Stag Heart, Book One

By Tom Frye

14-year-old Ryan MacNeil stumbles upon a drug deal gone south on a reservation up north. Ryan has goals to be like his father, the Sheriff of Riverview, North Dakota. When he ventures into Stag-Heart Woods to rescue his friends runaway dog, he stumbles upon the bloody aftermath of a shoot-out between an F

• Language: English
• Publisher: White Cat
• Release date: May 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9781958557365

Book preview

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

THE MASSIVE BEAST exploded out of the woods in front of the boy, causing the little kid to wet his pants. The monstrous grizzly knocked him senseless with savage fury and hurricane force.

The boy sprawled on his back as the snarling bear skidded to a halt on the rocky trail and spun around. Its horrible gaze fixed on him, the boy caught a glimpse of a badly-scarred face before the furry chest slammed into him a second time. Claws slashed the air above his head. Fangs snapped before his face.

Struck by the boulder of fury, the boy was forcefully thrown clear of those fangs and sent rolling toward the lip of a ledge to one side of the trail.

With a helpless wail, he hurtled over the ridge, his arms waving, his legs thrashing. He then dropped through fifty feet of empty air, spiraling down into a canyon, the wind howling in his ears, the beast leering at him from above.

Then, the river at the center of the canyon embraced him in its freezing clutches.

As its frothy green water closed over his head, the boy sank like a stone . . .

***

The dream, gasped Ryan, clawing his way free of his sleeping bag. The damned dream again!

He quickly stood up, peering down at the campfire.

Still shaken by the dream, Ryan shivered as cool night breezes caressed his bare chest and shoulders. Shoving his hands deep into his jean pockets, he inched his way to the lip of the ridge overlooking the wooded valley far below.

Long dark hair trailing over his shoulders, fourteen-year-old Ryan MacNeil gazed down into the moonlit vale, and forced the Beast of the dream out of his mind.

Locking his heels together, he focused on the fireflies drifting like wind-blown sparks above the spires of the pines below the high ridge, and for a moment, he wished he had wings like the glowing insects swirling through the late summer air. If so, he thought, it would sure make his quest a lot easier.

Below him, graced by silver moonlight, Stag-Heart Woods seemed like a magical place, and Ryan imagined himself soaring like a swift-winged owl over those woodlands, using the bird’s night vision to search for the object of his quest.

Yet Ryan lowered his head as reality sank in. For he knew, Stag-Heart was anything but a magical place. It was a haunted realm. And he had no wings. Any search in those dark woods would be done on foot, and not from the safety of the air where fireflies drifted.

Ryan sighed, remembering the day four years ago when he first ventured into the Woods. He was ten then, and armed with a .22 rifle and a bone-handled hunting knife, he had defied fear.

It had been an autumn day. The leaves were brilliant in their coats of yellow and orange. The sun peeked out from dark clouds scudding across the skies of North Dakota. Yet it had been chilly enough to wear a thick flannel, his faded jean jacket, and long johns beneath his jeans.

He had just been studying the waffle-like imprints his Timberline boots made in the muddy trail, when the Beast had come raging from out of nowhere. No sound of warning. No snapping or crackling of branches. The huge, murderous fury had appeared on the trail like a demon from hell.

Hot, stinky breath blowing in Ryan’s face, razor-sharp claws missing him by inches, he had found himself bowled over by the mountain of muscle and fur. Ryan had suddenly found his feet where his head should have been. It had all happened so fast, that later, all Ryan could recall was the scarred and battered face of the Beast, and what he swore were its glowing red eyes.

Spitting in defiance at the forested vale below him, Ryan retraced his steps to his crumpled sleeping bag. Scooping it up and slinging it around his shoulders, he looked once more to the wooded vale. When morning came, he hoped they could simply slip down into those depths, retrieve their two lost dogs, and safely sneak back out again. Long before the Beast even knew they had been in his realm.

***

The dog appeared on the trail below the high ridge as morning sunlight spilled down into Stag-Heart.

Even from where he stood, Ryan could tell something was wrong. The yellow Lab, Raxster, was usually as hyper as a gerbil. Now, though, the dog swayed from side to side as he attempted to climb the trail leading out of Stag-Heart.

Ryan cursed when he saw the bloody front paws. He then rushed past his two companions bundled in their sleeping bags. Leaping over the ashes of last night’s fire, he shouted, Get up, you guys! Raxster’s come out of the Woods! He’s hurt bad!

His long, dark hair whipping over his shoulders and the tail of his blue flannel trailing behind him, Ryan descended the ridge.

Raxster voiced a pitiful greeting, and then collapsed in the middle of the trail. As Ryan skidded to a stop in the soft dirt, he could clearly see that the two wounds on either of the Lab’s legs were deep. Blood flowed freely from both of his forelegs. Oh hell, Rax, whispered Ryan, tears coming to his eyes. You’re hurt really bad.

Raxster whined and gave Ryan a helpless, sad-eyed look. The dog then tried pulling himself up onto his paws. Ryan placed a gentle hand on the yellow Lab’s head. No, boy. Just lay still. I’ll get you out of here.

Suddenly realizing where he was, visions raced through Ryan’s mind of the creature who did such cruel damage.

Glancing warily at the distant tree line, he then hurriedly kneel-ed beside the whining dog and gently slipped his arms beneath Raxster. Going to hurt, Rax, he said through gritted teeth as he lifted the dog in his arms.

And it did, for the Lab yelped loudly. Ryan winced as if he could feel the dog’s pain, yet held its body close and started up the trail, turning his back on the Woods, leaving himself vulnerable to the Beast. He cringed with every step he took as he felt its red eyes boring into his backside.

He made it to the top of the trail, though, and collapsed before the ashes of last night’s fire.

Ryan sat Raxster down on his sleeping bag. He then discovered why his friends, Trevor and Corey, had not come down into the Woods to help him. Their bags were empty. They now stood thirty feet down the ridge, unaware of Ryan and the dog, for the two boys had troubles of their own.

Both were surrounded by five other boys and a pack of dogs. The J.D.’s (juvenile delinquents) of Riverview and their hounds from hell had come to pay an unfriendly visit.

You little puke! snarled the tall, lanky blond-haired boy who held little Corey Springer by the front of his sweatshirt. Told you to bring you’re damned mutt to the Cliff last night, you crusty faggot! Told you Goof and Mauser were going to leap the Cliff! Why in hell didn’t you show? Small, twelve-year-old Corey, balanced on his tip-toes and scrunched up his freckle-spattered face in genuine terror. The little, dark-haired kid had good reason to be terrified. The big kid clamped onto his shirt was Brad Logan, the worst of Riverview’s delinquents. Streaks of goodness ran thin in his blood, and when he wasn’t terrorizing kids in town, he was serving time at the juvenile holding camp thirty miles down the river.

Put him down! Trevor Taylor said, as he attempted to help his smaller friend.

Ryan watched his best friend from his place near the edge of the bluff. At fourteen, Trevor, with his long tail of whiteblond hair, looked like an avenging angel in the rays of the morning sun. But Trevor was no match for sixteen-year-old Brad Logan. Brad would surely put him down with a barrage of cruel punches.

Scanning the group of J.D.’s who had come with Brad, Ryan quickly determined which of the five might also cause trouble. He also glanced at their assortment of dogs. Among the bristling beasts, Ryan noted that one was a definite biter. The bulky Rott which belonged to Brad, now held by Billy Ray Morris.

And Billy Ray wouldn’t think twice about turning the dog loose on Ryan and his friends.

This could turn nasty, real fast.

CHAPTER TWO

RYAN TRIED NOT to lock eyes with Brad Logan. Trevor, your dog’s hurt bad. We got to get him to Doc’s place, fast!

Everyone turned and looked back up the small rise where Ryan kneeled beside Raxster. It was the sight of all the blood that brought them rushing up the hillside. For the moment, even Brad Logan seemed to forget about pummeling Corey as he shoved him away with a loud grunt.

Oh my God! cried Trevor, dropping to his knees beside his dog. What in hell happened to you, boy?

Pity tore at Ryan’s heart as Raxster licked Trevor’s hand. He wished to God there was something he could do. For both of them. But he simply kneeled there, looking up through blurry eyes as Corey joined them. The little kid placed his small hands on Trevor’s shaking shoulders. Damn! gasped Corey. What did that to him, Ryan?

Don’t know, replied Ryan.

One of the other boys from the J.D. crowd muttered, The Beast did it, sure as hell!

Keeping their own dogs back and struggling with them as they nosed the air at the scent of blood, the other J.D.’s talked in cryptic whispers among themselves.

I’d say a friggin’ bear ripped it open!

I’d say a friggin’ big friggin’ bear, if you ask me!

Not a bear, I don’t think. A bear would have finished him. He couldn’t have gotten away from a bear with those legs gone to hell like that.

Might have been the Stag. Hooked him good and then went on his way. Or those are bite marks. Looks like he’s been in a fight. Maybe he tangled with a wolf or a badger. Corey looked to Ryan as he fearfully asked, What about Goofy? Didn’t he follow Rax out of the Woods? Ryan had nearly forgotten about Corey’s Bull Terrier. The Goof, as they fondly called him, had been with Raxster the past night when the two dogs chased a pack of coyotes out of town. Corey had chased the foolhardy dogs from the dumpster in town all the way to the edge of the bluff overlooking Stag-Heart. He had then returned to Riverview in hysterics, bawling out his story to Trevor and Ryan. The three of them wasted little time getting to the bluff at the edge of the Woods. They had hoped to find the dogs early this morning.

Corey walked to the edge of the bluff, trying to sound brave as he said, Goof probably saved Rax. He’s more than likely chasing whatever attacked him.

You’re probably right, said Ryan, joining his small friend at the edge of the overlook. Bolstering young Corey was the best he could do. Ryan didn’t want him to go into hysterics. He and Trevor needed Corey’s help getting Raxster to Doc’s place. The last thing they needed was for the little kid to go half-crazed into the Woods to find his dog.

Brad Logan didn’t help matters, though, as he gazed out over the tree tops. Goof’s down there? Hell, he’s dead meat for sure. Face it, punk, your pooch will be little more than bear poop by tomorrow!

The little kid tore into Brad in a furious rage. Corey hit the bigger kid three times in the face before Brad staggered back and out of his reach.

You little bastard! growled Brad.

And then amidst hoops and howls from his J.D. associates, Brad Logan lashed out with a wicked right hook.

Amazingly, Corey ducked. The fist simply passed above his head.

Brad was now furious. The little kid was making him look bad. Really bad.

Ryan latched onto Corey, and swung his wiry friend around behind him. Back off, Logan! he shouted, and then received a fist in the face for all his efforts.

Yowl! Way to go, Brad! arose from the band of excited J.D.’s. Knock his teeth in the dirt!

Yeah, another of the rowdy kids yelled, kick his butt over the bluff!

Even the dogs sensed the violence in the air. One by one they began yapping and leaping forward.

Ryan tasted blood. The fist had landed dead-center on his chin, causing his teeth to rattle. A trickle of blood trailing down his chin, he backed away from Brad. He then dropped quite suddenly to the ground, his splayed hands making little slapping noises on the smooth dirt as he swiftly performed a leg sweep on Brad, taking the bigger kid’s legs out from under him.

Brad hit the ground with a surprised "Oomph!" of pain.

The other J.D.’s now went wild with enthusiasm. Their dogs did the same. Crusher, the huge Rottweiler, lunged forward, nearly pulling free of Billy Ray Morris. The dog had his sights fixed directly on Ryan. He was now obligated to avenge his fallen master. If Billy Ray released him, the snarling, slavering, teeth-gnashing beast was going to tear into Ryan and do mortal damage.

Ryan tried to ignore the lunging dog as Billy Ray was pulled forward. He had to, for Brad Logan was scrambling to his feet. You’re dead! Brad screamed, hooking his hands into claws as he charged Ryan. You’re dead, you son of a bitch!

Had Brad not screamed those last words, Ryan would have simply sidestepped his clumsy attack, possibly tripping Brad as he sailed past him. But there was a deep hurt inside Ryan MacNeil. A thing from his past that haunted him every day of his life. Most kids laughed it off when called that particular name. Some took offence; if they were the son of a bitch, what did that make their mother? In the case of Ryan, who had lost his mother ten years ago when she was killed by a drunken driver, he was more than simply angry. He was deeply hurt and offended.

Ryan lunged forward to meet Brad there on the high ridge, and in one terrible rush of fury, he lashed out at the drunk driver he had killed over and over in his mind since the night he learned of his mother’s tragedy. With all the pent up rage coming to a boil, Ryan threw all his force into a palm-strike that solidly connected with Brad’s nose. Brad flew off his feet, and began rolling back and forth, moaning in pain.

Ryan didn’t like what he’d done. But if he hadn’t reacted, that would be him thrashing about on the ground. Ryan steeled himself for the reaction of Logan’s companions.

Billy Ray was having a tough time holding Crusher back. The huge black dog reared up, pawing the air with his front paws. Twisting his massive head from side to side, he began to bark fiercely. He wanted a piece of Ryan in a bad way.

Suddenly, Crusher gave a terrific lunge, snapping his chain. The snarling Rottweiler then came barreling directly at Ryan.

Ryan froze as the big dog lunged at him. Just when it seemed the Rott’s slavering jaws were going to close on Ryan’s face, he wheeled swiftly to one side, moving quicker than the dog.

With a yelp, the Rott went spinning away, scrabbling for purchase on the stony ridge top. The black beast rolled dangerously close to the rim of the bluff.

In his mad scramble to regain his paws, Crusher rolled too far.

Everyone on the ridge froze, their sights fixed on the large dog desperately clawing at the ground to stop himself from falling to the valley floor far below.

Crusher’s hind legs went over, and dogs and kids alike focused on Crusher’s fear-filled face as he began to slide toward his doom.

Ryan dove flat out on the ground, his arms shooting out before him. He knew he would have only one chance. If he missed, the huge dog would slip from his grasp and plummet to his death. Ryan breathed a silent prayer even as he closed his hands on the Rott’s front legs.

Trevor latched onto Crusher’s collar, and the two boys managed to drag the squirming dog back onto solid ground. It was quiet on the ridge for long moments.

Ryan tugged Crusher past the rim of the bluff, and released him with a gentle push. He then placed his head in the cradle of his folded arms and quietly sighed. The J.D.’s and their dogs all stared quietly at the Rott as he lumbered over to his master still sprawled in the dirt. The only sound any of them heard was the huff huff of Crusher’s panting.

But the spell of stillness was broken quite suddenly by Brad: "Get him! Kill, Crusher! Kill! Kill!

CHAPTER THREE

CRUSHER!" SHOUTED BRAD.

It took only seconds for the rest of them to get caught up in the spirit of the thing, and the J.D.’s began to make quite a commotion. Crusher was given little choice. With a savage bark, he went into attack mode.

His eyes widening in disbelief at the dog’s ungratefulness, Ryan peered at the bone-crushing jaws of the advancing Rott. It was Trevor that saved Ryan from being mauled by the fierce dog. He scooped up the .30.30 rifle they had brought with them for their trek into the Woods, and Ka-blam!

The sound of the rifle brought Crusher to an abrupt halt. Hot lead passed a good distance above the dog’s head. Instantly, the dog broke off his charge. Turning quickly away from Ryan, the Rott scrabbled for footing and down he went.

Ryan sighed in relief. He looked from Crusher, cowering at his feet to Trevor at his side.

Disgusted with the dog for being such a coward, Brad Logan snarled, Stupid dog! Kill him, like I said!

Trevor ejected the spent shell casing, and levered another cartridge into the rifle’s chamber.

Crusher rose to his feet once more. At his master’s harsh command, the black dog snarled and began to advance again.

Call him off, Logan! shouted Trevor.

He shouldered the rifle, and checked Brad’s reaction.

Brad snapped, You shoot my dog and I’ll kill you!

Trevor replied, I don’t want to shoot your dog, you stupid ass! Just call him off!

Even the J.D.’s were looking to Brad as if he had lost it completely. Ryan knew if he moved too fast, the dog would charge.

He looked from Brad to the Rott to