Wild Meat Read Online Free PDF

in the camp.
    If Robert had explained that the reason for the camp’s impending closure was some kind of infectious disease, Amy reflected, she might have been more inclined to heed his warning about going there. But then, she really hadn’t given him time to give her a more complete picture, pretending that reception was bad, and finally turning off her phone.
    After another fifteen minutes, the road began the long climb east, toward the only vehicle-friendly mountain pass out of the basin. Half a mile into that ascent, she saw the foreman’s pickup stopped in the middle of the road. The barrel-shaped guard was leaning against the side of the covered truck bed. The road was so wide that Amy could easily pass the pickup on either side, and she began a shallow swerve to the right.
    She slowed do wn enough to say goodbye and to thank the men for accompanying her on the road. The big guard seemed not to understand, which seemed struck Amy as odd because she was sure she’d heard this same man speaking in French with Marcel. He pointed ahead to where the road curved and shook his head. Unsure what to make of this, she just waved and drove on.
    After r ounding the curve, she understood. Thirty yards further along, the road was completely blocked by an empty flatbed at least twenty feet long, hitched to an ancient rig. It was jackknifed but not toppled, and the front wheels appeared to have skidded past the shoulder into the greenery. A man sat on the running board by the driver’s door. Cigarette smoke coiled and spread above his head, rising through bars of evening sunlight that sliced through the foliage.
    Feeling suddenly u nsettled, Amy made a U-turn and headed back around the curve.
    Now both guards were standing at the side of the road, right next to a narrow trail that led into the forest. The taller guard pointed at Amy, then to the trail, then traced a long arc with his hand, clearly indicating that the detour would make a wide half circle and rejoin the logging road. At the end of the arc, he made a flinging gesture with that same hand: Once you’ve looped back to this road, it’s a quick shot out of here.
    Amy looked at the trail doubtfully. It was big enough to accommodate her Land Rover, but just barely.
    “How far?” she asked in French. There was no response, so she switched to English. “How long until I’m back on this road?”
    The guards still said nothing. They just returned to the pickup, got in, and headed back toward the logging camp without even a wave.
    The late afternoon was sliding into twilight, s o Amy switched on her headlights before turning onto the trail. The ground was mostly solid, but there were soft spots and plenty of tire ruts. Soon she passed an old red gas can lashed to a tree, and then the trail widened by a few feet. The foliage there had been trimmed back very recently. She managed to pick up a little speed and stay out of first gear most of the time, though the terrain was getting hilly.
    She held onto a hope that one of the curves would continue arcing around and take her back to the big logging road, but the trail kept changing direction and snaking deeper into the forest. It felt like ten minutes, then fifteen, and then she could no longer tell because alarm was boiling up in her. It was getting a lot harder to pretend that maybe nothing was wrong. She slid her feet back into her boots.
    On her right, two rusty, misshapen, sheet-metal sheds came into view. They looked even less sturdy than the workers’ lean-tos back at the camp.
    The next big oh-shit moment came forty yards past the sheds. The little trail simply stopped there. Her hi-beams lit up the vegetation enough for her to see that the land dropped away not far beyond the dead end.
    She sat still, trying to figure out what had happened. Had the guard meant for her to make a left turn, which she’d then missed? It was possible, although she’d been watching pretty closely.
    The larger question, the one she’d