Hellstrom's Hive Read Online Free PDF Page A

director without an eye for the main line.
    Depeaux could hear the faint trickling of the waterfall. A clump of madroñas stood at the invisible line on Depeaux’s mental map, marking the northernmost reach of Hellstrom’s valley. Depeaux paused in the shade of the madroñas and made another survey of his surroundings, paying special attention to his own back trail. Something about that open area—nothing moved in it, but Depeaux made a decision then and there to wait for darkness to cover his return across that space.
    Thus far, it had not been too bad a go, he told himself. Just that faintly disquieting sense of an unknown danger. The second examination of the valley from this upper vantage point should not take too long. Perhaps he might reconsider and go back by daylight to the bicycle and an early check-in with Tymiena at the van. Perhaps. That first sense of decision to wait for darkness had gone deeply into him, though.
    Play it safe, he reminded himself. Play for survival.
    He turned left briskly, unslung his binoculars, and slipped up through a stand of oak and madroña to a clump of oily green bushes behind the rock face of the valley’s upper limit. The tinkling waterfall was quite noisy off through the undergrowth. At the bushes, Depeaux dropped to all fours, tucking the binocularsunder his shirt and cinching the pack tightly against his right side. He went through the now-familiar stalking crawl, turning partly onto his left side to protect the binoculars and keep the pack off the ground. The bushes ended presently in a short rock lip which exposed a lengthwise view of Guarded Valley.
    As he brought out the binoculars, Depeaux wondered idly where the “wild” Indians had been slaughtered. The noise of the waterfall was quite loud about fifty feet to his right. He rested on his elbows, brought up the binoculars.
    The farm buildings were farther away from him this time and the large barn-studio concealed all but the western wing of the house. A crooked stretch of stream was clearly visible from this new vantage. Its surface remained mirror calm, as though stagnant, reflecting the trees and brush at its verge. The view opened up at the valley’s far end, revealing the rolling grasslands and clumps of trees, the patches of distant cattle.
    Why wouldn’t the cattle venture nearer into the rich grass closer to the end of the valley? There was nothing visible to keep them away: no fence, no ditch—nothing.
    Depeaux became aware of a vehicle moving in a dust cloud far off beyond the cattle. That was the narrow track he and Tymiena had taken. Who was coming down there? Would they see the van-camper? Tym would be out there with her paints drawing pictures of the stupid landscape, of course, but still…Depeaux focused his binoculars on the dust, made out presently a large covered truck. It was following the crazy meander track toward the valley and moving fast. He tried to locate Tymiena, but the hill to his left blocked off that vista, and they’d taken the camper into tree shade along a side road. The oncoming truck might not come close enough to see her. It made no difference, anyway, he told himself. A strange excitement gripped him.
    He brought his attention back to the farm buildings. Surely, someone would come out and greet the truck. He would get hisfirst look at the occupants of this odd place. He studied the scene intently.
    Nothing moved within the valley.
    They must hear the truck. He could hear it himself even from this greater distance and above the waterfall’s intrusion.
    Where were the farm’s occupants?
    The binoculars had collected dust again. Depeaux paused to reflect on the situation while he applied the linen cloth once more to the lenses. He knew it might appear ridiculous, but the absence of surface activity in the presence of so much evidence that people carried on an active life here filled him with disquiet. It wasn’t natural!