“If they’d waited, they would have had to cut trail,” Craig murmured. “This is easier, but it required them to realize that, and be willing to leave the trail while it was still headed in roughly the right direction.”
Tricky, Mac thought, and realized the exercise wasn’t as easy as it looked. He scuffed an arrow in the dirt by the trail when they left it. Craig looked at him curiously, but didn’t say anything. Mac was getting edgy. He wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t sure if it was because he was hiking through a lot of undergrowth with a bunch of trigger-happy amateurs, because God knew that was reason enough. Or if there was something else? Something subliminal that his subconscious was registering? He trusted that itch. It had saved his life in Afghanistan more than once. But he didn’t know what it was trying to tell him now.
He thought Angie might be sensing something too. She’d dropped back to walk in front of him when they’d left the main trail. She was silent, and she wasn’t taking photos. Her camera hung around her neck, but she kept her hands free now. He wondered why but didn’t ask.
In fact, all of the men were silent now. Interesting, he thought. There was always some chatter, he realized now that it was missing. He looked at Craig and frowned slightly. Craig shrugged and shook his head. He could feel it too, Mac thought.
The Cascade forest was a dense one. The canopy of conifers. The sub-canopy of birch and aspen. The ground layer of shrubs: salal, salmonberry and Oregon grape. And under that a layer of plants and ferns. He could identify them after the morning hike, he realized with some satisfaction. At least the shrubs. He knew the big devil’s club plant, and the two dominant ferns, Christmas fern and the lady fern.
All the undergrowth made for slow going.
And it made for a wet passage as branches and leaves slapped at them. It hadn’t rained last night, but the undergrowth was still damp. He doubted it ever lost that moisture, except during August and September — fire season.
There was a shout of victory from the front, and Mac grinned. Apparently, they’d found the first marker. And then there was a gun shot and a scream. Craig started to run. Mac pulled Angie behind him and ran too.
A man lay in the small clearing, sobbing and holding his arm. The other two men had moved back into the shrubbery, which was good, but the dumbfucks had left the injured man exposed, Mac saw with disgust. Craig stopped, still in the protection of the woods, and surveyed the area.
“Who shot him?” he asked in a low voice that wouldn’t carry far.
The man carrying the compass shook his head. “None of us,” he said softly. “It came from up there, I think.”
Mac followed the direction of the man’s nod. “Probably,” he agreed. It was a small rise that overlooked the clearing. He raised his rifle and peered through the scope. “Nobody there now.”
Craig nodded, and he squat-walked out to the injured man. He pulled a first aid kit out of his backpack, and put a tourniquet on the man’s arm. He talked to him in a low voice, and the man nodded. Craig helped the man stand up, and pulled him back toward Mac and Angie.
Angie had her camera out again, Mac noticed.
“What the fuck?” Mac asked Craig. “Is this part of the field exercise?”
“No, we try not to shoot our paying customers,” Craig said with sarcasm.
“And you’re sure someone from another team wouldn’t cross our path?” Mac asked.
“Does Ken Bryson strike you as an incompetent man?”
No, he didn’t, Mac conceded.
“So, we’ve got hostiles,” Mac concluded. “We’re not alone out here.”
Craig nodded his head once. He’d come to the same conclusion, apparently.
“Craig?” one of the other men called. “Should we go ahead and take our shot at the target? We can make it quick and move on.”
Mac started to say something scathing, but he reconsidered. Truly there was nothing to do but continue on. Or backtrack. And if they were going to continue on, they might as well take the target.
Craig nodded. “Take one shot, and for God’s sake hit the thing on the first shot, will you?”
The man laughed. He stepped out to the marker. Everyone held their breath, but there was no second shot. His partner took his picture. He took the shot, and ran to get the target. And screamed. The scream stopped mid-way, and Mac grimaced. That was never good.
“Fuck,” Craig said. He moved the injured man toward Mac, and started to make his way toward the target.
Mac shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’ll go. You’ve a better chance of getting Angie and these men out than I do. You know the region. You know the plan for the routes. So, I take the risks.”
Craig took a breath as if he was going to argue. But then he nodded shortly. “Go.”
Mac handed his rifle off to Angie, and shrugged out of his backpack. He pulled out the knife and sheath from the backpack and strapped it around his waist. He saw Angie’s startled look. “Doesn’t every journalist carry one in their kit?” he asked teasing. She smiled at him.
He looked at Craig. “You got a rope in that backpack?”
Craig opened it back up and handed it to him. “Sling? Med kit?” he asked. Mac considered it, and shook his head. He wrapped the rope around his waist.
He tucked his Glock in the pocket of his sweatshirt. Then he took a deep breath and centered himself. Found the stillness inside. It always sounded hokey even in his own head, so he’d never tried to describe it to someone else. But he had noticed that others who worked stealth did something similar. His breathing slowed.
He studied the terrain, and then took three steps forward and one to the left.
