Page 90 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
I don’t say anything. Joe’s hurt and angry, and I’m happy to let him talk, but I’m not saying anything he might recognize as encouragement to sound off … and realize he’s saying more than he should.
Anders speaks for the first time since ordering Joe to stand down. “You should have backup. Your boss obviously doesn’t have any military or law-enforcement experience.”
“Right? Corporate assholes. They don’t know what a risk is, ’cause the only time they take them is on the stock market. Taking risks is what we’re for. Cannon fodder.”
Anders nods. Like me, he’s not pushing. Nudging maybe, more than I would, but it works better coming from a guy who looks like he’s played a human shield for others, whether on the street or the battlefield.
“I’m going to take a look at your wound,” I say. “I might need to ask you to take off your trousers.”
“Shit. If anyone comes around the corner and literally finds me with my pants down, I’m out of a job, even if there’s an explanation.” His shoulders slump. “Not that it matters much. I’m probably out of a job when I admit I let the guy get away.”
“Hold off. Let me see if I can look.” I pull apart the tear in his tan trousers. The cut inside is maybe three inches long. “It’s going to need stitches. But even if I had a med kit, I don’t have the skills.”
That’s a double lie. The truth is that Joe isn’t about to bleed out, and Dalton is somewhere up ahead, tracking a killer. I don’t have time to pull out my med kit and stitch Joe’s wound.
“All I’ve got is a bandage roll,” Anders says. “And I barely know how to use it.”
Such liars. Both of us.
“Give me a roll,” I say. “I’ll get this wrapped up, and he can head back to camp.”
“Uh…” Joe says.
I glance at him as Anders hands me the roll.
“I can’t do that,” Joe says. “If we encounter anyone in the forest, we’ve been told we cannot head straight to camp after leaving them or we risk leading them back. But my leg’s not too bad. I can help you search. That way, I’m not abandoning my job.”
I glance at Anders, whose shrug says it doesn’t matter to him. An extra gun wouldn’t be a bad idea, especially if it gives us a bit of time with a security-team guy who’s pissed off at his boss and might tell us even more.
Once Joe’s leg is bound, we set out. The first thing he says, with a sidelong glance at Anders, is “So, you’re new…”
Anders only smiles, showing perfect white teeth. “Haven’t seen me before?”
“No, just, um, her and, um, the guy.” He glances at me. “I don’t mean to be rude. I don’t know names.”
“Which seems to be how your boss likes it,” I say.
“Yeah,” Joe says.
“So you guys…” Another look at Anders. “You have your own security force.”
“Kind of,” Anders says. “It’s a little more … irregular than yours.”
Joe snorts. “More irregular? Or more regular? I don’t see why we can’t dress like you guys. We’re not mall cops. What’s with the uniforms? No one’s going to see us except the employees, who already know what we are.”
Anders shrugs. “Everyone has a different way of doing things.”
“No shit, huh? I keep hoping if we’re here long enough, things might relax a bit, starting with the dress code.” He peers out into the forest. “Does your partner have the dog? That’s another thing I envy you guys. I had to leave mine at home. I mentioned it to the boss after seeing yours, like maybe dogs would be a good idea. He said they’re considering getting some German shepherds. That is not what I had in mind.”
“Yeah,” Anders says. “A big dog is good if you encounter wildlife, but mostly out here, you want something that can help you find anyone who gets lost.”
“I’ll tell him that.”
Dalton bird-calls again, closer now, and Anders replies, and Dalton almost immediately repeats his call.
“He’s found something,” I say. “He must be getting close. Time to pick up the pace.”
Joe falls in step beside us. “You found your little boy?”
