Read Online Black Fly Season by Giles Blunt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Giles Blunt
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to the other.
Delorme dropped Cardinal at headquarters before they took their separate routes. On the way up to the campus, Cardinal stopped at a curve on Sackville Road, where there was a small, comma-shaped lay-by. Back when Cardinal was in high school, he used to come up here with Brenda Stewart, his sweetheart of the time, but Brenda Stewart had staunchly refused to go all the way in his parents’ Impala. Now, he looked out across the rooftops of the city toward the Manitou islands some seven miles south. Beaufort Hill lay behind the forest to the west; you couldn’t quite see from here.
Cardinal drove the rest of the way up to the university and parked in the visitor’s lot. He walked across campus toward the network of trails that fanned out behind the college. A group of students spilled giggling from the main entrance and travelled in a boisterous, shifting knot toward the residence. How young they seemed - younger even than Cardinal’s daughter, Kelly - and how innocent. Cardinal envied their easy camaraderie. When he had been a student in Toronto he had tried to save money by living off-campus in a
smelly little room near Kensington Market. Thus he had missed the experience of living in a building full of fellow students, and it probably ended up costing more anyway.
There was a large gazebo among the pines, and then the trails. Cardinal took the one that led toward the top of the nearest hill, waving black flies from his face and hair, moving fast to keep ahead of them. About three hundred yards into the woods, the trail looped back toward a tiny man-made lake. Cardinal stepped off the trail and kept heading up the hill. The air was thick with smells of pine and loam and wet leaves. The drizzle didn’t reach the forest floor; it hovered in a fine mist that clung to the skin.
The worst thing about black flies, Cardinal thought - the truly diabolical thing - is that they are absolutely silent. They do not buzz like bees, or drone like horseflies, or even emit the highpitched whine of mosquitoes; there’s no warning, no chance of a pre-emptive smack. Cardinal felt a nip on his ankle as if someone had stuck him with a hot pin. He bent down to tuck his pants into his socks. The only good thing you could say about black flies: unlike mosquitoes, they did not bite through clothing. While he was bent over, another fly excised a piece of his neck. He slapped, and his hand came away bloody. He turned his collar up and continued toward the crest of the hill.
Ten minutes later - sweating, puffing, and
swearing yet again to put in more hours wrestling many-armed Mr Nautilus in the police gym Cardinal climbed atop an outcropping of granite. Lake Nipissing, roughly palette-shaped, glimmered dully to the south, but off to the west he could now see Beaufort Hill. The old fire tower was just beneath the summit; the narrow dirt road that led up to it curved away from the line of hydro towers below. This was where Dr Paley had taken his picture.
Maybe Red had stood here, too. Cardinal looked around at the clearing, swatting flies away as if he were conducting an orchestra. Signs of human activity lay everywhere - a rusted Sprite can, a wrapper from an Aero bar, the remains of a campfire. Obviously a popular spot for students, but surely not in black fly season. Cardinal swatted at his temple.
He jumped down off the rock and, moving as fast as he could through the trees, headed further west. There was no trail here, but the rocks made it the easiest route from the clearing, which was otherwise surrounded by thick brush. He kept moving, not sure what he was looking for. Bites were itching on his neck and ankles.
No one in their right mind would come wandering around up here. What might have drawn a young woman like Red? Of course, if she wasn’t from the north, she wouldn’t have known about the flies.
Cardinal pushed his way through the trees,
dogged now by a squadron of flies targeting his ears. Finally
Delorme dropped Cardinal at headquarters before they took their separate routes. On the way up to the campus, Cardinal stopped at a curve on Sackville Road, where there was a small, comma-shaped lay-by. Back when Cardinal was in high school, he used to come up here with Brenda Stewart, his sweetheart of the time, but Brenda Stewart had staunchly refused to go all the way in his parents’ Impala. Now, he looked out across the rooftops of the city toward the Manitou islands some seven miles south. Beaufort Hill lay behind the forest to the west; you couldn’t quite see from here.
Cardinal drove the rest of the way up to the university and parked in the visitor’s lot. He walked across campus toward the network of trails that fanned out behind the college. A group of students spilled giggling from the main entrance and travelled in a boisterous, shifting knot toward the residence. How young they seemed - younger even than Cardinal’s daughter, Kelly - and how innocent. Cardinal envied their easy camaraderie. When he had been a student in Toronto he had tried to save money by living off-campus in a
smelly little room near Kensington Market. Thus he had missed the experience of living in a building full of fellow students, and it probably ended up costing more anyway.
There was a large gazebo among the pines, and then the trails. Cardinal took the one that led toward the top of the nearest hill, waving black flies from his face and hair, moving fast to keep ahead of them. About three hundred yards into the woods, the trail looped back toward a tiny man-made lake. Cardinal stepped off the trail and kept heading up the hill. The air was thick with smells of pine and loam and wet leaves. The drizzle didn’t reach the forest floor; it hovered in a fine mist that clung to the skin.
The worst thing about black flies, Cardinal thought - the truly diabolical thing - is that they are absolutely silent. They do not buzz like bees, or drone like horseflies, or even emit the highpitched whine of mosquitoes; there’s no warning, no chance of a pre-emptive smack. Cardinal felt a nip on his ankle as if someone had stuck him with a hot pin. He bent down to tuck his pants into his socks. The only good thing you could say about black flies: unlike mosquitoes, they did not bite through clothing. While he was bent over, another fly excised a piece of his neck. He slapped, and his hand came away bloody. He turned his collar up and continued toward the crest of the hill.
Ten minutes later - sweating, puffing, and
swearing yet again to put in more hours wrestling many-armed Mr Nautilus in the police gym Cardinal climbed atop an outcropping of granite. Lake Nipissing, roughly palette-shaped, glimmered dully to the south, but off to the west he could now see Beaufort Hill. The old fire tower was just beneath the summit; the narrow dirt road that led up to it curved away from the line of hydro towers below. This was where Dr Paley had taken his picture.
Maybe Red had stood here, too. Cardinal looked around at the clearing, swatting flies away as if he were conducting an orchestra. Signs of human activity lay everywhere - a rusted Sprite can, a wrapper from an Aero bar, the remains of a campfire. Obviously a popular spot for students, but surely not in black fly season. Cardinal swatted at his temple.
He jumped down off the rock and, moving as fast as he could through the trees, headed further west. There was no trail here, but the rocks made it the easiest route from the clearing, which was otherwise surrounded by thick brush. He kept moving, not sure what he was looking for. Bites were itching on his neck and ankles.
No one in their right mind would come wandering around up here. What might have drawn a young woman like Red? Of course, if she wasn’t from the north, she wouldn’t have known about the flies.
Cardinal pushed his way through the trees,
dogged now by a squadron of flies targeting his ears. Finally
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