Copper River

29

Before she left, Jewell had removed the Penrose drain from Cork’s thigh, closed the wound with butterfly bandages, and taped a sterile gauze pad over the site, this at Cork’s request. She cautioned him that if he wasn’t careful, the wound would open again.

“There’s work to do,” he’d told her, “and I can’t do it with a lot of plumbing hanging out of my leg.”

Although he didn’t like the idea of being less than a hundred percent lucid, he’d taken a Vicodin to help deal with the pain of what he knew was ahead of him. Now he stood in the lane between the cabins waiting for Ren, who’d gone to fetch the ATV from the equipment shed. The plan was to head along the Copper River Trail as far as they could and look for places that might be likely candidates for dumping a body into the river. It was a pretty nonspecific plan and didn’t have a lot of potential for solid payoff, but it had to be done, and Cork and Ren were available.

Cork watched as the boy swung the shed door wide and went inside. At almost the same moment, he heard a vehicle approaching from the main road. He thought maybe it was the women coming back for something they’d forgotten, but he didn’t want to risk it and slipped back inside Thor’s Lodge. He cracked the curtains and watched as a dusty red pickup came into view. Michigan plates. NMU sticker on the windshield. Locals. Cork pulled the Beretta Tomcat from where he’d snugged it in his belt at the small of his back.

The truck stopped in front of the cabin and two men got out. The driver stood well over six feet, with carrot-colored hair and a long face. The other man was also tall and had a well-trimmed mustache and black-rimmed glasses. He held what appeared to be the plaster cast Ren had made of the cougar print. The men started toward Thor’s Lodge, but stopped when they heard the roar of the ATV from the equipment shed. They turned and watched Ren bring the machine up the lane. The boy killed the engine and got down from the seat. He smiled broadly and came forward. Cork moved to the door, which he’d left slightly ajar, so he could hear what was being said.

“Hi, Mr. Taylor.”

“Hey there, Ren. I dropped by school. They told me you were home today. Feel all right?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“I brought someone who wants very much to ask you a few questions about that cougar of yours. This is John Schenk, a friend from Northern Michigan University. John, this is that remarkable young man I’ve been telling you about.”

Schenk shook the boy’s hand. “Ken showed me this cast you made of the track. Nice job.”

“Thanks.”

“Mind if I ask you about it?”

“That’s okay.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Over here. I’ll show you.”

Ren led the man to Cabin 3 and pointed out the track he’d used to make the cast. “This is the one, but there were lots I could have used.”

“They were all over?”

“They still are. It’s come at least twice, maybe three times.”

“Really? When?”

“The night before last, and again last night for sure. But I’m pretty sure it was here yesterday morning as well.”

“In the daylight? You saw it?”

“I heard it. Kind of a scream.”

That wasn’t the truth exactly. He was relating what Cork had told him.

“That’s amazing.”

“Why?” Ren asked.

“For several reasons. First of all, the preferred hunting technique of cougars is stalk and ambush. It’s unusual that a stalking cougar would make its presence known with a scream. Also, they tend to be crepuscular, which means they prefer to hunt at dusk or dawn. And, generally speaking, a cougar in these parts is probably well aware of humans and would tend to avoid them. Ken says you don’t have any pets around here. Is that correct?”

“That’s right.”

Schenk furrowed his brow and said, “Hmph.” He looked down at the cast in his hand. “From the size, I’m guessing this is a male. Four and a half inches is about as large a track as you’re likely to find. Probably weighs in at well over two hundred pounds, which is good sized for a cougar. There are a couple reasons I can think of that would bring a big cat this close to humans repeatedly. One would be food-a pet, farm animals, that kind of thing.”

“We don’t have any,” Ren said.

“Have you killed a deer or some other animal lately that you’ve dressed and hung somewhere around here?”

Ren said, “No.”

Schenk glanced around. “I thought maybe the smell of blood.”

Which made Cork think about the piss-colored Dart behind the shed with his blood soaked into the seat and carpeting.

“Another possibility is that it’s been hurt and can’t hunt in its usual way and is looking for garbage or anything else that might provide an easy meal.”

“It tried our garbage bin,” Ren offered, “but we keep the lid closed and locked.”

“Sounds like it’s definitely hungry, which makes it potentially very dangerous. Like I say, normally it probably wouldn’t attack humans, but I wouldn’t take any chances.”

“How come you know about cougars?” Ren asked.

“I’m a zoologist at the university, but I also consult for the Michigan Wildlife Habitat Foundation,” Schenk said. “Cougars are a special interest of mine. Since 1906 the official position of the Department of Natural Resources has been that cougars have been extirpated from Michigan.”

“Extirpated?”

“Driven out completely. This despite the fact that every year there are dozens of sightings in both the lower and upper peninsula. A couple of years ago we collected scat from a number of areas around the northern part of the state where sightings had been reported and sent them for DNA testing. Seven of the samples contained cougar DNA.”

“What made you think it was cougar scat?” Ren asked. “I mean, out of all the scat you might find.”

Schenk laughed. “It’s the sniff test. Cougar scat has an unmistakable smell. It’s kind of like a housecat’s overused litter box, but far more intense. We don’t know why. Maybe because they have a short gut and food passes through more quickly so their digestive juices are stronger.”

“What should we do? Like maybe notify the DNR?”

Schenk shook his head. “Unfortunately, their general response in a situation like this would be to kill the animal.”

“So what do we do?”

“For the time being, take precautions. Don’t go out alone, especially when it’s dark. And keep that lock on the trash bin. If you do happen to confront the animal, face it. They’re reluctant to attack from the front, especially if you stare at them. Generally they’ll back down. What I’d like to do is talk to some people I know who’d be interested in tracking and, if possible, sedating the animal. If it is hurt, maybe there’s something we can do to help it. I’d sure hate to see a creature this rare around here killed.”

“I can handle that,” Ren assured him.

“You’d probably like your cast back, wouldn’t you?” Ken Taylor said.

Schenk handed it over. “Thanks, son. This is really a good thing you’ve done.”

Ren looked down, as if embarrassed in the face of such praise.

“I’ll be in touch,” Schenk said. “Come on, Ken, we’ve got work to do.”

In parting, Taylor put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Ren, you be careful, hear?”

“Sure.”

After the two men had driven away, Cork stepped from Thor’s Lodge. “Do you have a hunting rifle, Ren?”

The boy looked at him, confused. “You’re not going to shoot it?”

“I just want to play it safe. I wouldn’t use it unless I absolutely had to. At the moment, all I have is this.” He held out the small Beretta. “It might discourage an animal, but it probably wouldn’t stop a two-hundred-pound cougar.”

Ren said, “There’s two of us. Won’t that keep us safe? And the sound of the ATV?”

He knew that what the boy was really arguing for was the life of the big cat, and he understood. Ren was probably right. A cougar, even a hungry one, would probably be reluctant to attack two humans, and the sound of the ATV would definitely not be to its liking.

“All right,” he said.

They straddled the seat of the ATV, Ren in front, Cork holding on from behind. The engine kicked over and caught. Ren guided the little vehicle through the trees to the Killbelly Marsh Trail, where Cork had found both cougar tracks and those of a man. The boy turned them toward the Copper River, which lay somewhere beyond the trees to the south.

They headed into the woods with no idea of what they would eventually encounter, no idea of the full scope of the horror the Huron Mountains hid.