Caspian leaped past him, landing on the shoreline, running after Moose, barking.
“Caspian!” Dawson eased out of the cockpit, onto the wing—
Moose had stopped near the body, which lay on its back, crumpled, blood and gore puddling the snow around it.
Dawson limped up, slower than he would have liked. “Recognize him?”
“It’s Mack—Cade Maverick. Maverick Air.” He crouched then. “He’s gone. Looks like something impaled him. And he’s been shot.”
Blood saturated the man’s jacket and midsection, but a gunshot to his forehead said that something terrible had gone down.
Dawson’s cheeks tightened, and he stepped back, a strange sweat slicking down his back, his heart a fist as it hammered against his chest.
Caspian whined and came over to him. Sat on his feet. Looked up at him.
“Me too, bud.”
Moose stood up, hands on his hips, and looked around, then stepped near the fuselage.
Dawson took a breath and followed him. A seat lay on the riverbed, the belt unbuckled, but the other back seat had survived the crash. It was still in the fuselage, now upside down. The buckles dangled down.
Dawson poked his head into the cockpit. Broken glass webbed the instrument panels, but the seats survived, the belts also hanging from the ceiling. Blood coated the pilot’s seat, but he couldn’t see anything sharp that might have impaled Mack.
His heart stopped pounding so hard.
Moose was rooting through the debris on the roof of the plane. “He probably has a passenger list.”
Dawson spotted a few papers blowing into the river.
Caspian stood at the edge of the riverbank, almost on alert, his body taut, looking into the woods.
Weird.
“Footsteps,” Dawson said, now walking around the bank. “I think that’s a Sorel bootprint.” He pointed to a line of footprints with raised lines in the snow. “And maybe a moccasin?” He pointed to another set.
“Over here, next to the seat—there’s a third. I think. I don’t know.” Moose chased down a paper and stomped on it, lifted it.
“What do you have?”
“Yeah, this is the weight list. Looks like three passengers. Two men and a woman. Luggage for two, plus backpacks. Plane wasn’t overweight.” He looked at Mack, even as Caspian started to bark. “Not sure what happened. Maybe weather, but clearly there was foul play here. I’ll call it in.”
But Dawson’s attention stayed on Caspian as the dog rounded. Big eyes on him, muscles tensed. And weirdly, he heard a joke in his head from an oldLassieshow.“Help,Timmy’s stuck in the well!”
“What’s going on, bud?” He took a step toward the dog.
Caspian turned, barking. Looked back at him.
Dawson took another step toward him. “Don’t go—”
The dog took off into the woods.
“Caspian! Come back!”
Aw. He glanced at Moose. “I gotta get him.”
“I’ll make a call and then see if I can track down any survivors. But hurry up. There’s a blizzard headed this way. And keep your head on a swivel for trouble.”
“No doubt. I’ll be right back.” Dawson picked his way up around the plane debris and over to where Caspian had taken off. “I’ll be right back.”
