“Out,” Tin Man said, holding a flashlight so everyone could see the step down onto the dirt road.
“I see you traded in your semiautomatic for that big-bore bolt-action rifle,” Vernon said to Bob. “I do some hunting myself, and I know that there’s one heck of a gun.”
“What do you hunt?” Bob asked.
“Squirrel mostly,” Vernon said. “You might not think that’s got a high difficulty rating, but they’re devious devils.”
“I mostly hunt bear,” Bob said. He looked over at Tin Man. “He hunts people.”
Tin Man flicked the flashlight beam into the tall grass at the side of the road. Several sets of eyes reflected the light before the animals backed off and retreated into the darkness.
“Enough talk,” Tin Man said. “We let this drag on and it’s going to eat into my recreational time.”
Tin Man moved off the dirt road, onto a rough path that led through the brush. “Follow me and watch where you’re walking. I don’t want anyone to break a leg ahead of time. And don’t even think about wandering off the path, because Bob will shoot you if you so much as stray five inches.”
Riley, Emerson, and Vernon walked single file into the brush, stumbling over branches, struggling to keep themselves upright in spite of their bound hands. Wayan Bagus was having an easier time. No one had noticed he had escaped the zip ties. He kept his hands hidden in the folds of his orange robe.
Vernon was directly behind Tin Man. Wayan Bagus was behind Vernon. Riley was between Wayan Bagus and Emerson. The temperature was in the low forties, but Riley was sweating with the exertion of the forced walk at the high altitude and the fear of what lay ahead. She tripped and went down to one knee. The march stopped while she pulled herself up. She stood tall and they continued walking.
“Wait for it,” Emerson said softly behind her.
She knew he was encouraging her not to lose faith. He was reminding her to stay vigilant for an opportunity to turn things around.
The air was increasingly foul with the smell of sulfur and rot. The moon peeked from behind a cloud. Not enough moonlight to show whatever was beyond the path, but clearly something had died and was decomposing in the inky blackness of the night.
“You got some day-old roadkill out here,” Vernon said.
Tin Man shone his flashlight off to the side of the path, panning the beam across the field. Not far from where they were walking were piles of dead and rotting buffalo, mule deer, and elk. They littered the landscape of rolling scrub grass.
Tin Man inhaled deeply. “The smell of death. Nothing like it.”
Riley was taking shallow breaths. Her stomach rolled with nausea, and sweat dripped off the tip of her nose. “What is this place?” she asked.
“A dumping ground for dead animals,” Bob said.
“It’s not a ‘dumping’ ground,” Tin Man said. “This is sacred ground. Here there’s no rank, there’s no rich or poor, black or white, Christian or Muslim. Here you don’t even have a name. Here you’re either a killer, a scavenger, or fresh meat.”
“Which are we?” Emerson asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Riley looked out at the acres of bones and carrion. She couldn’t see them without the aid of the flashlight, but she could feel the weight of the dead animals. “You don’t bury them?”
“Bury them? These animals were all killed by natural causes. Ideally, they’d be left where they died for scavengers to eat, but it’s too dangerous to do that where tourists sightsee, so we relocate them here for the coyotes, wolves, and bears.”
They walked for several more minutes before Tin Man told them to stop. The moon was emerging from behind the cloud, so Riley could see they were standing at the end of the path and on the edge of an excavation. She guessed it had to be at least twelve feet deep. A big yellow backhoe was parked a short distance away. A couple freshly dead, half-ripped-apart buffalo were at the bottom of the pit. A pair of backpacks lay beside them, along with some barely identifiable human remains.
“Is that Joshua and Emma Bulfinch?” Emerson asked.
Tin Man ignored Emerson’s question and motioned toward the pit. “Get in.”
Emerson looked into the hole. “I don’t feel that would be in our best interest. You’re certain to kill us once we’re down there.”
“You have it all wrong,” Tin Man said. “I don’t intend to kill you. My associate is just going to shoot each of you in the leg. Then, we’ll leave you here to discover for yourselves whether you’re predator or prey.”
Vernon lowered his center of gravity and started to sway back and forth.
“What’s he doing?” Bob asked.
Vernon did an awkward-looking somersault, struggled back to his feet, and continued to sway.
“I’m about to go all capybara on your ass,” Vernon said.
“Isn’t a capybara a rodent?” Bob asked Tin Man.
Tin Man smiled. “I think he means ‘capoeira,’ the Brazilian martial art based on dance and acrobatics.”
Everyone was mesmerized by Vernon.
“Has he really been studying capoeira?” Riley asked Emerson.
“He had a Groupon at a local dance studio for a free introductory Zumba class last month,” Emerson said, “but the instructor was sick, so they stuck him in the capoeira class instead.”
Riley caught a flash of orange in her peripheral vision and turned in time to see Wayan Bagus spin and perfectly execute a flying kick to Bob’s gut. Bob doubled over on a whoosh of expelled air and dropped his rifle. He staggered back and tumbled into the pit. Wayan Bagus grabbed the rifle, and threw it into the brush.
“Nice move,” Tin Man said, “but it was a big mistake to get rid of the rifle.”
“It was of no use to me,” Wayan Bagus said. “I could not let you use it to injure my friends, and I could not use it to injure you. I would prefer not to contend.”
Tin Man pulled a pair of hatchets from a concealed holster. “And I intend to contend,” he said. “The rifle wouldn’t have been much use to me either. These are my weapons of choice.”
Tin Man threw the first hatchet at Emerson, missing him by less than an inch. He brandished the second and moved past Riley and Emerson, toward Wayan Bagus.
Vernon roared, doing his best imitation of a pissed-off bull moose. “Capybara your ass,” Vernon yelled, charging Tin Man and head-butting him from behind, knocking him into the pit beside Bob and the buffalo.
“Thank you,” Wayan Bagus said to Vernon. “It was thoughtful of you to come to my aid.”
Riley peered over the edge of the pit. Tin Man was slowly getting to his feet. Bob was standing but looked dazed and uncomprehending.
“I have to admit, I was a little worried there for a while,” Riley said.
“No need for that when you got Little Buddy and me tag-teaming,” Vernon said. “Isn’t that right, Little Buddy?”
“What is ‘tag-team’?” Wayan Bagus asked.
“Tag-team’s what they do in the WWE. That’s World Wrassling Entertainment. Don’t tell me you don’t follow the WWE. Where’ve you been all your life?”
“In a monastery and then on an island . . . until someone stole it,” Wayan Bagus said.
“I’m thinking it’s lucky for you someone stole that island,” Vernon said. “Otherwise you might have lived your whole life without the WWE and two-ply toilet paper.”
“I do like the two-ply toilet paper,” Wayan Bagus said, retrieving the hatchet Tin Man had thrown at Emerson.
Wayan Bagus used the hatchet to free Riley, Vernon, and Emerson from the zip ties, and everyone moved to the edge of the pit. Tin Man was clawing at the rocks and dirt, trying to climb out, not having any luck at it.
Emerson leaned over the edge. “We have to be going now. We’re going to borrow your Tahoe. You two can stay here and work on your survival skills.”