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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

After parking the station wagon in the Cannon garage, Scott walked back to his own car at the Tinton’s. It was really musical chairs—and a good half-­mile now, but he enjoyed it and the hiking was good for him. He resolved to do more walking and to start a diet. His breath was too short. His own huffing was like the sounds coming from the woods. He stopped. It was that curious, alien mixture of rustling and hissing that had upset him in the Tinton trees. It was almost like a call, somehow inviting, yet repelling and, yes, frightening, at the same time.

Did rats hiss? Cats hissed. Raccoons hissed. What else hissed and would be scuffling through the leaves at night? Should he try again to enter the forest and see? He didn’t have the flashlight now, and clouds were beginning to cover the moon. Still, he knew his way over every inch. The hissing was louder, pricking his curiosity more and more. He faced the trees and stepped off the road. The hissing increased, and a wave of pure fear swept over the man. He felt cold, bone cold, the way chill got into the marrow some winter days when the wind cut one’s lungs. The hell with it! It was way past time to be home and in bed. The man slapped his palms resoundingly against his flabby thighs and turned from the trees.

Some sections of the road were sticky to walk on, though the cool evening air had largely hardened the tar. When he got to his car, Scott noticed that some large bug had got on the steering wheel through the open window. He could not see it clearly and didn’t want to. It seemed torpid, a kind of beetle. He grimaced picking it up. Always hated things that crawled. He flipped the bug out. His finger felt sticky. Had the damn thing bitten him? He hadn’t felt any sting. He looked at his hand, half-­expecting to find blood. But what he saw was only a small black smear. He wiped at it with a tissue. Tar. He smiled with a new thought. For rats, the whole damn road along the forest would be like a giant flypaper, wouldn’t it? Especially during the day in the hot sun. Good!

Stephen Scott started the car and drove safely home, never aware of the fate he had unwittingly thwarted.

WITNESS

WITNESS

1

ONE

The sea was running higher the next morning, but not yet threatening. Down at the harbor, Craig Soaras started the powerful engines of Elias Johnson’s workhorse boat—husky twins of 250 horsepower each. The Jessica could take any weather that might blow up sooner than expected.