Wilderness Pursuit Page 8

  She nodded and they lapsed into silence, surrounded by the noises of the woods at night. Insects chirped and buzzed, their constant serenade occasionally punctuated by an owl’s hoot or the rustling of leaves overhead. Sam might have found it peaceful—and he usually did—but with every crackle and snap in the brush, his muscles tensed. Did God even care that they’d been trapped like this? He’d ask for help if he thought it mattered, but he had a feeling that eventually God was going to get frustrated that the only time Sam ever bothered to talk to Him was when he needed help.

  Whispering from Kara caught his attention. Was she praying? He opened his mouth to ask her about it when the glint of an object on the ground caught his eye. He blinked, certain he’d been seeing things, but it happened again. A cloud must have moved overhead, allowing the light to shine down and illuminate—

  “My trowel!” Kara’s head snapped up and she looked from the object to him. Of course she’d noticed it. “Sam, that’s my trowel. Remember how I thought it must have fallen off my belt when they tied us up and threw us in the trailer? That’s it right there, about three feet away. There’s light on it right now.”

  “I see it, I see it. But I’m not sure how that’s going to help us.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Have you ever touched an archaeologist’s trowel? I’m going to guess not. It’d be like someone putting hands on your sidearm when you’re in uniform. Well, maybe not that extreme, but you get the idea. They’re often sharp. I keep the sides of mine sharpened, with one side sharper than the other to allow me to cut clean balks—look, the why doesn’t matter, what’s important is that there is a sharp edge on that thing.”

  He tried not to let hope take too firm a foothold, but the truth was that Kara had gotten them out of the first predicament with her knowledge, so he had every reason to trust her on this, too. She was intelligent and beautiful, a fact as true now as it ever was all those years ago. “We can’t reach it. These ropes are so tight that I literally can’t move.” He tried wiggling again but couldn’t budge. “But they used the same ropes across both of us, and I’m a lot bigger than you.”

  Kara pressed her shoulders back and then lurched against the bindings. To Sam’s delight, the ropes that encircled them allowed her about a centimeter or so of movement, thanks to their difference in size. “If I can just slide down a bit, I might be able to drag that stick over with my feet. I can use it to catch the edge of the trowel and push it close enough to catch that with my feet, too, then drag it up to our hands...”

  As she began to shift against the bindings, twisting and contorting for each millimeter, Sam finally heard the very thing they’d feared—the sound of snuffling. And it was close, coming closer. A branch snapped nearby.

  For the first time since this ordeal had begun, he felt deeply and truly afraid. Humans, he was equipped to deal with. But bears? You didn’t win a fight with a bear. You either evaded or lost.

  And it sounded like they were about to experience the latter.

  * * *

  “I’ve got it. Sam, I’ve got it.” Kara’s heart felt as though it was vibrating against her insides. Her entire body shivered as the stick between her feet caught the edge of the trowel. She began to drag the objects closer. As long as she didn’t drop the stick, the trowel didn’t hit a rock, or her shaking limbs didn’t accidentally flick either tool out of reach...

  “You can do this. I believe in you.” Sam’s smooth, mellow voice cut through her anxiety and urged her to breathe. One inhale after another. Retrieving the trowel required controlled movements, from her lungs to the tips of her toes. She centered her focus, dug deep and concentrated on each breath as she listened to Sam’s grounding words. “I know I haven’t always had the most faith in your plans, but let’s face it. You know what you’re doing.”

  She might have laughed if the situation wasn’t so serious. “I don’t, though. I just pretend to. I’m really just making this all up as I go along.” The trowel had almost come within reach of their feet. “I act like I have it all together, but I don’t. Clearly, I don’t.”

  “I already told you, you can’t blame yourself for this.”

  A branch snapped.

  Kara jumped in alarm. Her muscles tensed and twitched, and her spirits plummeted as the trowel flipped end over end, spinning away—right toward Sam’s outstretched legs.

  “I’ve got it,” he said, but all trace of calm had disappeared from his voice. “And yes, I heard it, too. We don’t have much time.”

  He dragged the trowel toward them. The moment her fingers touched the smooth, cylindrical handle, she felt it—a surge of confidence. The ability to take a normal breath without shaking. “Hold still,” she told Sam. “I’ll cut your arms free first.”

  She sawed at their shared bindings, trying hard to not pay attention to the snuffling in the bushes nearby. She anticipated that at any moment, a furry head would emerge from the brush, fangs flashing in the darkness. Once that happened, it would be too late. Unlike black bears, grizzlies weren’t the kind of animal a person came out of an encounter with unscathed. Facing down a grizzly meant taking your life into your hands and offering it to the beast on a silver platter.

  They could not be here when a grizzly broke through those bushes.

  Her hands and wrists burned from effort as she sawed on the ropes, and she prayed that her strength wouldn’t give out before she’d finished the job.

  Sam’s fingers suddenly found hers. His hand covered her wrist and she flinched, gasping in surprise. “Kara,” he said, slipping the trowel from her grip. “Breathe. You did it.”

  She waited as he pulled off the ropes, tossed them aside, then stood and offered her his hand. She took it and rose before coming to her senses and withdrawing her hand from his. “Now we run?”

  He put his finger to his lips, listened—and then pointed off to the far end of the dig site. “We should move away from this clearing. Slow movements only. We want to attract as little attention as possible,” he whispered. “Then we run.”

  Side by side, they tiptoed to the edge of the site, then slipped into the brush. She couldn’t hear the snuffling anymore, but she also couldn’t help but look back over her shoulder. She nearly screamed, but clapped both hands over her mouth just in time. Yellow eyes gleamed in the moonlight and a giant dark shape shuffled about in the space where they’d been only moments before.

  “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered.

  “We’re not done yet. Your turn to lead the way in the dark—are you sure you’re up for it?”

  She sighed and searched their surroundings for a hint, a landmark that would assure her she knew where to guide them. “It’s not like we have another choice.”

  Sam’s hand covered hers and squeezed as they began walking.

  “Please don’t do that,” she said.

  He pulled away. “Sorry.” She heard the hurt in his voice and realized her words had come out wrong.

  “No, it’s not... I’m not upset with you. You’re trying to help. What I mean is, I know it’s part of your job and your training to offer comfort in dire circumstances, but you don’t need to do that for me. I’m fine. And I know it’s probably hard, considering how much you hate me.”

  When he didn’t respond, she glanced at him in the darkness but couldn’t read his expression. “I don’t hate you,” he finally said. His voice was soft and low. “You hurt me, Kara. I won’t deny that. But that was a long time ago, and I don’t hate you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. Hate is a strong word that I don’t use lightly.”

  He didn’t hate her? “You have every right to, and you don’t have to spare my feelings just because we’re in a life-or-death situation. I can take it, and I deserve it.”

  “Deserve it? Kara, when we’re back in civilization, we’re going to have a long talk about what each other deserves. Don’t make yourself into the enemy. I k
now you were just as upset with me for disrespecting your desire to follow the dreams you had for your life. And now, as an adult, I can look back and see that you were only trying to help me follow mine, but I was too irresponsible and disorganized to understand that. I’m the youngest of three boys, and both Leo and Aaron knew exactly what they wanted to do. I didn’t, or so I thought. You know what youngest children are like—always needing to rebel against what everyone else is doing.”

  Kara was surprised to find that she did understand. She had a younger brother of her own, and he’d gone a totally separate route from her. As an archaeologist, she enjoyed methodology, critical thinking and getting her hands dirty. Her parents hadn’t loved her career choice at first—they’d have preferred her to become a doctor or a lawyer—but she’d managed to convince them that archaeology was science-based enough to be considered a worthy profession in their eyes. Her younger brother, on the other hand, had decided to pursue a career as an independent musician in a rock band based in Seoul. Yes, her parents had been delighted that their son had actually learned Korean—not something she could say she’d spent much time on—but even that had been an act of rebellion from her brother, since he’d learned it only for the sake of writing song lyrics. He intentionally refused to speak it in person with her parents or other relatives.

  “You’re right,” she murmured into the darkness. “I do get it.”

  His hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed, and she froze—but so did he, as though he’d just realized that he’d done exactly what she told him he didn’t need to do.

  “Sorry again.” He sighed.

  Kara couldn’t help but laugh this time. “Listen to the two of us. If anyone ever doubted that we’re Canadian, they’d only need to hear us talk for five minutes. We can’t stop apologizing to each other.”

  “Truce? No more apologies until our lives stop being in danger?” In the moonlight, she saw Sam’s hand extend toward her. She accepted it and shook once, firmly.

  “Truce.”

  But as his hand slipped from hers, she began to wonder whether a truce was all she wanted. Why did she care so much how he felt about her?

  Why did her heart long for his forgiveness...and for his touch to be more than an occupational obligation?

  SEVEN

  Sam followed Kara’s footsteps as they trudged through the forest in darkness, their path lit only by the moon and stars overhead. Kara often stopped to check her orientation with the sky and the plant life around them, and he didn’t doubt that she was navigating by the stars’ position. He’d be doing the same if he’d had a chance to watch their journey through the forest from trailer to dig site.

  The air had grown much colder as the night deepened, but because they’d ridden out to the dig site early that morning, they’d been dressed in warm, comfortable clothing that was currently serving them well—temperature-wise, anyway. They could have done without the globs of food and peanut butter all over their clothes, but at least those didn’t reduce the effectiveness of the garments at keeping them from shivering because of the drop in temperature. Not yet, that was, though he couldn’t shake his worry for the horses. They’d likely manage just fine without blankets for a single night, but they’d be uncomfortable and confused, a thought that made his blood simmer with anger. Brenik was not simply a horse, he was a friend, and the idea of his friend shivering in the cold made him angry enough to push through the headache and screaming muscles to reach him. Kara had to be feeling the strain of the day as well, but she hadn’t complained even once.

  She had incredible stamina and fortitude that he couldn’t help but marvel at, and he felt an odd sort of happiness that she’d actually been able to achieve the dreams she’d carried for all the years they’d known each other. Not that he’d ever doubted her—he just never thought he’d have the chance to see her aspirations come to fruition. Being an archaeologist suited her, and he saw now why she’d been so in love with this career path—more in love with it than with him, he’d thought, and when they were younger he hadn’t understood it. Now, he couldn’t see her doing anything else.

  But was he ready to forgive her? He wasn’t sure yet. And besides, what would come of it? It wasn’t as though they’d see each other again after the situation with Gaida Industries got resolved. Even friendship seemed like a stretch, so there was no way she’d want to up and resume their relationship from all those years ago. She had a future at the University of British Columbia in the south of the province, an established life there, and he had a purpose and a calling here in the north at Fort Mason. Would he be willing to give that up? Would she?

  And did she even have residual feelings for him? He was getting ahead of himself again.

  It’s not worth thinking about, he scolded himself. The cuts are too deep, the differences in our lives too great.

  “I think we’re almost there,” she said, stopping suddenly. He paused and joined her as she crouched, pushing aside a swath of tall grass. “Hear that? It sounds like guys yelling, and that looks like light from a trailer. I think we’ve reached it, unless I’ve taken us completely off course and this is a different place.”

  Sam hoped that wasn’t the case. “There are definitely other old hunting lodges and trailers around these parts. Most are no longer used, thanks to changes in government regulations on hunting in national parks—and there are lots of national parks dotted around the landscape up here, but it didn’t used to be that way. So while there are some old cabins and such, there aren’t many and they’re far and few between. But I’m not going to say it’s impossible we’ve found a different one. Let’s try to get a little closer.”

  They stayed low to the ground as they crept toward the building—and while Sam felt a burst of relief when he recognized the makeshift garage structure, another concern wormed its way back into his stomach. Both he and Kara still smelled like food, and they’d been moving exceptionally slow so as to not attract attention from human enemies. This meant that they were once again at risk of being tracked down by a grizzly. But if they started making tons of noise and stomping around, well...maybe the foreman and his goons would give up on their efforts to deflect blame from Gaida Industries and simply shoot him and Kara out of frustration. He supposed the company could always take a page out of Kara’s idea book and bury their bodies farther north. It could take weeks or months or even years before anyone found them, depending on how well the team covered their tracks—but it wasn’t as foolproof a plan as the bear attack. Nobody looked too closely at those.

  On the other hand, frustration and anger made people irrational, and the last thing Sam wanted was to invite capricious behavior from men bearing illegal weapons.

  “Do you think the horses have caught your scent yet?” Kara whispered over her shoulder. “Will they make noise?”

  Sam sighed. “I’m hoping that they’re calmer now or tired out from the day. My plan is to speak softly on approach to encourage them to respond in kind.”

  Kara nodded. “Got it. Then I guess you should take the lead from here on out.”

  He slipped in front of her and they continued toward the trailer, though their route had taken them to the far side of the trailer, on the opposite end from the horses. They were going to have to circle the building, but Sam didn’t want to risk someone looking out the window and seeing movement in the shadows. He considered using the same route across the back as they had during their earlier escape from the locked room, but as they drew alongside the far end, Sam noticed that the kitchen window on the front of the trailer was open—and that a certain, familiar object had been placed on the ledge. He tapped Kara’s arm and pointed.

  “That’s my camera!” she gasped. “How conceited are they, leaving it out like that?”

  “They have no reason to believe that anyone else would be up here or would even care. Like I said, I don’t know the location of all the old trailers and lodges
in this area, and I can guarantee my brothers don’t, either. These guys think they’ve gotten away with murder. Literally.” His stomach churned with anger. “And if we don’t get that camera back, they might get away with destroying a precious part of history, too.”

  Kara grabbed his arm and stared at him. “No, Sam. We can’t risk it. How would we get it back without getting caught? We’re not going to waltz in and ask for it.”

  “I don’t know, but we have to try. You know what our justice system is like. When we get back to town and file a report, I’m sure my word will be trusted on the kidnapping and attempted murder—and illegal firearms—but I can’t speak to the destruction at the dig site. You’re the expert, but you’ll need proof. Wouldn’t you like to make sure that they go down for all the damage they’ve done? To set a precedent so that no other company attempts this type of massive deception? A country’s heritage is so important to its people, and I won’t see a First Nations site disrespected in this way. You said yourself there’s a human burial at the site, or there was. That’s someone’s ancestor, someone’s mother or father or child. It’s my duty to protect and serve this country, and that includes this nation’s heritage.”

  Kara’s eyes widened as he spoke. “Oh! That’s not what I expected you to say. But you’re right.”

  Her surprise stung. “Do you think so little of me?”

  “No, of course not. It’s just... I’ve never heard you talk like that before. And I agree with the why, I’m just stumped on the how.”

  He gritted his teeth and stared at the window, willing a solution to come to him. Nothing did, aside from the obvious, and the obvious would most certainly fail. But not to try would be an even worse failure, wouldn’t it? “Here’s the plan. We’re going to grab the camera off that ledge and then we’re going to ride the horses away from here as fast and as safely as we can. Simple, nothing fancy. If you still believe in God, now would be the time to start praying.”