Primal Threat Read Online Free PDF Page B

they would see in the tree farms.
    “Can you imagine how dark this forest was at one time?” Giancarlo said. “We’ll never see that kind of majesty again. Not unless nature finds a way to eliminate us. Oh, my God, this is beautiful. This view is worth the trip.”
    “I’ve been here many times,” said Morse, “but it never fails to amaze me.”
    Stephens had located their first night’s camp on a rare flat spot hidden from the road, near an anorexic-looking waterfall that formed a small pool before disappearing over the side of the mountain. It was the terminus of Panther Creek, because from here it ran directly into the North Fork below. They’d been pedaling up the mountain on steep switchbacks, traversing the Z-scar patterns they’d spotted from the valley floor. The roads were impossibly sheer in some places—so sheer that even with twenty-seven speeds, Giancarlo was wishing for lower gears. “Couldn’t ride a lower gear,” said Muldaur. “You wouldn’t be going fast enough to stay upright. You’d fall over.”
    Morse, who was gasping, said, “Maybe we should have brought ice axes.”
    “Or parachutes.”
    The camping spot at Panther Creek was one of the few places they’d seen where they could pedal off the road—everything else had been hemmed in by sheer rock faces, stands of trees, or drop-offs. Most of the area was closed in by maturing Douglas fir planted after this section of the mountain had been logged off twenty or thirty years before. The clearing was in a small cul-de-sac that had once acted as a dumping area for logging operations, old roots and broken limbs in a giant heap, on top of which sat a red-shafted flicker canting his head back and forth curiously. As soon as he hit the flat part of the road, Morse got off his bike and leaned over to catch his breath, while the other four pedaled around slowly to flush some of the lactic acid from their legs. Morse was definitely going to be their weak link, Zak thought.
    After they located their gear, Zak climbed onto a stump, where he found an expansive view of the valley and the road they’d just climbed. The stump, an ancient cedar, was nine feet across and had stubby trees and brush growing out of it. According to Stephens, they were about a third of the way up the first of several mountains they would scale.
    Except for the barely discernible outlines of the tallest buildings in Bellevue and Seattle thirty miles away and a single puffy white contrail high over Puget Sound, there were no traces of civilization beyond the remains of the logging operations behind them.
    In August the pitiful waterfall was all that remained of Panther Creek, but it would provide fresh water and a cold shower. Morse, who’d overheated badly on the climb, stepped under the waterfall in his cycling clothes, taking off only his shoes. Giancarlo followed, grinning until his dimples showed. “That is
really
cold.”
    “Feels good,” said Morse. “But it’s giving me a headache.” He peeled his wet and now heavy clothing off and stood nude.
    The original plan had been to explore some of the rolling terrain on the valley floor for a couple of hours before making camp, but after the Jeeps passed them they didn’t want to remain on the valley floor.
    Zak and Muldaur, after ascertaining that their gear had been cached properly, pedaled back to the road and continued climbing, anxious to log more miles. The other three, knowing there would be impromptu climbing contests in the coming days and having had a difficult time already following Zak and Muldaur up the first switchback slopes, seemed content to lollygag back at the waterfall and let the two wear themselves out.
    After climbing for another hour, Zak and Muldaur stopped at a narrow perch on one of the upper road systems. As soon as they quit pedaling, the draft they’d been creating for themselves ceased, and they were both immediately painted in sweat. The afternoon sun stood fairly high in the western