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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

Elizabeth stood beside her grandfather, gripping his hand. “I hope they don’t get hurt!”

The captain said gravely, “They are good men, Liz.”

That was just it, Elizabeth Carr considered, watching the car shoot away. They were all estimable people on Yarkie Island. It was unthinkable that evil animals were putting the place in peril.

Behind her, Elizabeth heard Peter Hubbard calling Wanda Lindstrom. “Let’s unpack the microscopes first, Wanda. We want to take a real look at the dog’s ear . . .”

3

THREE

Sheriff Amos Tarbell and his two companions made a zany appearance as they came into the pine grove where Bonnie Taylor had picnicked and lost Sharky. The glade was an incongruous background for their storm attire, heavy boots, yellow slickers and wide-­brimmed hoods.

Tarbell stopped and spoke softly. “Bonnie said she found Sharky just off the trail there, to the left.” They decided that spot was as good as any for the trap, in which a contented brown rabbit was nibbling on a large carrot.

The sheriff placed the cage softly and deployed the men. “Russ, you get up that tree.” He couldn’t help but grin. “If you can make it with those boots on . . .”

Russell Homer didn’t like being laughed at, even in a friendly jest. He grated, “I’ve climbed higher masts in lots worse!” He swung up onto a pitch pine much as Craig Soaras had done when he discovered Sharky’s ear.

“You got the camera?” the sheriff checked.

“Yup.”

“Good.”

Ben Dorset was calling from near the small waterfall. “Now what the hell is this?” He was lifting a good-­sized aluminum container.

The sheriff glanced at it. “Bonnie must have left her picnic box.” He looked back up to Russell Homer. “If it comes to trouble, Russ, use the gun first, the camera after.”

“Right.” The young man looked down appraisingly. Clouds were covering the sun, making it doubly shadowy in the forest—he wanted enough light for pictures. He prided himself on the photographic skills he had taught himself.

The sheriff stationed himself to one side of the trap, with Ben Dorset covering him from behind a tree. Birds sang in the branches, but the wind was beginning to whistle in a foreboding song of its own. Elias Johnson had timed the storm just about perfectly. These winds were the forerunners—the real blow would not hit for three-­four hours. They had plenty of time. Tarbell called to his men, “Better get the goggles on, too.”

Russell Homer fretted, “Amos, I won’t be able to work the camera if I wear this damn thing.”

“Okay,” the sheriff assented. The man should be safe enough on his perch in the tree.

Settled in their places, with the rabbit quiet in the trap, the three men waited silently, uncertain, and uneasy. The forest revealed nothing except an occasional trill of a bird, and the new sound of the wind in the branches above their heads.