Chapter 1-2
916 Words
Waiting is.
Katie Whitfield had to remind herself of that, especially with clients like this one. When she was on her own, it was never a problem. Waiting was a wilderness tracker’s natural state. Even when the wilderness was the tame Cornish countryside.
Be still.
Observe.
Then be still some more.
Accept that the mind was the very slowest of all the senses.
Eyes, ears, smell, taste, touch all offered immediate information. But even a mind trained to the task took time to process that information and find the thread that didn’t fit.
Tonight, the thread that didn’t fit at all was the man lying on his stomach among the bluebells to her right and a pace behind. It was terribly distracting.
The quest was easy because she’d long since tracked their quarry to this copse of trees below the airport.
Badgers naturally paired with beech trees and bluebells. They all three liked dry, chalky soil. And badgers also liked steep banks that faced southwest.
What made this particular colony special was the presence in the clan of an erythristic badger with his rare rust-red coloring.
Chas Thorstad was the third wildlife photographer she’d led to the site in the last six months. The Guardian, BBC, and now this twit. Even the chap from The Guardian had more of a clue about how to handle his gear than Thorstad.
He moved quietly enough, unlike the first two photographers she’d led here, with all the woods-sense of a pair of humpback whales. But his gear far outclassed him. She liked the Sony a7S II and wouldn’t mind having one if she had a couple thousand pounds lying around looking for something to do. However, his monster lens, which probably cost ten times more than the camera body, would be better suited for photographing small planets than badgers at close range.
Maybe it was spite, but she actually led him right to the edge of where, even a meter closer, they’d be disturbing the badgers. At this distance his lens would let him photograph their teeth or maybe just one tooth at a time.
He didn’t complain. Or change lenses.
There was something off about him. But he hadn’t quibbled over her fee—which had doubled as soon as she saw his equipment.
She eased out her night monocular, which had set her back a whole hundred pounds. It gave her a beautiful view of the badgers’ sett—their home was clear beneath the low-hanging beech trees despite the late evening light. Seven thirty-centimeter holes had been dug back into the hillside. This was a good-sized clan of at least ten individuals, and their tunnels would penetrate as deep as eighty meters into the hillside.
A black-and-white triangular head popped up from a hole, glanced in their direction for a long moment, then went about its business. The evening hours in April were a busy time for badgers. It was nearing the peak of their mating season, which meant a lot of grooming, play, and s*x. It was also when the cubs would first venture to the entrances. She made a mental note to come back next month when they began exploring beyond the tunnels under their parents’ watchful eyes.
What was so special about this site was that the biggest boar…
“There,” she whispered to Chas.
Weighing at least fifteen kilos, despite it only being spring, made him exceptionally large by badger standards. His face was red-and-white rather than black-and-white. His body was rusty rather than the normal gray.
He glared down at their position.
Perhaps she’d pushed them a little too close. The size of a small pit bull, a roused badger could be far more dangerous. Not only did it have a vicious bite, but its long claws could easily slice through clothes and flesh.
She held her breath for a long thirty seconds before he huffed at them, then turned left to greet one of the females. A pair of cubs plowed awkwardly into his side. He briefly played with them, then returned his attention to the female.
“Tell me you got that,” she whispered to Chas.
“Uh, yeah,” he spoke too loudly and the badgers scattered back into the sett’s holes, herding the cubs ahead of them.
The big erythristic male glared at her one last time, perhaps debating between ducking out of sight versus coming down the slope to shred them up a bit. If it came after them, she would make bloody certain she outran Chas Thorstad. She had no problem throwing him to the wolves, or rather to the badgers, to secure her own escape.
The boar chose to duck out of sight.
Katie suspected that if she came here again, he’d pick up her scent and chase her off right away.
She should have tripled her bloody fee.
“Well, they won’t be back for a while,” she pushed up to her knees and turned.
“Doesn’t matter. I have what I need.” Again, he was holding his camera oddly, as if he’d been taking pictures of something else entirely.
“Good, then let’s go.” The sooner she was done with Chas Thorstad the happier she’d be. Halfway to her feet, she hesitated and looked around.
Something, like a guy staring at you across a pub, prickled over her skin.
Darkness.
She raised her night-vision monocular and scanned again.
Nothing.
There were only the two of them.
They started tramping back to her aging MINI Cooper parked by the beach at Sennen Cove.
But she couldn’t get over the feeling that someone was watching her.
Ten meters down the trail, she hesitated. It felt as if someone was waiting—right in front of her.
Bracing herself, she walked forward and…the feeling was gone.
- Writer
