Page 96 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
“My ankle. But I can walk.”
Anders shakes his head. “You can, but you don’t need to. That’s what I’m here for. Piggyback duty.”
Still watching the forest, Anders bends. Max hesitates, but we prod him to get on Anders’s back, and he does just as Dalton appears. Seeing Max, he lets out a deep sigh of relief and then reaches up to squeeze the boy’s shoulder.
“You did it,” Dalton says. “You got away from him.”
“More than once,” I say.
Max glows now. “Three times.”
“Damn,” Anders says. “That is some lifelong bragging rights, kid. We’re proud of you, but you know who’s going to be bursting with pride? Your mom.”
“She is,” I say. “And we’ll get you to her as soon as we can, but right now, we have a kidnapper to catch.” I glance at Dalton. “Should they stay here?”
He looks around. “No, I’d rather we don’t risk anyone getting lost or ambushed. Will? Fall in behind us. Stay back a bit, but close enough that we’ll hear you.”
“Max?” I say. “Can you guide us to where you left him?”
Max nods, and we set out.
* * *
We find the spot, and there’s no sign of Max’s captor. He’s certain it’s the right place, because he can point out the tree where he spent the night, and the mark he made to show which direction the sun had been rising when he fell asleep.
We find where his captor fell, with one clear handprint on the ground.
“Respectfully suggest we split up, boss,” Anders says. “You have a hot trail for the pooch to follow, but I don’t think Max should be hauled along on that.”
“I can do it,” Max says. “I can walk.”
Dalton shakes his head. “Casey needs to process this scene, in case we can’t track him. Stay with her and Will.” He checks his watch. “Give me an hour. If I don’t find him, I’ll circle back.”
“And keep in touch,” I say.
“Keep giving us the bird,” Anders says.
Dalton smiles. “Happy to.”
I help Storm find the scent. We know that handprint belongs to Max’s attacker, and she follows his scent to the spot Dalton has already identified as the man’s exit point.
They set off. I photograph the handprint while Anders settles Max in with trail bars and water. As much as I want to question him, he needs that sustenance more, so I busy myself working the scene.
When Max is done eating, I lead him through the sequence of events from the time he realized his attacker had caught up with him last night.
“I couldn’t see him,” he says. “I know that’s what you’ll want to know—what he looked like. I never really saw him, even when he first took me hostage. He didn’t let me. When we were walking, he had me blindfolded. When he caught me again last night, he was behind me. This time, he wore a mask.”
“A bear mask?” Anders says.
Max shakes his head. “A ski mask. You know, the ones that go over your head and hide everything but your eyes and mouth? Oh, and he’s not part bear.” He looks a little abashed. “It was a bearskin. It took me a while to figure that out, because I was mostly blindfolded. But before I stabbed him, I saw the paw. It was a bear hide.”
He shifts. “Then I remembered one time when he was holding me captive, I saw the underside of his arm, and there was pale skin, with a black line, like dirt. I thought that made sense—just skin showing through his fur—but now I realized he was wearing a brown shirt under the bear hide, and the sleeve rode up and I saw skin.”
“Pale skin.”
He nods. “White or really pale brown. Also, about the bear hide, this last time, he wasn’t wearing it at all.”
I glance over. “He wasn’t?”
