THE SO-CALLED GHOST OF THE Wild Man stomped out of sight through the woods. The last thing we heard was the crackle of the two-way radio clicking to life and the mechanized voice saying something into it. He was moving fast and the wind had picked up, making it hard to decipher, but it sounded kind of like, “Rendezvous time. On… way… way. Get ready… take off.” Some of the words were garbled, but him telling his accomplice to get ready to leave the mountain made sense now that they had what they’d come for.
Not that it did us much good, tied to a tree and totally at the mercy of the wilderness. And, judging from the giant paw prints we’d seen while tracking Dr. Kroopnik, that included a very large mountain lion. Attacks on humans may be rare, but what would an apex predator do if it came across three slabs of live steak tied to a maple tree like a giant shish kebab? It was one animal behavior field study I’m pretty sure no one had ever conducted, and I wasn’t thrilled about us being the test subjects.
“I really hate that raccoon,” Joe griped. “And Beard Face is a close second.”
“The detective in me wants to break this down and figure out who’s behind that mask, but I think getting out of here has to be our priority. Knowing whodunit won’t do us any good if we never make it off this mountain,” I said.
“I for one don’t trust him to keep his promise to call for help,” Joe said.
“Even if he does, it could be too late by the time the rescuers find us,” fretted Max. “We’ll be lucky to make it even four days without water.”
“Four days? At the rate these bugs are eating me, there won’t be anything left in two,” Joe said as he tried to blow a mosquito off his cheek. “Ow!”
“The zip ties are too tight to squeeze out of, but if I can reach deep enough into my pocket, I might be able to get my Swiss Army knife.”
I strained to twist my arms around so my hands had access to my front pocket. The plastic zip tie cut painfully into my wrist, but I didn’t let it stop me. I was able to slide my fingers into my pocket just deep enough to touch the knife with a fingertip. So close. Not close enough. I had to try a different strategy. I pinched the seam of my pocket between my fingertips and tried to yank my pants pocket around so I could reach farther inside. “Almost… Got it!”
“Way to go, bro!” Joe cheered.
“Now I just have to get the blade or the saw open with my hands cuffed together behind my back,” I said. “Without dropping it or cutting myself.”
It was a tall order. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that if I wasn’t careful, this situation could get a lot worse. A cut back home—where you can easily wash your finger and grab some antibiotic ointment and a Band-Aid—is no big deal. In the middle of a remote wilderness with no way to clean or bandage it to stop the bleeding and prevent infection, it could turn deadly.
I did my best to tune out the world around me and just focus. I was so focused I almost didn’t hear Joe when he spoke.
“Dude… Dude!” he urged in a hushed voice. “I don’t want to rush you, but you might want to hurry up. I think there’s something out there.”
Then I heard it too. Dead leaves crunching under a creature’s feet. And whatever was out there, it wasn’t a small animal.
“Maybe the gunman’s come back to shoot us after all,” Dr. K whimpered.
“Or maybe one of your mountain lions wants to sample some people jerky,” Joe suggested bleakly.
I did my best to ignore my heart pounding in my chest as I gripped the knife in my left hand and tried to pinch one of the blades open with the fingers of my right.
“It’s open!” I whispered. “It’s…”
It was the wrong blade was what it was.
Joe twisted his head around to look. “Bro, I think this is one mystery that detecting tool isn’t going to help us solve.”
I’d accidentally opened the magnifying glass instead of the knife!
CRUNCH.
Another footstep on dead leaves. Whatever was stalking us was only a few yards away, close enough to burst out of the woods and strike. There’d be no running this time. No fighting. Not unless I got free. Our only hope literally rested in my bound hands.
I frantically tried to feel for the right blade. But even if I got it open, I’d still have to somehow reposition the knife upside down with the blade facing outward and try to cut through the plastic. It was a delicate operation that required time, and time was something we had just run out of.
My mouth dropped open as our stalker stepped into view. This creature wasn’t a mountain lion and definitely didn’t have a beard.
“Jones!” I cried.