Grizzly Season. S W LaudenЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter Four

      People all around Greg jumped up from their tables and started running. The women made a beeline for the tents, while the men scattered. A few of them headed for the corral to pull out the motorcycles. Two dune buggies tore across camp in the direction of the tent where they grew the Grizzly Bear. Greg assumed that Magnus must have been in one of those vehicles, but couldn’t spot him.

      Two men yanked tarps back from where the motorcycles had been stashed and started handing out guns. Greg grabbed a rifle and headed straight for his tent. He had no idea if Kristen would be there in the middle of the day, but he didn’t know where else to look. She had their backpacks ready to go when he arrived.

      “We have to hurry.”

      “We can’t leave without Marco.”

      She took both of his hands in hers and looked him straight in the eye.

      “I know. I’ll take you to him.”

      The tents on either side of theirs were already collapsing when they emerged. He heard gunfire on the other side of the camp, and motorcycles revving. The unmistakable scent of burning marijuana choked the air as the field went up in flames. Smoke closed in all around them as they fumbled along to the few structures that still remained standing. Marco was nowhere to be found, but Kristen wasn’t ready to give up.

      She grabbed Greg’s wrist, pulling him along behind her. It was hard to see even a few feet in front of them now, but they managed to find the bear pit. She pulled off the cinderblocks while Greg ripped the plywood back. They raced down the ramp together, but found only dirt and bones at the bottom.

      The first shots buzzed by their heads as they reemerged. Greg pushed Kristen to the ground and chanced a look over the edge. He could see the silhouettes of Magnus and a gaggle of goons closing in fast. It looked like they were dragging Marco behind them.

      Overloaded motorcycles whizzed out of the camp all around them, heading for the hiking trails. Greg lifted his rifle and fired, narrowly missing one of the young guards. He fell hard and the others dropped on their bellies beside him. Magnus screamed to Greg over the automatic gunfire that echoed through the camp.

      “Now or never! Give me the girl or your friend is bear food!”

      Greg looked down at Kristen. She looked back with pleading eyes, begging him not to hand her over. He knew that he needed to save both Kristen and Marco, but he didn’t know how.

      Visibility was almost down to zero, and an army of Forest Service, Sheriff’s Department, and Drug Enforcement Agency officers would be on them soon. Greg knew that saving Kristen entailed more than just getting her away from Magnus. He had to find a way to keep her from getting arrested and thrown in prison too.

      He lifted her up and pointed toward the field.

      “Straight across the middle, where the smoke’s the thickest. Just like on the map you showed me. Don’t stop until you reach the other side. Keep climbing up the slope until you find the trail.”

      “Aren’t you coming with me?”

      “I’ll be right behind you, as soon as I get Marco. Ready?”

      She bit her lip and nodded, stroking his face with the back of her hand. Greg took aim in the direction of Magnus and started squeezing the trigger in a slow rhythm. He wasn’t trying to hit anybody, just buy her some time.

      “Go!”

      Magnus and his men returned fire, but none of the bullets came close. The fields were engulfed in flames now. Smoke billowed over Greg like whitewash from a massive wave. He thought he could hear Marco whimpering, but tried to block it out. Then he heard him scream.

      “Greg! He’s got a gun to my head!”

      “Last chance or your friend dies.”

      Two stun grenades went off in the stadium, knocking several people to the ground. Dark figures in combat gear swarmed the camp. Greg heard a single shot ring out, followed by a heavy thud and the sound of Magnus and his men running away. He sprang from the pit and sprinted to where he thought Marco might be. He was halfway there when two helmeted figures emerged from the smoke. He put his hands behind his head and dropped to his knees. Tears sparkled in the little red dots that danced across his face.

      “Take it easy. I’m a cop.”

      It wasn’t true, but it kept him from getting shot, especially since he was dressed like all the others. They zip-tied his wrists behind his back and led him out of the camp. There was a command center set up several hundred yards beyond the burning field. A dozen other men in jeans and flannel shirts sat with their backs against huge boulders. Greg dropped down beside them and kept his mouth shut tight.

      The gunfire didn’t die down for another hour, getting farther and farther away. Fire planes arrived a little while later and dumped lake water on the flames. The steam it generated brought the temperature up for a few minutes, just as everything got silent again. Agents led the prisoners away one by one for questioning. Greg was practically alone when the sky turned a deep blue and a spray of stars slowly emerged. He looked up, trying to think about Kristen more than Marco—praying his friend had survived.

      “You the cop?”

      A sheriff’s deputy stood above him. His helmet was tucked under one arm and his face was smeared with greasy sweat. He held his hand out to Greg and helped him up.

      “Depends on who you ask.”

      “What the hell were you doing all the way out here? You undercover or something?”

      “It’s a long story.”

      They entered the tent and Greg plopped down into a folding chair. He answered an avalanche of questions, careful to keep his responses short and consistent. His interrogators seemed annoyed at first, but the light eventually went on behind their intense eyes.

      “Tell us about your friend.”

      “His name is Marco Johnson: stringy, blond hair, about five foot nine, maybe a buck forty soaking wet.”

      “We’ll let you know if we find anybody who meets that description. In the meantime, you mind telling us what precinct you supposedly work in?”

      “Virgil Heights. At least, that’s where I used to work.”

      The commander took a step forward, shoving the deputy aside.

      “I thought you said you were a cop.”

      “Call the police chief there. He’ll give you all the details.”

      “What’d you say your name was?”

      “Greg Salem.”

      They traded looks. The commander nodded and the deputy went to make the call. He was back with the radio five minutes later.

      “He wants to talk to you.”

      Greg brought the device to his ear and waited. The chief’s voice sounded like a ghost from another lifetime.

      “Greg, you there?”

      “That you, Chief?”

      “Jesus Christ. Why the hell can’t you stay out of trouble?”

      ›

      It couldn’t have been easy to get those bulky news vans up the mountain, but there they were.