Read Online Doctor Who: Drift by Simon A. Forward - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Simon A. Forward
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house plants in the ice box, see if it would look the same.
Damn. She glanced around the tree again, along the ghost road. If she hadn‟t had a go at him this morning, maybe she could have gotten herself a lift. Maybe he would have been excited to hear about the parachute.
Lifting herself up with a groan, she shovelled at some of the snow with her boot. Oh well, if she was going to walk the miles to town she‟d be better starting sooner than later. She set off, sticking to the road‟s edge, where the snow was good and thick.
Every so often she glanced around at the trees and up and down the road, and wondered at how the emptiness always stayed the same distance away.
Why in hell did it have to be him?
The let-up in the storm was doing nothing for the atmosphere inside the truck, and in any case it was going to be a very temporary reprieve. Of that, Makenzie was convinced.
The drive back to Melvin Village was the longest and loneliest of his life.
The world was locked in under a glacial roof of cloud. No way out.
Laurie was gone. Gone. Better if somebody had come up to him and told him she‟d been found murdered. Tourists did dumb things, like wandering off into the worst weather known to man. Laurie Aldrich did not, would not, ever.
Makenzie had searched and searched again, until he‟d covered every inch of that wood, a lot further than Laurie could have walked in the time she‟d had. He‟d searched until his lungs were solid pain. In all that whiteness, his vision had turned black, and in all that whiteness he had found precisely nothing.
No sign of a scuffle, no tracks to show she‟d been taken anywhere. No anything.
When he‟d eventually dragged himself back down to the road, he‟d stepped on broken glass. After that, it hadn‟t taken him long to turn up bottle fragments held flimsily together by the sodden label. Wild Turkey. Not his father‟s brand, but Makenzie knew it well enough and the alcohol smell was all over the inside of that Buick.
Disgusted, Makenzie had tossed the clue into the ditch.
Rescuing the gifts for Amber, he‟d headed for his truck and sat a while before making the drive back to town.
From that discovery on, there was no Laurie, no tourists, no part-time townsfolk lost in the hills. No, the part he kept getting hung up on was Curt Redeker.
For this guy, the man who beat up on Martha and terrorised his own daughter, the man who lets his kid down when he‟s supposed to come see her, the man who drinks himself off an icy road into a ditch - for this man, Makenzie Shaw must do more than his damnedest. When Makenzie wanted to be scouring the whole of New Hampshire for Laurie, he had to go find a hundred-proof son of a bitch like Curt Redeker. Nothing less would do.
Why?
Amber was why. Because when he‟d had Martha and Amber move in with him, the spectre of Curt Redeker had moved in right after.
How did that Casablanca quote go? The problems of three people didn‟t amount to a hill of beans in this world. Yeah, unless you‟re one of the three, and then those problems are your world and there‟s nothing outside of that.
Makenzie shook himself alive. He didn‟t want to end up in a ditch like Redeker. He had to start thinking as well as driving. Real thinking, not just this circuit of doom.
The way he figured, tracks or no, Laurie had to have been abducted. Taken somewhere by somebody. Same with the folks in that sad little convoy. Even the most ravenous coy-dogs would have left a few bones, not to mention stained the snows red. That wasn‟t it. No, Laurie had to be alive somewhere, taken hostage. Redeker too maybe.
As he drove, Makenzie‟s gaze climbed the lowest slopes of Mount Shaw. Those cultists had taken over the old doc‟s house up there, turned it into some sort of commune. They were screwed up enough, he was mad he hadn‟t thought of them before.
They had themselves their own armoury too. He couldn‟t tackle them alone. Hm. He remembered the running
Damn. She glanced around the tree again, along the ghost road. If she hadn‟t had a go at him this morning, maybe she could have gotten herself a lift. Maybe he would have been excited to hear about the parachute.
Lifting herself up with a groan, she shovelled at some of the snow with her boot. Oh well, if she was going to walk the miles to town she‟d be better starting sooner than later. She set off, sticking to the road‟s edge, where the snow was good and thick.
Every so often she glanced around at the trees and up and down the road, and wondered at how the emptiness always stayed the same distance away.
Why in hell did it have to be him?
The let-up in the storm was doing nothing for the atmosphere inside the truck, and in any case it was going to be a very temporary reprieve. Of that, Makenzie was convinced.
The drive back to Melvin Village was the longest and loneliest of his life.
The world was locked in under a glacial roof of cloud. No way out.
Laurie was gone. Gone. Better if somebody had come up to him and told him she‟d been found murdered. Tourists did dumb things, like wandering off into the worst weather known to man. Laurie Aldrich did not, would not, ever.
Makenzie had searched and searched again, until he‟d covered every inch of that wood, a lot further than Laurie could have walked in the time she‟d had. He‟d searched until his lungs were solid pain. In all that whiteness, his vision had turned black, and in all that whiteness he had found precisely nothing.
No sign of a scuffle, no tracks to show she‟d been taken anywhere. No anything.
When he‟d eventually dragged himself back down to the road, he‟d stepped on broken glass. After that, it hadn‟t taken him long to turn up bottle fragments held flimsily together by the sodden label. Wild Turkey. Not his father‟s brand, but Makenzie knew it well enough and the alcohol smell was all over the inside of that Buick.
Disgusted, Makenzie had tossed the clue into the ditch.
Rescuing the gifts for Amber, he‟d headed for his truck and sat a while before making the drive back to town.
From that discovery on, there was no Laurie, no tourists, no part-time townsfolk lost in the hills. No, the part he kept getting hung up on was Curt Redeker.
For this guy, the man who beat up on Martha and terrorised his own daughter, the man who lets his kid down when he‟s supposed to come see her, the man who drinks himself off an icy road into a ditch - for this man, Makenzie Shaw must do more than his damnedest. When Makenzie wanted to be scouring the whole of New Hampshire for Laurie, he had to go find a hundred-proof son of a bitch like Curt Redeker. Nothing less would do.
Why?
Amber was why. Because when he‟d had Martha and Amber move in with him, the spectre of Curt Redeker had moved in right after.
How did that Casablanca quote go? The problems of three people didn‟t amount to a hill of beans in this world. Yeah, unless you‟re one of the three, and then those problems are your world and there‟s nothing outside of that.
Makenzie shook himself alive. He didn‟t want to end up in a ditch like Redeker. He had to start thinking as well as driving. Real thinking, not just this circuit of doom.
The way he figured, tracks or no, Laurie had to have been abducted. Taken somewhere by somebody. Same with the folks in that sad little convoy. Even the most ravenous coy-dogs would have left a few bones, not to mention stained the snows red. That wasn‟t it. No, Laurie had to be alive somewhere, taken hostage. Redeker too maybe.
As he drove, Makenzie‟s gaze climbed the lowest slopes of Mount Shaw. Those cultists had taken over the old doc‟s house up there, turned it into some sort of commune. They were screwed up enough, he was mad he hadn‟t thought of them before.
They had themselves their own armoury too. He couldn‟t tackle them alone. Hm. He remembered the running
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