Primal Estate: The Candidate Species Read Online Free PDF

front left pocket. Good to go, he thought. Rick carefully and quietly closed the back passenger door. Before closing the front door, he checked for his keys in his pocket a second time and locked all the doors from the inside of the driver door and closed it quietly. He picked up his rifle and pack and moved to the cliff’s edge. It was still half dark, but his eyes had adjusted well for a fifty year old man. The sun had not yet broken the horizon. Perfect. No matter what he was doing, Rick never liked to silhouette himself at the top of a mesa against a sunlit sky.

Rick spied a medium sized rock under a bushy juniper tree and walked up beside it, just close enough so he could reach in. Without changing his footing Rick took his car keys out of his pocket, bent down, reached in, and placed them under the rock. He then made sure it didn’t look dislodged. Any impression in this desert dust could be interpreted by those who knew how, revealing the secrets of their creator’s attempts at stealth. Now, with the keys hidden, if he for some reason were to come back having lost all his gear, he’d still be able to access his keys and drive away. In addition to that, keys that aren’t with him can’t jingle and can’t be lost. Everything else on his gear was properly silenced. Being thorough and thoughtful came from his training. Taking easy precautions during potentially dangerous activities was in his nature. He was frugal with danger.
Rick looked out at the rough desert canyon and thought, this is where I belong. He was happy with his life. It was pleasant and simple. Everything just seemed to be falling into place. His only worry was his son, Carson, but he was certain he’d get better; he’d already shown signs of it.

The morning was cold with a promise of midday warmth. There was the slightest breeze coming from the south end of the canyon. Its smell was of virgin desert, piney, earthy, with the slightest fresh, musky scent of small things trying to grow on the very edge of nature’s meager desert allowance. Rick had a feeling about today. If all this maintained, he thought, hunting would be good. “Predator hunting predator, the unscripted adventure starts now,” Rick muttered to himself.
He picked his way down the cliff-side as the light of day slowly came to his aid. He worked to avoid a slip or a knock of his rifle on a rock as it shifted on his back. Reaching the gradual slope at the bottom without incident, Rick had to load. He carefully pulled the charging handle of his old M-4 all the way to the rear, then slowly let it move forward. Rick watched it pick up the top round in the magazine and guide it forward. A short distance more and the round was in the chamber. He tapped the forward assist to assure it was chambered. Barely a sound was made.

Rick picked his way down the slope toward a location where he knew of some deciduous trees growing in a ravine, an indication there might be water there. He’d seen them from a distance the last time he’d been in the canyon but hadn’t had time to thoroughly explore. He knew the general direction but would still have to feel his way as distance vision in the thick growth of pinion pine and juniper was impossible, and the light was just beginning to beat its way down the canyon walls.
Along the way, there were periodic clearings, and these enabled Rick to get his bearings and even spot the trees. They were either cottonwoods or some other kind of poplar; he wasn’t sure. Before he made it to those trees, he came across an area in a small clearing that was littered with broken pottery. It was the design painted pottery refuse from an ancient Indian dump, thrown there perhaps a thousand years before. And now it was an old garbage dump protected from plunder by federal law. Still, when Rick saw an exceptionally pretty piece with an unusual zigzag design, he picked it up and put it in his pocket. Since these dumps were usually downhill of ruins he headed back uphill