenderly down at the unconscious young lady, his knuckles gliding lightly over her cheek until his fingers stopped to check the pulse beat in her throat.

Mac watched him in the rear view mirror. “You love her, too, Grandfather.”

“As I would a granddaughter. I am not in love with her as you are. I was touched by her the first year she came to survival camp. Naturally, I had checked her background like we do all enrollees. It worried me that she came from a rich family, yet her parents never checked out the camp. The only contact I had with them was the check signed by her father. I was hoping she wasn’t just another spoiled brat expecting to be treated like a princess.”

“Far from it. Just the opposite.” Mac chuckled. “She was the youngest camper that summer, yet she ran rings around the older kids. I remember her dogging me everywhere, wanting to know the ins and outs of everything.”

“And what did that get her?”

“Yeah.” Mac winced. “Some of the fifteen to eighteen year olds teasing her that she had a crush on me, then saying so to me in front of her. She ended up running away from us and stayed missing for three days. She had certainly digested everything we taught her. None of the men could find her.”

“And what did we see that third day before you went after her?”

“She was standing on a huge rock formation looking toward the ranch buildings, her hand on the head of the cougar sitting beside her. I thought Dad would have heart failure. It gave me some uneasy moments. I think that’s when I decided to go after her.”

“And what did I tell you?”

“Not to worry. She would come to no harm. She and I sat and talked a while and on the ride back. I think that’s when I started to love her, like a brother. Later it changed to a more adult consideration.”

“There was something special about that child. She was sent to us for a reason.”

“I believe her original plan was to learn survival techniques so she could disappear. She felt she wasn’t loved by her parents or even wanted by them. It was up to us to teach her no person is an island. There is love for everyone in the world, if we’re willing to open our hearts.”

“Boyd and Marla did a lot of nurturing with her. Not only that first year, but each year after. The three years you were gone during the summers, she returned for the camps. It was like this was the only place she could feel she belonged.”

“Then I had to bust her bubble. I never told you or Mom and Dad about the night of the dance. She sought me out and basically offered herself to me. I was already half in love with her and her actions made me angry. I wanted to teach her a lesson. Not to play with fire. But I was the one who got burned and I hurt her badly. I never let it get past the kissing stage, yet my rejection was very abrupt. I didn’t let her down easy. I was angry with myself for how far it almost went. She was only sixteen. I was twenty-six, a Marine, about to be sent to Iraq.”