Cold River Resurrection Read Online Free PDF

had run out of pishxu (sage) on that mission. As part of his tradition, before touching a body, he would take a handful of pishxu and rub it in his hands, and then rub across his face, his chest, and up and down his arms. He had taken a bag of pishxu with him to Afghanistan. Before he left the country, he only had enough to rub between his thumb and forefinger.
    They didn’t find Jennifer soon.
    When she was found, their world changed.

C hapter 4
     
    Whitewater River
     
    At times during the day, Jennifer had moments of lucid thought. Keep walking , the voice said. Just keep on walking . The stay put and build a fire voice had long gone. Anyway, she was a long way from stay put. She had messed up that old wise advice a long time ago. She knew she was losing track of time and couldn’t help it, anymore than she could help wanting to hold her doll. The fact that she really didn’t have her doll, that she was cradling a replacement, was lost on her, even during those moments when she was sure she was awake.
    Jennifer slipped into the comfort of illusion. Of hallucination.
    Her thirst was overpowering, a constant companion during moments of clear thought and hallucination. She stood on the bank of a river, kneeled down, and began scooping water into her mouth. The water from snow melt churned past her. The river was too wild to cross.  She turned and trudged uphill on a game trail, stepped around a boulder and entered the trees that seemed to reach the sky. A sky growing darker with each moment.
    Go ing to dark before long.
    She stepped slowly, the rumble of the rushing water fading with each step, the trees coming closer together. As she entered the forest, Jennifer stopped. Uncertain.
    You will die here.
    The thought jumped into her head before she could stop it.  She had been having a good afternoon. A hike in the woods, some water to drink. She must have eaten something, but she couldn’t remember. She didn’t seem too hungry. Exhaustion and a large tree stopped her progress, and that was w here she wanted to stay, even though it was not yet night. She curled tight, pulled her legs up and cradled her head with her arms, holding tight to her Nanna, an unconscious movement, her mind taking her away to the safest place she knew.
    In her dream, she was sitting on her deck, holding Nanna, feeling the morning sun on her back, drinking a cup of black coffee and reading the Sunday Oregonian. Her safe place. The Willamette River gleamed below, and the comforting sounds of traffic drifted up to her. Her fourth floor apartment was the perfect place.
    Safe. Warm. No wild things. No dead things. No shadows. She dreamed of home.             
     
    She awoke in the wilderness, in the shadows with the dead things.
                 

C hapter 5
     
    Cold River Indian Reservation
    Tribal Police Department
     
    Smokey walked to the front of the squad room and faced the assembled officers. The noise level dropped. Six uniformed officers and four detectives had been waiting to execute a tribal search warrant for possession and sales of meth. Some were on a scheduled day off and not too happy with him. Just part of my job, he thought, and waited for a few more seconds.
    Officers Kincaid and Burwell were laughing about something and eating dinner from a large McDonald’s bag. Across the table from them Officer Sarah Greywolf was putting on her duty belt, adjusting her gear. She looked up and glared at the two officers.  Sgt. Lamebull was reading a Field and Stream magazine, his black hair rolling off the shoulder of his grey uniform shirt.
    They aren’t going to be happy when I tell them they might be joining the search team after the raid, Smokey thought. But now that they are here, they are as much conscripts as my great uncle when he was an Indian scout for General Crook in the Modoc Wars.
    Kincaid slugged Burwell in the arm and laughed. Burwell pointed at the lieutenant.
    “Way too much testosterone in here,