Walt Longmire 07 - Hell Is Empty by Craig Johnson Page A

death here.”
    I looked around at our situation and wasn’t overcome with confidence. The only positive thing I could think of was that I had all the modes of transportation and a pretty good vantage point. Of course, there was also the opportunity to freeze to death before the sun came up in the morning.
    The gangbanger looked up at me. “Hey, you know I wasn’t going to shoot you, right?”
    I kept my eyes on the porch of the lodge but couldn’t see anything amidst the streaking snow. “Well, I appreciate that, Hector.”
    “Yeah, I mean I was just supposed to slow you down till they got that thing going.”
    I studied him. “What thing?”
    “The tank thing.”
    “Hector, what are you talking about?”
    He wiped more blood off his face with his sleeve. “When we got the van stuck, Shade said you’d be the one that would come after us; that the dead Indians told him.” He tapped the front of the Suburban with a hand. “When you got here we’d take your truck. But then one of the other guys, the guy they call Fingers, he found the tank thing in the shed behind the lodge and said he could get it going if we gave him enough time.”
    I seemed to remember an old surplus Thiokol Model 601 Spryte snowcat that had been brought up from the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs back in the midseventies for use at the ski resort near Meadowlark Lake. So much for keeping them penned, but how far and how fast did they think they were going to go in a snowcat? If I were them, I’d still try for the Fed Suburban.
    I stood and checked for the keys to the SUV, which were still in my pocket, and then tapped Hector on the shoulder. “C’mon.”
    He looked up at me but didn’t move. “What?”
    Slitting my eyes to guard against the snow, I glanced across the hood. “We’re gonna go break up the party.”
    He settled into the parka, which was a good two sizes too big for him. “Fuck that.”
    I looked down at him and snorted, losing a little more of my soul through my nose. I raised my eyes and tried to sound indifferent. “Suit yourself, but with you bleeding like you are and alone, I’ll bet that hungry mountain lion comes back.”
     
     
    There wasn’t much cover between the cabins and the lodge, and I was going to have to hustle between them in open view of whoever was shooting the assault rifle. Occupying myself by thinking about how many wrong career choices I’d made to lead me to this lovely pass, I stood at the front of the van, shrugged the strap of Sancho’s pack onto my shoulder, and took a few deep breaths.
    I jolted forward and to the right, postholing only one step in the open. I slammed against the notched corner of the other cabin but didn’t hear anything. I was tempted to wave my hat but figured I’d already pressed my luck—and anyway, I liked my hat.
    I motioned for Hector to follow me. I’d cuffed him but figured his legs should still work fine.
    He shook his head and brought his hands together in a praying gesture.
    I’d given him the option of going first, but he’d said he’d rather follow. I guess he was having second thoughts now.
    I yelled above the wind. “C’mon.” Say what you want about the small man, he was agile and fast. He ran into my shoulder and stood there panting. “You do that again, and I’ll leave you out here.”
    His eyes circled the immediate vicinity, and I could only guess how many phantom cougars he was seeing.
    I stayed close to the cabin, careful to slip under the window, and continued to my right. If I remembered correctly, there was a straight shot to the lodge up ahead, but we had to go through another opening between the next two cabins before we could get there.
    I waited at the corner and hoped that when I made my mad dash, somebody wouldn’t be waiting on the other side with a riot gun. I stood there awhile just to break up the rhythm. I thought of Santiago’s cell phone in my pocket but didn’t want to open it out here in the dark—it’d be