“You going to leave it running?” Cam asked.
“Yep,” White Eye said. “Runs good, but sometimes she don’t start so good.”
Cam followed in White Eye’s tracks as they set off for the stand of pines about two hundred yards away. Mercifully, there was no wind, so the temperature didn’t seem that bad. The sound of their boots crunching through the snow filled the night air as they approached the pine stand. White Eye walked right into the pines, which looked a lot like the Leyland cypress Cam had planted around his house, with dense branches reaching all the way down into the snow. Cam followed him in, pushing a little to keep up as the other man’s figure disappeared into the mass of greenery. They’d penetrated about sixty feet when Cam broke into a small clearing. White Eye was waiting for him.
“Right here,” he said, and Cam looked around, not sure of what was coming next.
“What are we doing?” Cam asked.
“Gonna show you somethin’ about trackin’ a big animal out here in the real woods,” he said. “You wait here. I’m gonna go back, move that vehicle back into that little pass, and then I’m gonna come back through these here pines on foot. Not the same way we come in, okay? I want you to sing out when you hear me comin’.”
“That’ll be never,” Cam pointed out. “This soft snow and everything.”
White Eye shook his head, stepping around in the clearing, the crunching sound evident. “Got us ice crust in here,” he said. “Even so, I’m gonna come back in here and tap you on the shoulder ’fore you hear a fuckin’ thing.”
“And why are we doing this?”
“Cause you don’t understand how good I am at this shit,” the old man said. “You gotta ’preciate how hard this is ’fore I take you to see a real panther.”
Cam looked at him. “That’s where we’re going? To see a wild mountain lion?”
“You wanted to know what cat dancin’s all about, right? It’s about lookin’ a wild one in the face, so that’s what I’m gonna show you, mister. But first, I gotta see if you got any wood sense whatsoever. You stay here in this clearin’, and don’t go wanderin’ off.”
White Eye turned on his heel and disappeared back through the pine branches, leaving Cam to watch his own breath condense into tiny ice crystals in front of his face. He waited for a minute, trying to hear the other man’s progress through the pines, but now he heard absolutely nothing. Of course, White Eye might have stopped three feet into the dense pines to see what Cam would do, so Cam did nothing for a couple of minutes but move to the center of the clearing. It was twenty feet on every side to the nearest pine tree, so there was no way in hell that guy could come out of the pines and tap him on the shoulder without Cam seeing him first.
Then he heard the Bronco’s engine rev up in the distance and the sounds of the vehicle turning around. Based on the sound, which was difficult to locate through all the greenery, the Bronco was indeed going back to the entrance to the meadow, although it seemed to be taking an awfully long time. He fished the. 45 out of his pocket and fed the three bullets into it, checking the action to make sure everything was working. The metal was cold, and the cylinder turned sluggishly, but it did turn, and that was all that counted. He put it back into the pocket with a button flap on it and secured it. He listened for the Bronco, thought he could still hear it. It seemed a long way off.
Has that crazy old bastard left me out here? he wondered. He looked up at the sky for any signs of snow, but it was clear as a bell and filled with a million enormous stars. He pushed up the front of the watch cap and listened hard. He thought he could still hear the Bronco, but it could also have been his imagination. But clearly, White Eye had gone beyond the edge of the meadow. He left his ears uncovered, the better to hear the man coming back. And he would hear him, because the air was so still he could hear the fabric of his coat rising and falling with his own breathing. His right hand unconsciously patted the lump in his coat pocket.
Maybe I should move out of the clearing, get myself into the dense pines, instead of sitting out here in the middle, waiting to be tagged, he thought. But then he realized there was no way to do that without leaving a trail of footprints, which would point right at him. Well then, maybe-He stopped thinking and listened. He’d heard something out there.
He cupped his hands behind his ears and slowly turned his head like a radar antenna, trying to focus on that sound. Not footsteps, not the Bronco, something else. Then he heard it again. A low cough, overlaid with something else, something deeper. Coming from-where? There was absolutely no way to tell. And it was a sound he’d heard before. But where? Recently, he knew. And then he knew what it was.
Night-Night.
He’d forgotten all about White Eye’s panther, who had spent the last few hours trotting along behind Mitchell’s vehicle. Working up an appetite? Son of a bitch!
He heard another sound but couldn’t make it out. Whatever it was, it sounded closer. He decided not to hang around in the clearing anymore, not if that damned cat was coming. He thought frantically about which way to go. He and White Eye had come in from the meadow, and their tracks would still be visible. In the other direction, up the slope, were trees-real trees, with big strong branches. He stood no chance against the cat if it could catch him in this tangle of pines. But up a tree, with a. 45? Much better odds.
If he could get there.
He put his back to their original tracks and plunged into the dense pines, pushing his way through them for about fifty feet and then stopping. He turned around to see if he’d been going in a straight line, but the pines immediately blocked his view. He was pretty sure he was going straight, but it was very difficult to tell in the woods. He listened for sounds of the cat but heard nothing but his own labored breathing.
Go, he thought. Now.
He turned again in what he thought was the direction of the big trees and started pushing again, ignoring the sharp stings of needles on his face. He knew he was making some noise, but he no longer cared. He had to get out of this maze of green branches. It felt like the damned trees were closing in on him, resisting his efforts to escape, even as his brain told him to stop that shit.
After three minutes of effort, he stopped to listen again, this time for more than just a few seconds. He tried to slow his breathing. He wondered what the altitude was up here, then remembered his ears popping more than once on the way up. He should have come out of the grove by now.
Another cough.
That way. Closer.
Cam looked down at his feet to establish his direction, and he felt his face redden when he saw the two sets of tracks. He was standing in two sets of tracks. He’d gone in a goddamned circle. He felt sweat on his forehead, despite the freezing air. Now what?
Climb a tree. Climb up and see which way was out. But that wouldn’t work. The pines would simply bend over the moment he got halfway up.
The stars. Use the stars. Pick a star and keep it in front of you. But which goddamned way?
Any damned way. Any straight line, but he had to get out of this jungle. Even if it brought him out in the meadow, he could see again. But so could the cat.
The fucking cat doesn’t have to see, he realized. It knows where you are.
Then he realized his left foot was higher than his right foot. He was standing on a slope.
Uphill. The oak trees were above the pine grove. Go uphill.
Trying desperately not to panic, he turned in the direction he thought was uphill and began to push through in earnest now, not even trying to be quiet anymore. Just when he was about to give up and try navigating by the stars, he broke out of the pine grove, right in front of the blessed oak trees.