Something shifted, there was a sudden intensity, like the feeling Gwen sometimes got in South LA when a strange car turned the corner, moving slowly, windows inching down.

Todd asked, “Hey, who are you, anyway?”

The man turned back toward them, a grimace on his face. Small red blotches appeared on his pale cheeks. His eyes were the color of ice. “I’m a concerned citizen, and a farmer. My brother Gary and I have some interests up here, and we don’t appreciate anyone interfering with them. Especially not Mexican nationals.”

“You’re a farmer?” Todd asked, and Gwen wanted to kill him. Could he really be that stupid?

“Yeah. My family’s had a ranch in the Central Valley for three generations. My other brother still runs it. But cattle are a drag. So Gary and I branched off, since I need income for my other activities. We’ve been growing our most lucrative crop up here.”

Now even Todd seemed to understand what he meant; he sat down, deflated.

“Look, man,” Oscar said, “we weren’t looking for any trouble.”

“Well, you sure did find it, though, didn’t you?” The man scratched his head suddenly, as if something had bitten him. Then he stopped. “I gotta thank you, though. We knew the Mexicans had some gardens up in the mountains but we didn’t know where. We didn’t think anyone came back here anymore on account of the bear dump. So when I saw you all turn off at that old abandoned road, I figured you must have known something, or that you might even have a grow back here yourselves.”

“The bear dump?” Todd asked.

“Yeah, the place where they used to get rid of problem bears.” The man lifted his rifle slightly, as if preparing in case he saw one. “Back in the day, the tourists in the park used to feed the bears like pigeons, and so the bears got used to helping themselves. They’d go up to people and lift the backpacks right off their shoulders. One of them attacked a little kid once. When it got bad, the Park Service would shoot them—and then they’d bring them out here. That road you took, there’s another turnoff about halfway down that leads to a cliff. The rangers would dump the bears over the edge.”

Behind her fear, Gwen felt a wave of revulsion. She remembered the other dirt road they’d passed. She remembered the ranger’s hesitation when he first brought up the trail. Could this story be true? Silently, she started to pray.

“Some hikers discovered the dump maybe thirty years ago,” the guy continued. “And then all hell broke loose. There were a couple hundred bear corpses hanging out of trees, smashed on rocks. Some of them had been skinned for their fur.” He spat out a stream of brown spit, chewing tobacco. “My dad saw it, said the skinned ones looked like huge naked men covered with muscle. I wish I had seen them.” He sounded momentarily wistful. “Anyway. After that they shut down the road.”

“That’s explains why no one comes back here,” said Todd. “And why the road’s not even on the topo map.”

“Exactly. Which makes it pretty convenient for other purposes, I guess. Fucking Mexican bastards. So when I saw your car turn off the road at that old abandoned exit, I figured I’d just tag along behind you.”

He looked out at the view again, ran his hand down the barrel of his rifle. “It’s pretty country up here. Glad to see it. And you’ve made the trip easier on me, thanks. That fire pit at the trailhead was real nice. Didn’t use it since I didn’t want you to see the smoke, but it was a beautiful spot to camp. The lakeside spot was pretty too. But that river crossing was a bitch.”

Now he looked right at Gwen, and her blood ran cold.

“You probably needed some help, didn’t you? You don’t look like you can carry much of a load. But that’s how it is in general, isn’t it? You people not carrying your load.”

Oscar took a step forward and said angrily, “Hey, shut up, man.”

The man casually brought the rifle up to his shoulder. “Not so fast, brown boy.”

Oscar stopped in his tracks. “Fucking asshole.”

“Be careful now. I’ve already shot one Mexican today. I shoot another, and I’ll probably get a prize. Hell, if I shot you and the black one here, my friends would probably throw me a parade!” He chuckled, then swept his rifle back and forth across the group of them, and Gwen instinctively drew back.

“Whoa,” said Todd, jerking her toward him. She looked behind her—there was a drop of at least a hundred feet. Six more inches and she would have stepped right off the cliff.

She closed her eyes—her heart beat wildly—and took several deep breaths. Fear built on top of fear. Todd had just kept her from falling to her death, but was that any worse than what she faced now? She had come here to get away from the threat of violence and danger. But as scared as she’d been of José, he was just a kid, as freaked out as they were. This guy was different. This was a scary murderous man who seemed delighted to have them in his sights. She noticed his tattoos again—the number 14 on one arm, and what looked like the bottom of a swastika against a red and black flag on the other. The man lowered the rifle but still held it diagonally across his chest. Please, God, she prayed, please help us get out of here.

“Actually, my name’s not Asshole,” he said, sounding jaunty again. “And it’s not Buddy either. You can call me A.J. And this here’s Timber. I just got her a couple weeks ago, at a rodeo. Someone had taken her and given her back already, and now I know why. She steals everything that’s not tied down and she’s pretty useless as a sheep or cattle dog. And she barked too damn much, so we had to get that taken care of.”

The dog sat alert, the tips of both ears falling forward. Little black spots were scattered across her white coat; she looked like cookies-and-cream ice cream. Despite A.J.’s dismissals, she gazed up at him, awaiting a kind word, a gentle touch.

“Look, man,” Tracy said now, stepping forward. She’d been quiet, and Gwen had seen her trying to read the situation, the calculation almost visible in her eyes. “Oscar’s right. We’re not trying to cause any trouble. We don’t care what you’re doing up here. Hell, we didn’t care what he was doing.” She gestured at the dead youth between them. “We’re on vacation, on a backpacking trip. We just want to get our stuff and go home.”

A.J. turned toward Tracy as if seeing her for the first time. He looked interested, even amused, and Gwen prayed that she wouldn’t do anything stupid, lunge at him or curse him and get them all killed. He faced her squarely and shook his head. “Sorry, it’s a bit more involved than that. Hey, are you a Mex too?”

Tracy glared at him. “I’m half Japanese and half Irish.” Gwen was glad she didn’t add the usual finishing touch: And 100 percent trouble.

“Half Jap!” A.J. grinned, seeming genuinely pleased. “Well, this is my lucky day! Where are you all from anyway, the United Nations?”

“No, genius,” Oscar said. “We’re from LA.”

“That hellhole. Well, that explains it. Too bad you didn’t stay there.” He lifted the rifle now and brushed some dirt from the barrel. “Because as I was saying, the situation here’s kind of involved. See, we need to get rid of that garden, let the Mexicans know they’re not welcome. And now I’ve told you about our garden too. Do you know where it is?”

They all looked at him, confused. “N-no,” said Todd.

“Well, I’m not going to tell you!” He laughed loudly.

Gwen looked at his eyes, which were almost colorless, but with a spark of something, anger or insanity, that ran through his body too, providing a jerky, stilted energy. It was like he’d been plugged into an electrical outlet. She had seen this kind of look two or three times over the years, in the eyes of the occasional people she’d met who were truly psychopaths.

“I’ll tell you this, though. Gary came up the morning after you left and he’s on the trail a half-day behind me. He’s probably at the lake by now and he’ll be here in the morning. Then we’ll figure out what to do with you. Well, most of you anyway . . . You! Stanford!” he said, gesturing at Todd with his rifle.