The Terror of Living Read Online Free PDF Page A

take it back and he didn't think he would even if he could. He checked the kid's pulse, then used the knife from his belt to cut two strips from his shirt to tie the kid's hands and legs. He felt around in the kid's pockets for a wallet but didn't find one. The horse was still standing nearby and he walked the short distance over to it and cut the packages away.
        The horse shied and watched him out of the corner of its eye but didn't present any trouble when he swung his leg over and gave it a nudge with his heels. The strap of the.270 across his chest, he kicked the horse again and felt the power of the animal take him. From the way the other man had handled himself, he'd thought him a very good rider. And Drake himself knew he couldn't compete with that. There was just no way. He kicked the horse and led it up onto the ridge overlooking the surrounding valleys and waited, watching the clearings and listening for any sound.
        The sun rose at the edge of the Cascades and the pink light was everywhere. He turned to look back down into the meadow and saw the kid lying there and the big white packages that looked like pillows nearby.
     
           
        HUNT PUSHED HARD ON THE HORSE, HIS FINGERS wrapped up in the mane and holding tight. He kicked the horse, but there was no real control; he just let the girl go and take him away. It was impossible to ride bareback with any real control. If he'd practiced it, maybe, but he hadn't and he couldn't spare the thought now. He'd heard three shots, one he expected was for him, the other two for the kid. For a moment he'd pulled the horse around and listened to the echo of the second shot, wondering if it would make any real difference to turn back. The horse swayed and he could feel the big muscles at the top of the forelegs as they shifted. "Please let him get away," he was saying. "Please let him."
        He heard the next shot three seconds later and he figured it would be the last. If the kid wasn't dead he was in a whole shitload of trouble, and Hunt didn't want to be anywhere near it when it hit. He kicked the horse and pointed her in a general downhill direction.
        When he came out of the trees and followed along by the side of a river, his arms ached from pushing away tree boughs. His gloves and sleeves were covered in sap. He paused and looked up the cut of the river, trying to find his bearings. The map had been in the saddle pocket, along with the GPS, and he didn't have any true reasoning to tell him where he was going. There was a map in the truck and he could figure his way off this mountain by sticking to the logging roads.
        He wanted to think it had been a fluke, but it probably wasn't. The man had said he was law, he'd said a whole lot of things, but Hunt couldn't have told a soul what they were, at least not in any reasonable order. There was a primal drone going in his ears and it wouldn't have made sense no matter what the man had said. One thing had, and it was to get away, because he knew he wasn't going back, not now, not ever, and it was the one thing he was sure of.
        By using his watch and sighting the glow from the rising sun, he could estimate a rough grid of his position. He didn't know what the river was called, though he thought he remembered it from the map. The truck and trailer lay roughly in a southerly direction, near the Silver Lake area, and he thought it best to stay hidden, riding the long way and avoiding the ridges. Once he reached the truck it would be a three-hour drive into Seattle, and he thought he could make that, he thought it wouldn't be a problem. The problem was getting off the mountain before the deputy did. If the deputy had a radio, Hunt imagined a helicopter would be called in, but he didn't think the man did. He didn't think the man even expected a day like this, showing up half-dressed and leveling the rifle on them.
        The bullet caught the horse below the ear. Blood