Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [58]
“I don’t think you should have that,” Kasey said, pulling the rifle out of his hands.
“The hell.”
“I mean it.” Kasey held his hand out until Scooter dropped the cartridge into his palm.
“Here they come,” said Bloomquist. “They’re coming.”
They watched as Jennifer and Fred climbed the final rock escarpment to the lookout point, both breathing heavily as they reached the landing. Scooter glanced down and saw that Chuck’s body hadn’t budged since the last time he looked. Jennifer’s eyes were red and swollen and wet, though her shorts had dried in the hot wind. She had a different look and demeanor, Scooter thought. She’d gone down in a daze, but now all he saw was fury. Fred was even angrier.
“Well?” Bloomquist asked.
Jennifer wiped her eyes with the back of one hand. “They murdered Chuck. Are the cops on the way?”
“There won’t be any police,” said Kasey. “Not for a while. Our phones are on the fritz, and the first gate is jammed.”
“We’re not getting out. None of us,” said Perry, stepping from foot to foot. “They’ve got us trapped.”
“What?”
“It’s true,” said Kasey. “They fixed the gate so we can’t get through.”
“We could drive as far as the gate and walk,” Jennifer said.
“Sure,” said Scooter. “What is it? Ten miles from there to North Bend? Fifteen?”
“At least we’ve got guns,” said Fred, grabbing the rifle out of Kasey’s hands and walking toward camp. “We can protect ourselves.”
A few minutes later in camp, Scooter heard somebody calling out to them from the main road. After Ryan peeked over the top of a tent and announced that it was one of the cyclists, the six of them gathered behind Kasey’s Porsche to talk it over. “They’re here,” said Bloomquist, even though it appeared only one man had come down the hill.
“Let’s blast the fucker,” said Fred, shaking his rifle.
“What if he’s not the one who killed your brother?” Kasey cautioned.
“It was Polanski,” said Scooter. “Polanski killed him. I was there.”
“With the help of the retard,” added Kasey.
Perry spoke up. “We need to get the police out here.”
“Hey, you guys,” yelled the cyclist. “Let’s talk. It’s me, Morse. At a time like this, we need to open our lines of communication.”
“It’s a trick,” said Fred.
“Like screwing with the gate,” added Scooter. “They’re full of tricks.”
“So what are we going to do?” asked Bloomquist.
“Let’s go out and talk,” said Kasey. “Nice and easy.”
“Keep your eyes peeled for his friends,” said Scooter. “They’re probably up the road with guns.”
“Or hiding in the trees,” said Ryan.
Scooter thought they were starting to sound like kids working themselves into a panic over ghosts.
They walked out to the road warily, Scooter, Kasey, Bloomquist, and, hanging back several yards, Jennifer. Just as Scooter might have predicted, that little chickenshit Perry hid behind Fred, who was standing on the far side of the Land Rover, holding the rifle so that it couldn’t be seen from the road.
They hadn’t spoken to any of the cyclists since it happened, and now here was one virtually at their front door. Morse was one of the older bikers who’d spent the past evening talking money with Kasey and Bloomquist. Scooter, who’d felt a need to keep his eye on Polanski and Nadine all evening, barely remembered him.
“What the fuck do you want?” Scooter asked.
25
“What the hell’s going on?” Stephens asked. “What were those shots?”
Muldaur and Zak had chased Scooter through the camp but were back now and visibly shaken. Zak looked at Muldaur, conscious that neither of them wanted to talk about what had just happened.
“Where’s the big guy?” Giancarlo asked. “Two of them went out to see you. Where’s the other guy?”
Muldaur took out his fake teeth and doffed his helmet. “At the bottom of the mountain.”
“What? He found a trail down there?”
“Finnigan fell,” Zak said.
“Which Finnigan?” asked Morse.
“The one with the girlfriend. Chuck.”
“Prince Valiant?” said Stephens. “With the bad haircut? How far