Chasing a Blond Moon(128)

Only a bobbing light to the north broke his concentration. It was coming down the blood trail, clambering over the same obstacles he had crossed. He turned his light off, squatted. Raindrops bounced from the canopy to things below, beating a heavy tattoo. The bobbing light came forward, all sounds absorbed by the damp ground and unrelenting patter of raindrops. Thunder overhead exploded with a sharp clap that left the air sizzling with ammonia.

“Fuck!” a voice bellowed.

It was McCants. He turned on his light. “Here.”

“Grady?” she asked.

“Me.”

“Asshole,” she said. “‘Wait till tomorrow,’ the man says.” There was no anger in her voice.

“No sense both of us drowning.”

“Bullshit,” she said. “You’d think a father would think about somebody other than numero uno.”

“Spur of the moment,” he said, knowing this was not true and that she knew it too.

“Right,” she said. “The trail was pretty clear all the way in.”

“It stopped here,” he said, explained what had happened, how he had let his attention lapse.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s both offset to the left and work our way east. If we come up empty, we’ll come back here and try the west side.”

She got into position without asking his approval. He watched her set herself fifteen feet to the east of him, turn on her light, start turning slowly. He moved five feet off the blood trail, did what she did. The rain continued to fall, the thunder back in the distance, some of it crackling like a pine fire.

“Here,” McCants said. The rain was picking up and he could barely hear her.

“Drops,” she said, pointing her light down.

The animal had cut due east, paralleling the bank.

“I’ve got it,” she said.

He followed, making sure to stay two paces off her steps to avoid fouling anything they had missed.

“Here,” McCants said. “Pretty heavy splash. I think it’s close.”

He eased toward her, watched her bend over with her light, studying the ground. “The river’s right there,” she said, “maybe four feet in front of me.” He could hear the water flowing over the rocks, rain peppering it. Her light suddenly turned back toward him and her rifle jerked up. He ducked and looked over his shoulder. They had passed another upturned cedar. The animal was slouched over the lip, its hind legs facing them. Its fur glistened in the light beam, shining deep black, looking ratty from the rain tendrils of steam rising off the body. Not down that long, he told himself, putting his light beam on it. No movement.

He reversed around the upturned roots, pointed his light. The animal’s head was over the edge, staring down. He picked up a stick, touched its eyes, got no response, exhaled. “Candi.”

He waited for her to join him, lit up, didn’t care if the rain destroyed it.

She looked at the bear’s head. “Youch,” she said.

“Big,” just like she said, the word an understatement. This was a five-hundred-pound animal, huge for a U.P. black bear.

He put his light beam on the head, on the lower jaw, which hung down.

“Not hit there,” he said. “No blood. Could be congenital or from a fight.”

“How in God’s name did it live with half a bottom jaw?”

“Same way we would,” he said, “No choice, but do what you gotta do.”

He had never seen a deformity quite like it, but black bears were the ultimate omnivores, eating everything and anything; vegetable matter, larvae, insects, fruits, and nuts. Rarely did they hunt other creatures. Whatever its limitations, this guy had found a way to get what he needed. Service dug in his pack, got out a Leatherman tool and a small knife and pried out a molar he could pass to the area biologist to age the animal.

McCants slid into the crater made by the roots of the cedar. He saw her light on the other side. “Looks like two entry wounds,” she said. “Let’s get it down, do what we have to do.”

Her heard her grunting. “Are you gonna help?”

He pushed on the head, but one of the legs was slung over the top and the animal was hung up. He used a knee to get up on a thick root, pushed, slipped, fell in the slick mud below him. He crawled around to McCants. “It’s stuck up there. We need leverage.”

She stared at the animal for a moment, thinking, then said, “It crawled up there for a reason.”

“Last legs,” he said. “He was ready to defend.”

“All that time with those hunters turned out to be a good thing,” she said.

“Just how it worked out,” he said. “Don’t be groping for divine signs.”