Read Online In The Forest Of Harm by Sallie Bissell - Free Book Online Page A

a shotgun and a battered canvas bag over his shoulder. His shirt and pants were standard Army camouflage, but with the name tag faded and the unit IDs torn off the sleeves. The sour odor of rancid fat and unwashed flesh wafted into the store. Billy gave a loud sniff and stashed his headdress safely behind the counter.
    â€œHowdy, friend.” The word
brain-fried
flashed across Jonathan’s mind. “Can I help you?”
    The man flared his nostrils like a dog smelling unfamiliar territory. He turned in a slow circle, checking out the store, then he looked at Jonathan.
    â€œI want to send a package.” His voice creaked like a rusty hinge.
    â€œWe can do that.”
    â€œI got something that needs to go to Michigan.”
    Jonathan frowned. He couldn’t remember ever having sent anything to Michigan. He searched under the counter for his postage chart. “You got it wrapped up?”
    â€œNo. I’ll need to buy some kind of box off you.”
    Jonathan tossed his crossword puzzle beneath the cash register. “Let’s see what you’ve got, then.”
    The man strode over to the counter. Jonathan tried to look at him without staring. His eyes were strange. Deep-set and light yellow, they glittered wolf-like beneath dark brooding brows. His nose was a thin wedge, and his skin had the texture of worn bark. His fingernails were long and dirty. He could have been as young as thirty-five or as old as sixty. He shot an angry glare at Billy, who hastily scooted off the counter, then he plopped his bag on the floor and plunged one arm in elbow-deep. With a sly grin, he fished out something that looked like an old rope and dropped it on the counter.
    â€œHoly shit!” Billy leaped backwards, nearly knocking over the potato chip display. “That’s a rattler!”
    The snake, which had been asleep, uncoiled swiftly on the counter and flared its neck like a cobra. Jonathan stared at it, unmoving.
    The man chuckled at Billy. “Don’t piss your britches, Geronimo. It’s just a little old hognose.” He picked the snake up and cuddled it under his chin. “He guards my pelts when I travel. Most folks mistake him for a rattler, just like you.” He curled his upper lip at Billy, then cut his eyes toward Jonathan. “And most folks don’t stick their hands in my sack but once.”
    Still laughing, the man stuffed the snake inside his shirt and reached into his sack again. Billy eased forward in spite of himself, curious to see what the man was going to withdraw next. This time he fumbled around for a moment, then pulled out five luxurious raccoon pelts.
    Like many bowmen, Jonathan regarded trappers and their little bottles of musk with disdain, but he did appreciate a job well done. These were big, thick pelts, expertly dressed. “You’re looking at a little money there, buddy.”
    â€œSo I am,” the man growled. “You got something to ship a hundred and twenty-seven of these to Michigan in?”
    Jonathan stuck his pencil behind his ear. “I’ll see what I’ve got.”
    He walked back to the storage room. A case of disposable diapers had arrived last week, and the boxy carton they’d come in might be big enough for a load of raccoon pelts. The deliveryman had kicked the carton over beside a barrel of tenpenny nails, and there it still lay, cardboard flaps open and ready for more cargo.
    He carried the box out to the front and dropped it on the floor. “This is the biggest thing I’ve got.”
    The man stretched the largest pelt out flat and stroked the fur. The tip of the fluffy ringed tail just missed brushing the side of the box.
    â€œI reckon this’ll do.” The man laid another pelt down, then a third. The box was wide enough for the skins to be layered perfectly in groups of three. Billy watched as the man fitted each thick, silver-tipped fur into the carton.
    In ten minutes he’d packed them