Untraceable Read Online Free PDF Page A

nature is slowly drawing its shades. The silver on my bracelet gleams in the dimming light. It’s too dark to keep searching. Maybe I have enough time to fish. Reward myself for a search well done. Relax and clear my head before the sun sinks behind the treetops.
    After unpacking my stuff, I slip into my waders and a waterproof vest before slithering into the river. The current tugs at my boots, urging me to play. The soft sloshing sounds of the water stroke the embankment, and the crickets hum along to the forest’s natural buzz.
    I start casting. Once I get a good rhythm going, my body relaxes and my chest fills, allowing me to breathe again. There used to be a time when Dad and I would fish for hours. Without talking. Without any worries.
    Whipping the line back and forth, I focus on the meter of my technique. Two o’clock, ten o’clock. Two o’clock, ten o’clock. The moist air wets my face. I lick the droplets from my lips, tasting the pure mountain water. Being in the river makes me think about the fishing trip Dad was planning for us. A lump grows in my throat, blocking my airway. My chest hardens at the thought of possibly never fishing with him again.
    Suddenly, I have a huge urge to get out of here, before my heart explodes.
    I spin around and slosh out of the water. So much for relaxing. I pull on my backpack and stand at the tree line, watching the river slide by like a conveyor belt. Here, nothing has changed. Somehow, life keeps moving at the same speed it did before.
    But for me, everything is different.
    Before I can invite anyone else to my pity party, a few twigs snap behind me.
    Instinctively, I squat behind a boulder and scan the horizon, wondering if Simon’s making another star appearance. It takes a few minutes for my eyes to notice a human silhouette snaking through the trees. By the gait, size, and shape, it appears to be a male. My heart rate skyrockets along with my curiosity. During all my searches, I’ve never come across anyone out here. This place is always deserted. It’s why Dad loves it here.
    As the person moves further away, I decide to follow. Maybe this is the guy who owns the prints I’ve been tracking all day. I silently move through the leafy cover by using an old Apache stalking method, Fox Walking. Or as Dad called it, the Ostrich Shuffle. It comes in handy when tracking bears, so I assume it can fool humans too. Maintaining my balance, I lift each leg high in the air and lightly touch the ball of my foot to the ground. No matter how effective the technique, I always feel like a complete idiot doing this. Pretty sure I look like one too. Unfortunately, the silly walk only works if I’m patient, so I take my time and find a rhythm.
    Lift. Bend. Step. Lift. Bend. Step .
    The figure darts through a clump of trees in the distance. No matter how fast the shadow moves, my body remains on cruise control. For a second, I lose him, but then a slight movement notifies my peripheral vision. I work hard to continue the method, but it soon becomes clear I’m falling behind.
    Without hesitation, I shoot off toward the intruder, only to anger a dry stick.
    Crack!
    The figure stops.
    I slip behind a mountain laurel, letting the fat bush conceal me, and wait a few seconds. Then, in a stealth move, I inch around the side and survey the wooded landscape, listening for any sound.
    Nothing.
    A deep voice cuts through the silence. “Oi! What are you doing?”
    I spin around to face a guy standing only a few yards away. My wilderness survival class comes back to me. Always size up your opponent. Note every detail . I conduct a quick once-over and etch a physical profile into my brain. Never know when you might have to do a composite sketch. The subject is about 6’2”, 200 pounds, with longish dark hair. Probably my age. Looks older due to the thin scruff covering his face. He’s sporting khaki cargo pants, hiking boots, and an army-green t-shirt. A leather pouch hangs across his chest, and