Season of Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

and the Beaver trembled in response, the engine noise rising to a constant, deafening thunder.
    Lewis handed the cup back to Ray, spilling a full third in the process, most of it on Ray’s boot. Thankfully, he had recently waterproofed this pair. Billy Bob accepted a cup anxiously, blowing and sipping as if it might hold the antidote to his nausea.
    “Part of da service!” Lewis shouted back at them through a yellow grin. “Here’s to da trip!” He reached to “clink” his Styrofoam cup against Ray’s and Billy Bob’s. “Gonna be great! Real great!”
    Ray lifted the cup and sniffed at the contents, wondering if it was as bitter and pungent as the stuff Lewis brewed at the station. He was about to sample it when Lewis yelled, “Aiiyaa!”
    His face became hyperanimated, features spread in an exaggerated, almost comical expression of sheer delight. “Aiiyaa!” He pointed left, almost poking Jack in the eye. “Nomads of da north!”
    Ray glanced out the window and saw the source of Lewis’s jubilation: several dozen white dots scattered like grains of salt on the carpet of deep brown tundra. The trail led along a river and into the foothills, where entire rises seemed to be snowcapped, the ground eclipsed by brilliant white summer coats.
    “Aiiyaa! Gonna be great hunt!” Lewis bellowed.
    “Are them white thangs car-ee-boo?” Billy Bob asked.
    Lewis nodded enthusiastically and nudged Jack. “Get us close?”
    Without warning, the plane banked hard left, toward the parade of migrating animals. Ray’s coffee leapt from the cup, splashing into his lap. He swore, patting at the hot liquid with his parka.
    Jack was still flexing the stick to the left, coaxing the Beaver toward the caribou, when Ray heard something. It was distant and weak, but distinct from the groaning, overwrought engine. He heard it again. There was an electronic element to it. He checked his watch. No. The alarm hadn’t sounded. On the third pulse, he remembered the phone.
    It rang again before he could dig it out of his jacket. Flipping it open, he punched the power button. “Hello?” There was no response. Or at least, he couldn’t hear one.
    “Hello?” Pressing his ear against the device, he thought he could make out static. “Hello?”
    Jack put the Beaver into a dive, apparently to give them a better look at the caribou. Out the window, the white dots became white dots with legs, and the herd dispersed randomly, without direction, fleeing from the bothersome floatplane.
    Ray was about to hang up when he made out a word fragment: “… call …”
    “Hello?” He held the phone away from his face and examined the keypad. There was a button marked volume. He pushed it until the LED said HIGH.
    “Ray?” The voice was far away, speaking through a hurricane of static.
    “Margaret? What’s the matter? Is everything okay?”
    “It’s better than …”
    Ray missed the rest of the sentence. “What was that? I can’t hear you.”
    “I … said,” she repeated, overenunciating, “it’s … better … than … fine.”
    Ray blinked at this. What was that supposed to mean?
    Jack pulled back on the stick and the Beaver whined, fuselage quaking as it leveled off and raced toward a wedge between two sharp limestone peaks.
    “I’m glad,” Ray said into the phone. It was all he could think of. “Listen, honey, we’re airborne … maybe an hour from the lake. How about if I call you back.”
    “Guess who called?” she asked.
    He wasn’t in the mood for games, but she sounded so happy. “Aunt Edna?”
    “No. The lab … at the doctor’s office.”
    “The doctor’s office??” Ray wondered if he had misunderstood. He watched as the Beaver sliced its way into the valley. “What doctor?”
    “My … And guess …?… says …”
    “What?” The signal was breaking up, the NO SERVICE light blinking.
    “We’re … Ray!… believe it!”
    Before the line went dead, Ray managed to make out one more word: four simple letters