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Back The Nest Save as PDF
Chapters (82)
  1. Cover
  2. Copyright page
  3. Introduction by Will Errickson
  4. Acknowledgements
  5. TREMORS
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. SUSPICIONS
  13. 1
  14. 2
  15. 3
  16. 4
  17. 5
  18. DREAD
  19. 1
  20. 2
  21. 3
  22. 4
  23. 5
  24. 6
  25. WITNESS
  26. 1
  27. 2
  28. 3
  29. ALERT
  30. 1
  31. 2
  32. 3
  33. 4
  34. 5
  35. ENCOUNTER
  36. 1
  37. 2
  38. 3
  39. 4
  40. 5
  41. 6
  42. HAVOC
  43. 1
  44. 2
  45. 3
  46. 4
  47. 5
  48. 6
  49. SEARCH
  50. 1
  51. 2
  52. 3
  53. 4
  54. 5
  55. CLASH
  56. 1
  57. 2
  58. 3
  59. 4
  60. 5
  61. 6
  62. 7
  63. COUNTERATTACK
  64. 1
  65. 2
  66. 3
  67. 4
  68. 5
  69. 6
  70. 7
  71. VICTORY
  72. 1
  73. 2
  74. 3
  75. 4
  76. 5
  77. 6
  78. 7
  79. 8
  80. 9
  81. EPILOGUE
  82. About the Author

Amos Tarbell told him there had once been a connection, and they could have it in service by the morning. The sheriff went on, after a deep breath, “And speaking of missing persons, we still haven’t found the fellow with the beard or his friend. Even if the woods are quiet, I hope they’re out of there.” He couldn’t restrain a little smile. “Though I hope they don’t show up in Hildie’s garden again! She’s upset enough as it is.”

What none of them knew was that a kind of nature’s truce had occurred in the Yarkie forest. The cockroach attackers were sated after their gorging on fresh meat and hot blood. The rats, reprieved, were in their own nests. All was quiet on the forest front . . . for the night.

DREAD

DREAD

1

ONE

Coming from Stephen Scott’s party at about eleven-­thirty that night, summer resident Harvey Tinton was driving alone on High Ridge Road. He had disregarded his wife’s warning and taken the one drink too much that always pushed him past discretion; after that, he kept holding out his glass for refills. Hell, he told himself, a man needs to relax on vacation. All year he worked uptight as an investment analyst. Millions rode on his calculations and predictions. It was an onerous burden, because he had the responsibility for people who were seeing inflation burn up their hard-­earned money.

His wife refused to understand him, Harvey Tinton fumed. She didn’t realize how lucky they were to be renting on Yarkie. It was only because he handled Stephen Scott’s account. No, Blanche kept complaining about how primitive it was. She hated what he loved—the steady putt-­putt of the little generator that kept their house lit, and the vacation-­camp look of the propane gas tank for their cooking fuel, and most of all the way the woods came right to their front door. In fact, you had to walk through an isle of beautiful birches to get to the house.

Aside from Blanche’s bitching, he was relaxing better this summer than anytime he could remember. The people were friendlier than he had been led to believe, and the beaches even cleaner and more beautiful. The days were flowing as peacefully as the Garden of Eden—better, because there were no snakes on Yarkie. But Blanche was after him to leave before their month was up. Their quarrel that afternoon was another reason he had let himself go at the Scotts. Hell with Blanche.