I stared in disbelief for several seconds. Like the barbed wire below, this fence ran as far as I could see to the left and right, and it was new, not some rusty relic from the past. It was probably eight feet high and topped by a coil of razor wire a couple of feet in diameter, so that it extended outward from the top of the fence and over my head. The trees near the fence had been de-branched for a dozen feet above ground level. As far as I could see, no trees seemed to have been cut down to make room. Rather, it was as if the fence had been embedded into the forest. It was hard enough to see it even at ground level. From the air, it would probably be unseen.
This fence was meant to keep people out. And maybe also to keep people in. But why would anyone go to this effort to keep someone out of a wilderness area? Sure, it was burned over and now healing. It seemed the barbed wire at the bottom of this slope and the steepness of this climb would be sufficient warning. Then again, it hadn’t been enough to stop me. Still, this seemed like overkill.
I peered upward through the fence and could see that the steepness of the grade became shallower. The ground started to level out. And about 20 yards further up there was little vegetation, and the open blue big sky was visible over the valley. But the view was interrupted by another obstacle, a parallel second line of chain-link fence, also topped with razor wire. Far to my left I saw a gate in the inner fence. That would provide access to the space between the fence lines. But as far as I could see in either direction, there were no gates in the outer fence.
Assuming the Hispanic climbed over this barrier before running through the forest, the razor wire would certainly explain the cuts in my dead guy’s clothing. It was fortunate that all he suffered were a few cuts. The wire could easily have sliced deep enough so that he would have bled to death. But then fortunate was a relative term. After all, he died anyway when he ran off the cliff.
This fence was not just serious protection. It was also expensive. It was far more than any National Forest budget could manage. This was protecting a secret, not just a burned out area of wilderness. This fortification held enough of a secret that someone running away from it would be pursued by armed men. They were not simply planting trees, as I had been led to believe by Ranger Pine. What did that imply about my bounty hunter theory? I didn’t know.
There was definitely a story here. I just had no idea what story. I pulled out my cell phone and snapped several pictures of the fence lines and the razor wire. The pictures were not great because of the low light level beneath the canopy of tree branches, but they were clear enough.
I had to know what was inside. Climbing over the top did not seem like a good idea, considering the razor wire up there. I grabbed a sturdy branch off the ground nearby and started digging into the soil at the base of the fence. My progress was blocked by the wire, which extended below the surface at least several inches. And the ground was rocky. But I was soon flinging dirt, rocks, and vegetation aside as I dug downward.
Bending over my improvised digging tool, I suddenly felt something hard and cold press deep into my neck. It felt round and metallic. A subdued husky voice behind me said, “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”