Walt Longmire 07 - Hell Is Empty by Craig Johnson

was snarling and spitting.
    “Shoot! Shoot the motherfucker! Shoot!”
    Evidently, Hector had gotten his wind back.
    “Shoot! ”
    She slapped the roof of the van again with her big paws, and I guess she was waiting to see who, between Hector and me, was going to come out on top. I figured she was planning on eating the loser. I flicked off the safety lever near the slide action, something you might not know to do if you were unfamiliar with the weapon, and kept the semiautomatic on the cougar.
    “Shoot! ”
    Leaning on the grill of the Suburban next to Hector, I kept the sidearm trained on the mountain lion but glanced at the Latino. Trickles of blood were running down his face from where the lion’s claws had gotten him. “I think you’re annoying her.” The wind blew more gusts of snow, and I could hear footsteps along with a few shouts. “I think you better tell your friends you haven’t got me anymore.” He looked at me questioningly. “Go ahead—yell.” He paused for a second, but I gestured with the gun toward the angry cougar. “You don’t yell, I’m going to let her have you.”
    The mountain lion continued to snarl and again slapped the roof of the van.
    “Hey, he’s got my gun—and there’s a fuckin’ tiger over here! ”
    I could still hear them moving closer and figured it was time to take action. I might regret the loss of ammunition later, but I needed to back everybody, including the cougar, off. I raised the P226 and fired off a couple of shots.
    There was more cursing, but I could hear them scrambling back toward the lodge.
    When I glanced up again, the mountain lion had disappeared.
    I wedged my shoulder against the grill of the Suburban and peeked over the hood. There wasn’t anyone there.
    When I realized I hadn’t breathed in a while, I took a deep one and slowly exhaled, feeling like a portion of my soul was escaping along with the vapor from my nostrils.
    Hector was feeling his head and wiping the blood off his face. “That thing bit me!”
    I pushed the barrel of the P226 in his ear. “New rules—stop complaining.”
    My Colt was still on the top of the van. I figured the big cat was gone, but I still wasn’t too hep on the prospect of climbing up there and getting a .223 in my spine. I could always make Hector do it, but I wasn’t sure that they wouldn’t shoot him, too.
    I glanced back at the main lodge. “Hey Hector, do you want to go up there and get my gun?”
    His eyes looked like ping-pong balls with pupils. “Fuck that.”
    “That’s what I figured.” I glanced at him. “So they’re all holing up in the lodge?” He didn’t say anything, so I nudged his ear with the Sig, reinforcing the rules.
    “Yeah, yeah . . . they’re in the lodge thing.”
    “They’ve got the FBI agent, the blonde woman?”
    “Yeah, they got her.”
    I made some quick calculations and took the barrel of the gun away from his head. “What about the other Ameri-Trans guy?”
    He looked at me for a moment. “Yeah, they got him, too.”
    I wondered briefly why they hadn’t simply killed him, but it was possible that they were smart enough to realize that they should hang on to all potential hostages. “What about Beatrice Linwood?”
    “Who?”
    “I need you to pay attention, Hector.” I sighed. “The waitress from South Fork Lodge, the one that served us lunch.”
    “Oh, Shade’s bitch . . . Yeah, hey that dude’s crazy. He says there are ghosts all over these mountains and that they talk to him.”
    I stared at him, and fortunately he misinterpreted.
    “I’m not kidding. He says there are hundreds of them all around watching us.” He wiped the blood out of his eyes. “He’s fuckin’ crazy, man.”
    I looked down at the top of his head and could see the four grooves where the big cat had gotten him. It was a good thing he had had that hood or it would have been worse. I figured I’d play on it. “You might need some stitches.”
    “Hey, no shit. I’m bleeding to