Corey walked toward the chopper, opened the passenger door and climbed in. Montgomery followed and peered in before the door closed. “Jack, we don’t have the weather going for us right now. Maybe later?”
“Let’s get moving,” Corey said. He spoke with an eerie calmness. “On the double.”
“Sorry, but I can’t go up for any recon this afternoon.”
“I don’t want you to do any recon, shithead. I just want you to take me out over the western border. Take a quick look and we can return. Let’s get flying. That’s an order.”
While Corey entered through the passenger side, Montgomery placed his hand against the cabin door and stared down at the ground. He had the right to refuse orders from anyone when inclement weather loomed.
Corey pounded on the window.
Montgomery yanked open the door and hopped into his seat behind the controls. He put on the headset and checked gauges on the panel, then spoke into the mic. “Gardiner traffic, this is N7785. National Park Service. Lifting off southwest helipad, exiting traffic pattern to the south. Monitoring one twenty-one five, Gardiner.”
Firmly gripping the collective and the stick, he lifted off. Corey sat strapped in, composed and staring straight ahead as if in a trance. Montgomery glimpsed around at the rifle propped up behind the seat. Hopefully, the damn safety was on.
They flew south to Sheepeater Cliff, then turned west to pick up Indian Creek and follow it between Antler Peak and Dome Mountain, staying clear of the 10,000-foot peaks. He was already shifting about in the wind and didn’t need any sudden downdrafts. Keeping south of Echo Peak, he veered to the northwest until he spotted Grayling Creek south of Crowfoot Ridge, then followed the creek toward the Park border at Highway 191, maintaining a heading of due north.
Corey pressed his forehead against the window. Montgomery tightened his grip on the stick and fought the winds blasting across the Gallatin Range.
“Circle back,” Corey said in a low monotone.
When Montgomery brought the chopper around, Corey pointed down at a parking area off the highway. A pickup was parked with a horse trailer attached.
“Let’s explore those trails,” Corey mumbled, barely audible. Montgomery flew low over the treetops for a better view. Not sure which trail was which, he covered several miles along two of them. The third trail followed the Gallatin River, the largest stream in the area.
They both spotted the figures by the Gallatin at the same time. Two hikers were pulling a pack animal and running for cover.
“Good job, ranger!” Corey said. “Take me downstream and find somewhere to land.”
“You want me to land?”
“What did I just say?”
“I have to get you back to headquarters, Jack. You’re my responsibility.”
“I said, set this thing down. Now.”
Montgomery dropped the craft into a narrow clearing close to the riverbank. As soon as they touched down, Corey released his strap and jumped out the open door. He reached behind the passenger’s seat and grabbed the rifle, then strapped it over his shoulder and looked back at Montgomery. “Thanks for the ride. I can handle it from here.”
Montgomery pulled off his headset. “What the hell do you mean?”
“Give me two hours. Then meet me back here.” Corey turned and jogged away.
Montgomery jumped down from the chopper and gave chase. “Hey, Boss! Please…” He grabbed him from behind by the arm.
Corey pivoted around—his face contorted and his fist cocked behind his head—and threw a roundhouse punch straight into Montgomery’s jaw.
The force of the blow knocked him onto the ground and shook off Corey’s hat, sending it tumbling with the wind toward the bank and flying into the river.
“Damn you!” Corey shouted. He turned to watch his hat float away while massaging the knuckles of his right hand. “Now see what you did, asshole.”
Montgomery rubbed the side of his face and tested the movement of his lower jaw. Then he marched toward his boss and rammed his nose into his face. “Look, Jack. Don’t you ever place a hand on me again or I’ll bash your—”
Corey’s underhand punch was direct to the solar plexus. Montgomery reached for his stomach and collapsed. Before he could catch his breath, Corey straddled him like a bronco and squeezed his throat with both hands. Montgomery grabbed Corey’s wrists and shoved, staring into a vacant gaze as if looking into the eyes of a corpse. With all the strength he could gather he hurled Corey back into the dirt and then lay exhausted, struggling to breathe. When he looked up, Corey was aiming the rifle between his eyes.
“Go ahead; do it!” Montgomery screamed. “Shoot me, Jack. Shoot the only guy who’s willing to take up for you no matter the stupid crazy things you do. Try counting the number of people who’ll stand by you when times get tough. Go ahead and shoot. I don’t give a goddamn anymore.”
Corey stood fixed like a statue except for his heaving chest.
“What’s the matter, Jack? You some kind of chicken shit?”
Corey lowered the rifle to his side. “I’m not going to shoot you, idiot. I just want you to shut up. I want everybody to shut up. I know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t need me around anymore then. I’ve had it with being your ‘yes’ man, Jack. You’re dead wrong this time.”
Corey sneered. “Wrong about what?”
“Don’t you see the wolves didn’t work out? There’s at least one killer on the loose, maybe more.”
Corey stared straight through him without responding.
“Listen to me,” Montgomery said. “Hundreds of hikers and fishermen are in the backcountry this weekend. We don’t have a single warning posted. And you let the Boy Scout campout go on as planned! Do you have any idea what’ll happen if there’s an attack on a kid?”
“You don’t have to yell. I can hear you.”
“I know you can hear me. But do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
“Exactly what is it you’re trying to tell me, shithead. What’s your goddamn bottom line?”
“Operation Wolfstock failed, Jack. We didn’t take into account the possibility of bringing a hybrid into the Park—a renegade killer. We screwed up big time.”
Corey’s face turned from anger to disgust. “Get out of here, Montgomery. Fly your chopper away and don’t come back. Don’t ever come back. You’re a fucking waste, just like the others.”
Montgomery massaged his jaw. He’d been there with Corey too many times over the years. When the chief park ranger got into one of his outbursts, it was as if he had submerged himself inside a steel cocoon to fend off the rest of the world. He should follow Corey’s orders and fly away, but his gut told him to ignore his boss’ ranting. The man needed help or else he was going to do something tragically stupid. Something that Montgomery would likely have to pay for, like so damn many times before. Only this time could be so much worse.
“I’m flying over to West Yellowstone, Jack. I’ll fuel up there and wait out the squall. Keep your radio open.” He looked down to see if Corey’s walkie-talkie was still fastened on his belt.
Corey moved quickly away, his rifle strapped over his shoulder.
When Montgomery brought the chopper down at the West Yellowstone airstrip, he hurried into the cover of the hangar and radioed to the ranger on duty at headquarters. He told him he’d dropped off his boss by the Gallatin River.
Yes, it must have been along the Bighorn Pass trail. Of course it was a dumb thing to do, but who the hell could tell Jack Corey that? Once the front passes over and the winds settle down, he’d go back for him. Yes, Corey had his walkie-talkie on.
“We have at least three hours of daylight,” Montgomery said. “That should be—”