Apache Dawn, - [little bear else holmelund minarik txt] 📗

The mountain loomed before him, a wall of rock and snow that offered protection. He was in the southern part of the large crescent-shaped valley formed by the collapsed northern flank of the mountain. Before him, the trees thinned and over a few last ravines, the bare rocky ground sloped up at a dramatic rise nearly 1500 feet to the summit. He was already about 4000 feet above sea level and had to slow his pace. He wouldn’t last long with his pack and rifle trying to run at this pace. The storm was building, dropping the light down to dusk levels. If he tripped and sprained an ankle in the dark, those soldiers would quickly overtake him.

That realization caused him to rethink his situation. The men following him were not running, they were walking, methodically—as if they knew what would happen if you tried to run while carrying gear in thin air. The rational part of his mind refused to believe that they were hunting him in particular, but he could not see any other reason why they were still on his trail, or even out here in the first place.

“What the hell is going on?” he shouted at the storm as he sucked in the cold air and thought frantically. He pulled down the brim of Dad’s Stetson to block the biting snow in his face.

Chad peered around in the gathering dark and realized he couldn’t continue south or east anymore. His cover would be gone in about a hundred yards as the pines thinned to scrub brush. After that, the protective foliage faded to nothing and he would be right out in the open.

If he could make it to his cabin, he’d have access to power communications gear, warmth, and security. His cabin though, was in the exact opposite direction: behind him, behind the soldiers hunting him, on the northeast shore of Avalanche Lake near the headwaters of Avalanche Creek.

He turned and looked north. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew Mt. Vaught stood there at the entrance to the valley, blocking his escape that way. To the east, through the storm, he could barely make out the dark shape of Bearhat Mountain, towering directly over his cabin and Lake Avalanche. If he tried to sneak past his pursuers to the east, they would see him cross the open, rock-strewn field that graced the crescent skirt of Little Matterhorn’s base. He had to reach the forest surrounding the lake so he could disappear into the trees.

He was starting to feel like a rat trapped in a cage—mountains all around him, soldiers chasing him, nowhere to run.

He fumbled in one of his pack’s outer pockets and pulled out his cell phone. A quick check showed what he feared: no signal. As he put the cell back, he remembered the iridium satellite phone the CDC issued him in case of emergency. He took cover from the snow and wind behind a log and dug through his pack, cursing himself for not having it more accessible.

Just as his cold fingertips brushed the corner of the sat phone in the bottom of his pack, he heard a gunshot and instinctively ducked, dropping the pack and the sat phone. “Shit!” Chad immediately began frantically digging through the snow, looking for the phone.

“Oh my God, they’re shooting at me!” he muttered to himself when a second shot echoed off the landscape. He decided it was too dangerous to try and contact help with the sat phone. Knowing there wasn’t much anyone could do to help anyway, he quickly gathered up the spilled backpack with cold, shaking hands while looking around nervously. Satisfied he’d picked up everything, he struggled to get to his feet on unsteady legs.

Wait, did I grab the sat phone? He glanced down into the disturbed snow at his feet. Suddenly, it went from white to red.

When he looked up in surprise, Chad saw a bright red flare arcing through the storm directly overhead. He watched, mesmerized, as the red star plummeted toward the ground and crashing loudly in a copse of pine trees before it winked out. More foreign-sounding shouts echoed from farther up the valley startled him back to the task at hand.

The hell with this. I need to get out of here. If I can get back to the cabin, I’ll use the radio there and get help.

He turned toward the long, steep western arm of Little Matterhorn. He knew on the other side of that mountain ridge, the land dropped sharply down to the adjoining valley and Lake MacDonald. The dim outline was all he could see through the worsening snowstorm, but he knew it was well-forested and he could maintain the high ground on his pursuers. Mind made up, he calmed his breathing and moved out to the west, trying to circle wide of his pursuers and hoping that the driving snow and steep terrain would give him enough time to escape.

After what seemed forever, he found himself just inside the tree line, as high up the slope as he dared. Chad was following the curve of the crescent landslide zone, working his way west and assumed his pursuers were well behind him now. Then he heard a muffled shout come from below and to his right. A light winked through the trees a few hundred feet below him in the snow. Another one bobbed and weaved even closer, followed by an echoed voice.

He crouched behind the trunk of a tree and closed his eyes to think, trying to ignore how cold he was. They couldn’t possibly have come across the point where he'd turned and headed west already. There was no way they could've seen him—the storm was too intense.

So, how the hell’d they get around me like that?

Just then, a soft beep came from his belt. The heartbeat monitor was showing the line of soldiers approaching from the northeast.

“Oh shit,” he gasped. A sickening weight settled in the pit of his stomach. “The guy with the little black box—”

They were tracking him like he’d tracked the cougar. Clenching and relaxing his fists over and over again, he tried to keep his fingers warm and his frustration at bay.

There was no way he could evade them. As long as he was in range, they could zero in on him in even the worst blizzard. And, they were probably using some souped-up, state-of-the-art military version. Chad looked down sadly at his own old and well-used device. He shut his monitor off and slapped the cover closed, harder than necessary. He cracked the lid, but didn’t care. It felt good to break something.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

A new sound drifted over the snow. It was a rhythmic thumping, from somewhere out in the storm. “Jesus, you guys got a helicopter, too?” he said aloud to the wind whistling past as he watched the dancing flashlight beams of his pursers, farther downslope.

Chad looked along his path and shielded his eyes from the snow, now blowing straight into his face. The helicopter was the least of his worries though; any pilot would have to be crazy to attempt to get close to him in the storm.

Chad grunted and heaved himself to his feet, feeling uneasy about how fast he was tiring. Determined to give his pursuers a merry chase, he lowered his head and moved on, heading due north along the ridge and into the teeth of the storm. If he could just get out of range of their monitor, he might stand a chance. After all, he knew this land like the back of his hand.

He huffed and grunted and hauled himself farther away, pausing to rest against trees when he dared. Always, always they came after him; a few voices carried on the wind, a few lights flickering in and around the trees below and behind him. They were running him to ground as sure as he’d ever stalked an elk. His legs were starting to burn with fatigue. He was in pretty good shape but the stalks that he went on were more relaxed. He was burning through his energy reserves at an alarming rate.

Partly to satisfy his curiosity about who was chasing him and partly to gain a short, hard-earned respite from his arduous trek through the storm, he dropped to a knee by a snow-blasted pine. He gratefully leaned against the tree for support and brought his rifle up in order to focus the scope on the closest of his pursuers. Despite the blowing snow, he was able to spot one and hold him in the cross-hairs.

The man was definitely wearing woodland camouflage. It was dark green with brown streaks and dots and had a very mottled appearance. Definitely wasn’t anything one could find at the local outfitters. He almost looked Asian. In all the snow, he stuck out like a sore thumb. That suggested they weren’t concerned about being spotted. They had little respect for their prey. That, he decided was a mistake he could use to his advantage.

A cry to the right of the man he was watching caused him to shift his view. When the next man came into focus, Chad nearly dropped his rifle. That guy was aiming right at him and actually fired. Chad saw a brief flash before he heard a sharp crack and a chunk of bark showered down on his shoulder. Falling backwards on reflex, Chad’s finger bumped the trigger on his rifle and it boomed into the storm, dwarfing the report from the military rifle.

Chad heard some screaming and many excited voices. Now he was sure they weren’t American. A few more shots were fired in his direction, sending up puffs of snow and bits of bark all around him.

“Oh, screw this!” he said and scrambled to his feet and took off north in a headlong dash through the storm. The realization that he’d just shot a man drove him forward even after his lungs were screaming for rest. If they weren’t chasing him before, they sure as hell were chasing him now. Over the din of the storm and the shouts from below, he heard the helicopter again.

He was in some kind of nightmare. Had to be.