BooksBarbecue
Back Bad Apples
Chapters (65)
  1. 1
  2. 2
  3. 3
  4. 4
  5. 5
  6. 6
  7. 7
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. 12
  13. 13
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 17
  18. 18
  19. 19
  20. 20
  21. 21
  22. 22
  23. 23
  24. 24
  25. 25
  26. 26
  27. 27
  28. 28
  29. 29
  30. 30
  31. 31
  32. 32
  33. 33
  34. 34
  35. 35
  36. 36
  37. 37
  38. 38
  39. 39
  40. 40
  41. 41
  42. 42
  43. 43
  44. 44
  45. 45
  46. 46
  47. 47
  48. 48
  49. 49
  50. 50
  51. 51
  52. 52
  53. 53
  54. 54
  55. 55
  56. 56
  57. 57
  58. 58
  59. 59
  60. 60
  61. 61
  62. 62
  63. 63
  64. 64
  65. Acknowledgements

I think I can see the bee on top of the Hive in the far distance up the hill. But it could be a plane flying over. Or a streetlight. It’s difficult to judge the angle from down here.

I find my truck and break out into a broad grin.

A crow rises from the treetops.

And then there’s an explosive crack in the air and the pine immediately behind me shatters, covering me with splinters of wet bark.

27

I freeze.

Is there an elk or deer behind me somewhere? A creature that just escaped death? Or am I that creature?

I run toward my truck, and that’s when the next bullet almost hits me.

I drop.

The sound ricochets off the trunks all around me. Ragnar’s gone. No cars. No help anywhere.

I start to hyperventilate. My heart pounding against the wet ground.

Something took the impact back in the treeline – granite, I think. Something splintered. I’m not sure I heard it but I could sense the impact.

I swallow hard. Searching everywhere with my eyes.

Is this a hunt? Am I in someone’s sights right now?

I crawl on my hands and knees along the lip of the ditch, loose chips of gravel biting into the flesh of my palms. I try to drag myself flat but I don’t have the strength.

No more shots.

It’s like I’m pinned down by a sniper in a video game.

No cars pass by.

I keep low, wet grass brushing my chin.

My pulse thumps in my temples. Is he reloading? You are not going to die out here on this godforsaken hill, Tuva. This is not how it ends.

Six more metres to my truck. Do I stand up and dash for it, or stay low and take my time? They might be gone now. Whoever had me in their sights probably left already. They missed and then they left.

My Hilux looks like a reinforced fortress as I approach. I take my key from my pocket and hold it between my teeth. I don’t unlock, I want as little signal of my position as possible. I crawl. My jeans are caked in mud and I have dirt up inside each sleeve. No more shots. No bullets. I’m almost there.

Three more metres.

Silence.

I look across the road. A wall of spruce. No hunters to look at. No elk-shooting tower or plastic ribbons. No beam of red light from a laser sight.

The sound of a car. The vibrations. From downhill or uphill? I can’t get up or cry out for help. I want to but that would be a mistake. I have to stay low, and anyway that may just be the car of the shooter. What would Dad have done? He’d have been patient. He always said, more haste less speed.