Читаем October skies полностью

‘Eh?’

‘What if we find something that points to Lambert being responsible for those killings?’

The morning sun shone down through the tops of the Douglas firs lining the side of the road, dappling the windscreen with splashes of light and shade.

‘Oh, come on, Rose. You’re not still chewing over the Rag Man angle, are you?’

‘I’m considering it. Lambert survived, we know that. But he came out of those mountains a… a haunted man.’

‘Of course he did. But I mean, wouldn’t you be changed by that sort of an experience? Traumatised, even?’

‘I suppose. It’s just…’

‘What?’

Rose pursed her lips. ‘Well, what if the story was very different?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What if, I don’t know… what if Lambert killed those people, but simply decided to leave a fictional account behind?’

‘What? On the off chance it might be discovered a hundred and fifty years later?’

‘Very funny, smart-arse. No, on the off chance he might be rescued by some other settlers or trappers and need something to corroborate his tale.’

Julian made a face. ‘Possibly.’

‘Come on, don’t you think it’s odd that Lambert chose to write it all up in so much detail? Surely he would have invested more of his effort in surviving, rather than writing? Unless, of course, he had something to hide.’

‘He was a writer, Rose, remember; that’s what he wanted to do.’ He squinted out of the passenger-side window at the flickering sunlight. ‘In some ways, just like an embedded journalist in Afghanistan. You don’t stop documenting what you’re seeing, hearing, feeling when the bullets start flying… that’s when you really start.’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

They drove on in silence for a while, both of them drinking in the splendour of the mountainside and the wooded valley below — scenery that demanded their attention with every twist and turn of the road. Ten minutes later the car rounded a corner and the tarmac gave way to a potholed, gravel track that the bouncy Japanese suspension began to struggle with. A roadside sign announced the National Parks campsite was not much further.

‘But what if…?’ She abandoned the thought unfinished and unformed.

‘What if, what?’

The track curved to the right and a moment later a wooden board above them welcomed them to Blue Valley Camp. Beyond they saw the parking lot, two cars parked apart from each other. One of them Rose recognised as Grace’s, and sitting in the front, she spotted her reading a paper, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the warmth of her car heater. The sound of tyres on gravel caught her attention and she perked up, offering Rose a smile as she parked their car snugly beside hers.

‘The unsinkable Molly Brown,’ Julian muttered under his breath, waving at her as he unplugged his seat belt.

‘What?’

‘Never mind. It’s just a line from a movie.’

Rose snorted. ‘Geek,’ she replied, looking over her shoulder at the other car. ‘Is that…?’

Julian followed her gaze. It was a cream-coloured Lincoln Navigator with shaded windows. ‘It looks like the kind of car a President-in-waiting might drive. Hmm?’

They let themselves out and joined Grace on the gravel as she opened the boot of her battered Jeep.

‘Morning, Grace,’ said Rose, savouring the crisp, cool mountain air and exhaling a plume of steam.

Grace squinted up at the deep blue sky. It was patched with a smattering of combed-out clouds painted a dazzling vanilla by the rising sun. ‘Lovely mornin’ it is too.’ She sucked in the air and blew it out. ‘Snow should’a come before the end of the month. I reckon it’s more than due. That’s definitely a sky readying for the winter.’

‘Hey, Grace.’ Julian waved at her.

‘Hey, Mr Cooke,’ the old woman replied with a cordial nod and a wave, then shot a quick, questioning glance at Rose. She shook her head almost imperceptibly.

Grace shrugged.

‘So, we set off now, we’ll be there mid-afternoon,’ she announced, pulling her backpack out of the boot of her Jeep. ‘You two tourists good to go?’

Julian pointed towards the Lincoln. ‘We’ve got someone coming along with us.’

Grace turned to look as the driver and passenger doors opened and a couple of men climbed out, both hauling back-packs of camping equipment out after them.

‘I thought it was going to be just Shepherd,’ Rose muttered.

Julian pulled a face. ‘As a matter of fact, so did I.’

Their feet crunched across the gravel towards them.

‘Mr Cooke,’ Shepherd called out, ‘I should have mentioned that I’d have company with me.’ He closed the gap between them. ‘This is Agent Barns. I recently qualified for a free Fed of my own. Apparently, when you hit a certain poll rating, you automatically trigger FBI protection.’ He grimaced at the man. ‘Barns has been my shadow for the last week.’

Agent Barns nodded politely to Julian, Rose and Grace and automatically produced his ID for them. ‘You can call me Agent Barns or Carl. I’m easy with either. I’ll try and keep out of your way — just keeping an eye out for Mr Shepherd, is all,’ he explained matter-of-factly.