It was difficult to see Tin Man’s face in the dark shadows at the bottom of the pit, but Riley could hear him swear. She saw the flash of a hatchet blade, and her breath caught in her throat as, without warning, Tin Man buried the blade deep into Bob’s chest. Bob fell back and lay motionless, the hatchet still in him.
Riley clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from retching. The smell, the dead animals, the brutality at the bottom of the pit was overwhelming. The only thing stopping a flood of tears was the fact that she was completely dehydrated.
“Remember this,” Tin Man shouted, pointing at Emerson. “I worked with this man for the past seven years, and I liked him. He’s dead because of you. I want you to take a good look so you know exactly what I’m going to do to you the next time we meet.”
“We’ll see,” Emerson said. “Now I have a hatchet too.”
Riley thought it was a good thing the flashlight was at the bottom of the pit with poor dead Bob, because without it the rifle was hopelessly lost in the brush. She knew for certain if she had the rifle she’d shoot Tin Man, and it would put a big black mark on her karma.
Emerson led the way out, and everyone found it easier to follow the path with their hands free and the moon shining down on them.
There were occasional rustlings in the brush, and Riley caught the sound of what she suspected was an animal gnawing on a bone, but she kept her head down and forged ahead. Relief washed over her when she saw the brush give way to the road and the parked SUV.
The Tahoe was unlocked, and the keys were in the ignition. Not much chance of auto theft in grizzly backcountry.
Riley looked in the glove compartment and under the front seats.
“What are you looking for?” Emerson asked.
“A gun,” Riley said. “I’m contemplating shooting Tin Man.”
“That would not be a good thing,” Wayan Bagus said.
“He’s a killer,” Riley said. “And he’s going to continue to kill. He needs to be stopped.”
“I’m with Riley,” Vernon said, “but it doesn’t matter, because there doesn’t appear to be another gun.”
Riley looked at the hatchet Emerson was carrying.
“No way,” Emerson said. “It’s too risky.”
He was right, she decided. Her daddy had taught her how to use a gun. She had no experience with a hatchet.
FOURTEEN
IT WAS CLOSE TO MIDNIGHT WHEN RILEY PARKED the Tahoe behind the Old Faithful Inn. It had been decided that they would all go to their rooms, ransack their minibars, and meet back in the parking lot in no more than ten minutes.
Riley and Emerson were the first to return to the SUV.
“I’m not comfortable with this,” Riley said, chugging a bottle of water and tucking into a granola bar. “This is the first place anyone would think to look for us.”
“If Tin Man succeeds at getting out of the pit, it will take him at least another hour before he can make his way back to park headquarters in Mammoth.”
“You don’t know that for certain,” Riley said. “He could know a shortcut. He could already have a search party out looking for us.”
“Unlikely,” Emerson said.
“Why are you and Vernon and Wayan Bagus so calm about all this? It’s like I’m the only one who worries about anything.”
“Vernon isn’t smart enough to worry. Wayan Bagus is at peace with the universe. And I’m pure bravado. I’ve found that I can bluff my way through almost anything and talk myself into believing it.”
“Wow.”
“You hadn’t figured that out?”
“No,” Riley said.
“Well, then, I’m sorry I told you. I suppose I’ve ruined my image as a hero.”
Riley smiled at him. “You have your moments. You saved my life in the museum.”
“I did,” Emerson said. “I was excellent.”
“As long as I’m the designated worrier, let’s think about this stolen Tahoe. We can’t ride all over creation in it.”
“We aren’t riding all over creation. We’re going to hike to Sour Creek Dome. Vernon is bringing the backpacks.”
“I understand your need to get to the bottom of this, but hiking to Sour Creek Dome is a dumb idea. There’s a psycho axe murderer and his small army after us. Even if we can get past them, there’s a bunch of hungry bears and wolves ready to eat us in Lamar Valley. Wouldn’t it be better to get out of Yellowstone and go to the police?”
“Which police?” Emerson asked. “The park rangers who turned us over to Tin Man? Or the Bozeman, Montana, police, who are eighty miles away, have worked with the U.S. Park Police for years, and, in the near future, will most likely be informed that four dangerous fugitives killed a park ranger and stole his car?”
“How about the FBI?”
“Whatever we’ve stumbled upon is at the highest level of national security. Best case scenario is they’ll lock us up and throw away the key.”
Riley pawed through the stolen minibar stash and came up with a couple tiny bottles of whiskey. She gave one to Emerson, and she unscrewed the cap on hers.
“Here’s to good times on Sour Creek Dome,” she said.
“Good times,” Emerson said.
They clinked bottles and chugged the whiskey.
Riley felt the liquor burn her throat and warm a path to her stomach and beyond.
“I feel inspired,” Emerson said.
He grabbed Riley by her flannel shirt, pulled her close, and kissed her. There was some tongue involved this time, and when he released her they both licked their lips.
“You taste like whiskey,” Emerson said. “I could use more.”
“Whiskey?”
“Yes. That too.”
“I don’t think I have any more whiskey.”
“Well, then,” he said. And he leaned in for another kiss.
“I hate to be a party pooper,” Riley said, “but I keep going back to the part about us getting locked up and the authorities throwing the key away.”
“It’s very simple,” Emerson said. “We need to uncover the secret being hidden at Sour Creek Dome and expose it to the world. Without a secret to protect, Tin Man and the Rough Riders’ usefulness to the U.S. government will come to an end. I suspect they’ll become more of a liability than an asset.”
“What if it truly is a matter of national security?” Riley said. “What if we’d be endangering people if we went public?”
Emerson nodded. “I thought of that, too. I’m certain that back in 1903, it was part of a noble plan to protect the American people from something really terrible, but I’m equally certain that the plan has been corrupted over the years.”
Vernon rapped on the driver’s side window. He was carrying two large North Face backpacks. Wayan Bagus was standing next to him, holding a third pack and his little duffel.
“We might have a problem,” Vernon said. “The Park Police just showed up. I saw them in the lobby talking to the front desk, so we skedaddled out the back door.”
Vernon pitched the backpacks into the back of the SUV and climbed in after them with Wayan Bagus. Riley put the Tahoe in gear and drove out of the lot. She breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled onto the Grand Loop Road, and the inn receded into the night.
Fifteen minutes later, Riley arrived at the intersection of the Grand Loop Road and Yellowstone Lake. To the right was the South Entrance. To the north, Canyon Village.
“We’re literally at a crossroads,” Emerson said. “We can go north to Sour Creek Dome, or south out of the park and back to our plane waiting for us in Jackson Hole.”
“I’m not even sure we’re going to be able to get out of here at this point,” Riley said. “There are only four entrances to the park, and they could have roadblocks set up for us at each.”
Emerson nodded. “There’s risk in either choice, but I’ve never lived my life making decisions based on risk. Innocent people are being killed. I have to see this through, but everyone else here needs to decide for themselves whether they’re in or out.”
“Mostly, I’m sort of the kind of guy who prefers to be in,” Vernon said from the other side of the police partition.
“It is fortunate that you know so very little,” Wayan Bagus said to Vernon. “A man who does not know fear cannot die, because death has no place to enter.”
Vernon grinned. “Well, I appreciate that, Little Buddy.”