Page 91 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
“Not yet,” I say. “But we have a trail.”
He grins. “Good. Get the kid back and take that bastard down.” He lifts his gun.
“Whoa,” Anders says, waving for him to lower it. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we’re not ‘taking down’ anyone. You wave that around, and you’re staying here.”
“Sorry. You’re right.” He lowers the gun. “I just … I liked Sandy. A lot of the guys gave him a hard time, but he was nice, you know?”
I nod, but I’m only half paying attention. Dalton has signaled again, and I know that means for us to get our asses over to where he is.
We break into a jog.
“I’m supposed to bring the guy in if I find him,” Joe says as we run. “By any means necessary. I won’t shoot him, but my orders are to bring him in and— Fuck!”
A thump and a hiss of pain. I spin, hand going to my gun, half expecting to see the bear-man attacking. Instead, Joe is on one knee clutching his thigh where it’s bandaged.
“Tripped,” he says as he pants. “My damn leg. Just give me—”
He starts to push up and lets out another hiss of pain. Anders extends a hand, but Joe says, “I’ve got this.”
He doesn’t have it. His leg is hurt too badly to run, and we can’t wait for him. I glance at Anders.
“I can stay with him,” Anders says.
“No, I’m fine.” Joe grits his teeth, sweat breaking out on his hairline. “We need to get this guy. I can help—”
He takes one step, and his leg folds, and he falls with another yowl. “Goddamn it.”
“We’ll come back,” I say quickly. I glance at Anders. “Help me get him against that tree.”
We move Joe so he’s sitting with a tree at his back, protecting it.
“Stay there,” I say. “We’ll come back.”
* * *
Dalton bird-called twice more while we dealt with Joe. We should have told the young man to stay where he’d been attacked.
Maybe I should have taken Anders up on his offer to stay behind. But once we’re out of earshot, Anders says, “That was the right move. He’ll be fine.”
I still don’t like it. Neither does Anders. Joe is little more than a kid, and we’ve abandoned him in the forest with a leg he can’t walk on. He’s bleeding, and he could attract predators, and the predator we’re most worried about has already attacked him. Worse, we let him believe we’re chasing his attacker, which would mean the guy couldn’t hurt him again.
I should have said something. That was an oversight—blame my exhausted brain.
We’ll return to Joe as soon as we can. He’s armed, and I’m sure he has some kind of paramilitary experience. He already scared the bear-man off once.
He’ll be fine.
I hope he’ll be fine.
But in the end—sorry, kid—this isn’t about Joe-whose-real-name-we-don’t-even-know. It isn’t about a young man hired as security for a gold mine, a young man whose boss didn’t even care enough to give his men backup. It’s about our resident, the youngest one we’ve ever had, and if we are truly on Max’s trail, we aren’t diverting for anything or anyone.
Joe will need to look out for himself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Max
Max had slept most of the day. He knew that was wrong. Animals came out to hunt at dusk and dawn, and he should be walking while the sun was high and then finding a place to hide until it returned. That was what his dad would have called “ideal circumstances.” There are ideal circumstances, and then there are the ones you get stuck with.
