Page 43 of Outsider

Another shot rings out, the sound echoing among the treetops. “North.” I point ahead and slightly to my left.

We veer that way, our coats rustling, snow squeaking beneath our feet. I stick to the thickest part of the forest, using the underbrush for cover. I don’t know who’s out here or what they’re shooting at. Chances are it’s some guy with cabin fever who just wanted to get outside, away from the wife and kids, and give the rifle he got for Christmas a go. Or a farmer who caught a coyote trying to get at his chickens and tracked it here. Or maybe some unscrupulous hunter is out looking to poach a deer. The problem with those theories is that the deep snow and near-zero temperature are tremendous hardships even for the most hardy individual.

I work my way east and north until I reach the creek. It’s frozen solid. Some of the ice has been scoured by wind. To my left I hear water trickling over rock where the stream narrows. I don’t have my lapel mike clipped in, so I pull it out of my pocket, fumble with it before speaking.

“Ten-forty-three-B,” I say quietly, using the code for shots fired, likely by hunters. “Glock, what’s your twenty?”

“TR 36 and the bridge. Nothing here, Chief. No vehicle. No tracks.”

I glance toward the south, but the bridge is too far, the trees too thick for me to get a visual. “I’m half a mile to your north on the west side of the creek.”

“Any sign of a vehicle?”

“Negative, but there’s a pullover by the bridge farther north.” I address Dispatch. “Mona, notify County. Ten-forty-three-B.”

“Roger that.”

I’m pocketing my radio when another shot rings out, so close I instinctively duck. “Shit.”

“There.”

I glance over my shoulder to see Gina standing twenty feet away, pointing. I swivel, eyes seeking. Sure enough, through the trees, on the other side of the creek, I see movement. Adult male wearing camo. Moving fast.

I run north along the bank of the creek, speaking into my lapel mike. “I got eyes on him. Subject is male. Wearing camo. Running northbound, toward Dogleg Road.”

“Ten-seven-six.” The voice of a county deputy cracks over the radio.

I’m aware of Gina slightly ahead and running parallel with me, struggling through snow. I’ve only traveled a few yards when I lose sight of camo guy.

The last thing I want to do is get my feet wet. The water temperature hovers at the freezing mark this time of year. It doesn’t take long for frostbite to set in. My boots are waterproof, but they’re not tall enough to keep my feet completely dry.

I scramble down the bank of a feeder creek, my boots sliding. I glance right, across the water, catch another glimpse of movement. “Shit.” I muscle through a drift, pause at the water’s edge, and start across. The water reaches my knees; it’s swift, unseen rocks making it difficult to maintain my footing. The cold penetrates fast, burns my skin. I’ve lost sight of Gina, but I hear her coming down the bank a few yards away. I rush through the water, stumbling over rocks, slip on ice on the other side and clamber up the bank.

“Police Department!” I call out. “Halt! Police!”

I stop, breaths puffing out in front of me, and listen. The rush of water over the rocks seems inordinately loud. I hear Gina tromping through snow on the other side of the creek. The call of a hawk above. I keep moving, going north toward Dogleg Road, hit my lapel mike.

“Glock, what’s your twenty?”

“North a hundred yards from TR 36. I got tracks.”

“I had eyes on him. He’s running. Heading north. I’m north of you.”

“Roger that.” He’s breathing heavily, telling me he’s running, too.

I break into a run, zigzagging through trees, eyes ahead and on the ground, looking for tracks. Where the hell is he?

I’m nearly to Dogleg Road when I get my first good look at him. He’s a large man. Camo coveralls and jacket. Long stride. Running full out.

I pour on the speed. “Painters Mill Police! Stop!”

I speak into my lapel mike. “County, what’s your twenty?”

“County Road 4.”

Too far away to help.

I traverse a deep ditch, lose sight of the man, nearly lose my footing at the base, climb up the other side, plunging my gloved hands into the snow to steady myself. The road looms into view. I burst from the trees.