Antler Dust (The Allison Coil Mystery Series Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

saw. But sending him down toward civilization would spare the weary guy a steep hike back up to the hunters’ camp.
    “Can you start a fire in the snow if you get lost?” Grumley said.
    “You showed me once.”
    “Can you do it now?”
    “I think so,” said Applegate.
    Grumley dug in an inside pocket for two packs of fire starter gel. “One should do it, but you’ve got a spare in case you screw up,” said Grumley. “Matches?”
    “Got those,” said Applegate.
    “Do you have any food?” said Grumley.
    “All gone.”
    Grumley eyed the body. Drinking water from the dead guy’s canteen was worth the risk. So was eating his food, or at least a portion. They could both use a bit of fuel. He had seen how thirsty Applegate was, too. Grumley dropped to his knees next to the body and began searching.
    “Aw, don’t,” said Applegate.
    “Why not?
    “Jesus,” said Applegate. “Leave him alone. I’ll make it.”
    “Got it,” said Grumley, wrapping his fingers around a bottle that sat in an inside pocket. It was one of those squeezable plastic bottles used by bicycle riders. Further buried in the body wrap, he found a sandwich-sized Tupperware container.
    “Bingo,” Grumley said.
    The water was cold but the dissipating heat from the body had kept it from icing up. Grumley figured there was a pint or so inside and passed it to Applegate.
    “Don’t get your lips on the plastic,” he said.
    The Tupperware held chunks of cheese and crackers. Everything was eaten in a minute. Grumley jammed the Tupperware back in with the body.
    Dead guy, Grumley thought. This was the day for dead guys. It was a total coincidence. Two fucked-up deals, no question, but more than anything it was important not to let one get tangled up with the other. And it was damn important to get out of this valley before anybody else spotted him, especially those idiot protesters.
    ****
    Over and over in her mind, Allison kept seeing the hunched form of the man struggling desperately with the load. The vision was shadow-like, but clear enough.
    An hour to go. Bear was eager and anxious; Eli toiled along like a worn-down soldier. Allison’s eyes widened and she took a bit of relief from the decreasing intensity of the snowfall.
    In a snowstorm, jet noise was even more pronounced, as if the roar was passed from one flake to the next. The blunt bawl from this jet had a deep, droning wah-wah quality to it. It was a distant reminder that jet traffic existed, a subliminal message from the world of technology. Next it was as if the jet was swooping along the treetops of Ripplecreek. The sound bounced down and around her and she glanced up, half expecting to catch a glimpse of a silver belly.
    She wondered if the jet was bound east or west—New York or L.A., Denver or Salt Lake City. Perhaps it was a short-hopper on the way into Grand Junction, the passengers lined up in neat rows, elbow to elbow, heads bouncing in unison like puppets all controlled by the same puppeteer, all rocketing along through the skies. Alcohol for the travelers, jet fuel for the engines and heaps of good faith to keep the whole thing aloft.
    At cruising speed, of course, the jet engines did not have the same straining quality they did at takeoff. Allison wondered if anybody realized how fast a plane was traveling on a runway before liftoff, or whatever they called it. Liftoff was for space shuttles and things like that. Planes took off. Whatever one called the means of getting airborne, it did not make a lick of difference when it came to human beings surrounded by hunks of metal rocketing through the thin air. Not all things that were supposed to go up managed to make it. Some flopped. Some nose-dived. Some came to a terrifying moment-of-truth—halfway earth-bound, gravity-happy, man-made structures that weighed thousands of tons, fancy-free mechanical things that used air, of all things, for power and opportunity. Allison had been on a jet that arrived at that moment and