Emerson leaned forward. “Where are we going?”
“Not far,” Tin Man said. “We’re tending to your bucket list. You wanted to see some of the park’s restricted areas.”
Fifteen minutes later, Bob pulled off the main highway onto a smaller one-lane dirt access road. Tin Man got out and unlocked a gate, marked by a sign that read NO TRESPASSING.
Past the gate, the road was heavily rutted and the Tahoe crept along for a couple more miles before coming to a stop. Tin Man and Bob got out of the SUV and opened the rear door.
“Out,” Tin Man said, holding a flashlight so everyone could see the step down onto the dirt road.
“I see you traded in your semiautomatic for that big-bore bolt-action rifle,” Vernon said to Bob. “I do some hunting myself, and I know that there’s one heck of a gun.”
“What do you hunt?” Bob asked.
“Squirrel mostly,” Vernon said. “You might not think that’s got a high difficulty rating, but they’re devious devils.”
“I mostly hunt bear,” Bob said. He looked over at Tin Man. “He hunts people.”
Tin Man flicked the flashlight beam into the tall grass at the side of the road. Several sets of eyes reflected the light before the animals backed off and retreated into the darkness.
“Enough talk,” Tin Man said. “We let this drag on and it’s going to eat into my recreational time.”
Tin Man moved off the dirt road, onto a rough path that led through the brush. “Follow me and watch where you’re walking. I don’t want anyone to break a leg ahead of time. And don’t even think about wandering off the path, because Bob will shoot you if you so much as stray five inches.”
Riley, Emerson, and Vernon walked single file into the brush, stumbling over branches, struggling to keep themselves upright in spite of their bound hands. Wayan Bagus was having an easier time. No one had noticed he had escaped the zip ties. He kept his hands hidden in the folds of his orange robe.
Vernon was directly behind Tin Man. Wayan Bagus was behind Vernon. Riley was between Wayan Bagus and Emerson. The temperature was in the low forties, but Riley was sweating with the exertion of the forced walk at the high altitude and the fear of what lay ahead. She tripped and went down to one knee. The march stopped while she pulled herself up. She stood tall and they continued walking.
“Wait for it,” Emerson said softly behind her.
She knew he was encouraging her not to lose faith. He was reminding her to stay vigilant for an opportunity to turn things around.
The air was increasingly foul with the smell of sulfur and rot. The moon peeked from behind a cloud. Not enough moonlight to show whatever was beyond the path, but clearly something had died and was decomposing in the inky blackness of the night.
“You got some day-old roadkill out here,” Vernon said.
Tin Man shone his flashlight off to the side of the path, panning the beam across the field. Not far from where they were walking were piles of dead and rotting buffalo, mule deer, and elk. They littered the landscape of rolling scrub grass.
Tin Man inhaled deeply. “The smell of death. Nothing like it.”
Riley was taking shallow breaths. Her stomach rolled with nausea, and sweat dripped off the tip of her nose. “What is this place?” she asked.
“A dumping ground for dead animals,” Bob said.
“It’s not a ‘dumping’ ground,” Tin Man said. “This is sacred ground. Here there’s no rank, there’s no rich or poor, black or white, Christian or Muslim. Here you don’t even have a name. Here you’re either a killer, a scavenger, or fresh meat.”
“Which are we?” Emerson asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Riley looked out at the acres of bones and carrion. She couldn’t see them without the aid of the flashlight, but she could feel the weight of the dead animals. “You don’t bury them?”
“Bury them? These animals were all killed by natural causes. Ideally, they’d be left where they died for scavengers to eat, but it’s too dangerous to do that where tourists sightsee, so we relocate them here for the coyotes, wolves, and bears.”
They walked for several more minutes before Tin Man told them to stop. The moon was emerging from behind the cloud, so Riley could see they were standing at the end of the path and on the edge of an excavation. She guessed it had to be at least twelve feet deep. A big yellow backhoe was parked a short distance away. A couple freshly dead, half-ripped-apart buffalo were at the bottom of the pit. A pair of backpacks lay beside them, along with some barely identifiable human remains.
“Is that Joshua and Emma Bulfinch?” Emerson asked.
Tin Man ignored Emerson’s question and motioned toward the pit. “Get in.”