Tracy pressed along a rocky ridgeline, but soon realized she was just running. Andrea Strickland had likely left the designated path, taken a different direction, maybe found a safe hiding place. Tracy did not have the skills to track her, but knew Fields, who’d spent a decade in the desert, could likely read the two women’s tracks. What she needed was to get to higher ground, to someplace where she’d have a vantage point on the surrounding area, and, hopefully, see them.
She left the path, her ears fine-tuned to the sound of a shotgun or a handgun firing. She moved up the hillside, toward a rock outcropping beneath one of the jagged peaks. The ground beneath her feet became more and more unstable as the hillside steepened. Her boots slid in the rocks with each step, forcing her to bend over, like a bear, pawing her way up the mountain, breathing heavily, perspiring. Another burst of lightning caused the ground around her to crackle. Instinctively, she dropped to her belly, feeling the hair on her arms twitch and stand on end. She covered her ears as the burst of thunder clapped directly over her. Then she felt the first drops of rain, large pellets of water, hit her in the back and splash against the surrounding rocks.
She got up quickly, continuing to climb, the rifle slung over her shoulder and hanging down her back. She had to be deliberate with her movements to keep from sliding down the hill. She reached the edge of the rock outcropping and estimated the rock formation to be thirty feet high. If she could climb it, she’d have a 360-degree view of the entire valley.
The intensity of the rain increased, soaking her clothing. She pressed on, shaking the water from her eyes, climbing carefully.
When she finally scaled the top, she could see the valley, but had to drop to her belly when another bolt of lightning crackled. This time the thunder was a deep, rolling rumble followed by a thunderous explosion that seemed to shake the mountains. When the noise had passed, Tracy scurried back to her feet, removed the rifle, and fit the lens of the scope to her eye, searching the valley for Andrea Strickland and Penny Orr, for any sign of movement.
Not seeing any.
My aunt, not acclimated to the altitude or to the physical exertion, was exhausted and having trouble catching her breath. I grabbed her hand and pulled her up the mountain, feeling her falter. Breathing heavily, she wheezed, the rush of adrenaline and anxiety no doubt making it more difficult to catch her breath. I had worked hard to climb Rainier, and I had spent every day since hiking these mountains. I needed to get us out of the valley and into the cover of the rocks, where we could hide, and where I might have a chance to use the shotgun. I hadn’t fired it since I was a teenager, but my grandfather had taught me well. He always said I didn’t have to be perfect. I just had to be in the vicinity of whatever I aimed at.
My aunt slipped and gave a muffled scream, but I managed to keep a grip on her hand and stop her from sliding down the hillside.
“You go on,” she said, sitting. “I’m just slowing you down.”
“I’m not going on without you,” I said. “Get up.”
“I can’t,” she said.
I looked down the mountain and saw Fields hugging the ridgeline. I wasn’t certain he’d seen us, but he was following our path and he was closing ground. “Get up, Aunt Penny. Get up now!”
She stumbled to her feet. I looked past her, back down the mountain. Fields had turned, looking directly at us. He lowered his head and started to climb the incline.
“Come on,” I said to my aunt, “come on.” I yanked my aunt’s arm, pulling her. The rocks I hoped to reach were another thirty yards, but it was a sharp ascent. My aunt was never going to make it.
Fields kept coming, legs churning, closing ground.
My aunt slipped again and her hand ripped from my grasp. She slid down the loose rock, rolling onto her side, tumbling. She came to a stop halfway between me and where Fields had halted his progress. He looked up at me and smiled, knowing I couldn’t get down the mountain fast enough to reach my aunt before he would get to her.
I dropped to a knee, took aim, and fired.
Tracy used the scope on the rifle to scan the valley floor section by section. The clouds and the rain had created a gray shroud, making it difficult to see. Several times, she stopped her progress, focusing on what she thought might be people before realizing it was just an odd rock formation, or a plant of some kind. She lowered the scope and wiped the water from her forehead.
She heard what sounded like another clap of thunder, followed by an echo, then realized there had been no lightning strike. The sound had not come from overhead, but down in the valley, somewhere behind her. She turned and repositioned herself on the rocks, raised the scope to her eye, and looked down the mountain. She saw Fields first. He’d dropped to his belly on the side of the hill. Perhaps fifteen yards farther up the hill lay someone else, Penny Orr. Tracy quickly scanned the area. Still farther up the hill she saw Andrea Strickland, the shotgun in both hands, its butt pressed underneath her arm and against her side.
She watched the barrel kick up and heard the reverberation of the second shot. When she put the scope back to her eye, she saw Fields getting back to his feet. Strickland had missed. She’d have to reload.