exception.
He pivoted around and shoved his back through the waterfall. The bracing flow covered him for a painful breath, then he was leaning against the rock wall, legs splayed to either side, half crouched. The flow of the cataract was a curtain before his face. The cascade was sheer enough to peer through, but it turned the world beyond into a watery blur.
Hugging his rifle to his chest, Matt waited. Now that he had stopped fighting the current and crouched still, the cold bit into him. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, and an ache reached all the way to his bones. Hypothermia would set in quickly. He hoped his trackers were skilled and wouldn’t leave him waiting too long.
As Matt shivered, a memory of another day, another icy waterway, intruded. He had been even colder and wetter then. Three years ago, late winter, an unusually warm spell had everyone in Alaska out, enjoying the unseasonably temperate weather. He and his family had been no exception. A winter camping trip to ice-fish and hike the snowy mountains. Then a moment’s inattention…
Despite the danger now, Matt squeezed his eyes closed against the sudden stab of pain.
He had used a wood ax to break through the ice. He had searched and searched the cold river, almost dying himself from hypothermia, but his eight-year-old son’s body wasn’t found until two days later, far down the waterway.
Tyler…I’m sorry…
He forced his eyes open. Now was not the time to mourn the boy. Still, the water’s icy embrace had awakened the memory. He could not escape it. His body remembered the cold, the icy water. Memories frozen in every fiber of his being were loosened. Unless someone had lost a son or daughter, none could imagine how a mere memory could stab like a dagger: agonizing, blinding, down to the bone.
Tyler…
Movement drew him back to the present. Off to the right, a figure shifted between boulders along the bank. As he watched, old anger trembled his legs, along with a numbing despair that made one fearless.
The hunter had followed Matt’s muddy trail, but he was taking no chances, sticking to shadows. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, but he bore a pistol in one fist. The man had also shed his snowy outerwear and wore only a camouflaged uniform and black cap, easier to hide.
Matt lifted his rifle, parting the fall of water with his barrel. He didn’t point it toward the slinking figure. With his gun compromised, he couldn’t trust a keen shot between the sheltering rocks. Instead, he aimed for the wet bank of the stream, where he had waded into the channel a few minutes ago. Only ten yards away, bare of boulders.
The camouflaged hunter reached the spot, easing out of the rocks. He crouched low. Matt watched him eye the far bank. No wet trail led away. The fellow stared downstream. Matt could guess what he was thinking. Had his quarry fled down the channel like he had earlier down the smaller snowmelt gully? The hunter raised higher, searching down the course. He was a tall man, linebacker build.
Matt moved his finger to the trigger, using all the muscles in his forearm and shoulder to hold the rifle steady. Some innate sense drew the man’s attention. He swung around, his face a pale look of surprise. He spotted the rifle at the same time Matt pulled the trigger.
The blast was loud in the tiny space. The recoil almost tore the weapon from his grip. Something tiny pinged past his ear. Matt ignored it all. He concentrated on his target.
The hunter pitched backward as if shoved in the chest. His pistol spun from his hand, arms outflung. He struck a granite extrusion and sat down hard.
Even before the man hit the ground, Matt was out of his hiding place. He yanked on the rifle to eject the spent cartridge, but he found it jammed. He tugged harder, but no success. The damage to the weapon must have been worse than he had thought. He was lucky the rifle hadn’t exploded in his face when he had fired.
He raced down the stream toward
He pivoted around and shoved his back through the waterfall. The bracing flow covered him for a painful breath, then he was leaning against the rock wall, legs splayed to either side, half crouched. The flow of the cataract was a curtain before his face. The cascade was sheer enough to peer through, but it turned the world beyond into a watery blur.
Hugging his rifle to his chest, Matt waited. Now that he had stopped fighting the current and crouched still, the cold bit into him. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, and an ache reached all the way to his bones. Hypothermia would set in quickly. He hoped his trackers were skilled and wouldn’t leave him waiting too long.
As Matt shivered, a memory of another day, another icy waterway, intruded. He had been even colder and wetter then. Three years ago, late winter, an unusually warm spell had everyone in Alaska out, enjoying the unseasonably temperate weather. He and his family had been no exception. A winter camping trip to ice-fish and hike the snowy mountains. Then a moment’s inattention…
Despite the danger now, Matt squeezed his eyes closed against the sudden stab of pain.
He had used a wood ax to break through the ice. He had searched and searched the cold river, almost dying himself from hypothermia, but his eight-year-old son’s body wasn’t found until two days later, far down the waterway.
Tyler…I’m sorry…
He forced his eyes open. Now was not the time to mourn the boy. Still, the water’s icy embrace had awakened the memory. He could not escape it. His body remembered the cold, the icy water. Memories frozen in every fiber of his being were loosened. Unless someone had lost a son or daughter, none could imagine how a mere memory could stab like a dagger: agonizing, blinding, down to the bone.
Tyler…
Movement drew him back to the present. Off to the right, a figure shifted between boulders along the bank. As he watched, old anger trembled his legs, along with a numbing despair that made one fearless.
The hunter had followed Matt’s muddy trail, but he was taking no chances, sticking to shadows. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, but he bore a pistol in one fist. The man had also shed his snowy outerwear and wore only a camouflaged uniform and black cap, easier to hide.
Matt lifted his rifle, parting the fall of water with his barrel. He didn’t point it toward the slinking figure. With his gun compromised, he couldn’t trust a keen shot between the sheltering rocks. Instead, he aimed for the wet bank of the stream, where he had waded into the channel a few minutes ago. Only ten yards away, bare of boulders.
The camouflaged hunter reached the spot, easing out of the rocks. He crouched low. Matt watched him eye the far bank. No wet trail led away. The fellow stared downstream. Matt could guess what he was thinking. Had his quarry fled down the channel like he had earlier down the smaller snowmelt gully? The hunter raised higher, searching down the course. He was a tall man, linebacker build.
Matt moved his finger to the trigger, using all the muscles in his forearm and shoulder to hold the rifle steady. Some innate sense drew the man’s attention. He swung around, his face a pale look of surprise. He spotted the rifle at the same time Matt pulled the trigger.
The blast was loud in the tiny space. The recoil almost tore the weapon from his grip. Something tiny pinged past his ear. Matt ignored it all. He concentrated on his target.
The hunter pitched backward as if shoved in the chest. His pistol spun from his hand, arms outflung. He struck a granite extrusion and sat down hard.
Even before the man hit the ground, Matt was out of his hiding place. He yanked on the rifle to eject the spent cartridge, but he found it jammed. He tugged harder, but no success. The damage to the weapon must have been worse than he had thought. He was lucky the rifle hadn’t exploded in his face when he had fired.
He raced down the stream toward
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