Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Huck glanced over the dash to see the keys still in the ignition. The engine had died with the impact. The air smelled of gasoline, blood, and cold metal.
There was no sign of a body. Just the red trail splashed along the console and pooling on the floor mat. Whoever had been driving was alive when they crawled out of the wreck. Alive and running.
“Laurel. Walter. No body.” Huck kept his voice low so it didn’t carry far. “Driver’s injured. Badly.”
Walter stepped closer, his gun trained on the truck’s cab as if expecting something to lunge out of the shadows. “You’re sure?”
“Enough blood here to knock someone out cold.” Huck gave a nod toward the mess. “But the door’s open and it’s smeared. He crawled out. Crawled or fell.”
Aeneas whined, nose to the ground. The dog sniffed furiously, his tail twitching in quick, anxious bursts.
“You’ve got something, boy?” Huck murmured, his tone low and encouraging. Aeneas barked once, short and urgent, then dipped his head back to the ground. “Let’s see where he went.” Huck moved to Aeneas’s side, his eyes following the dog’s trail.
Aeneas padded forward, his nose low, tail flicking as he wound through the wreckage. Blood drops spattered the ground, forming a thin but visible trail that led away from the truck and into the tree line.
“Blood trail,” Huck said over his shoulder. “Fresh. Headed north.”
The forest closed in quickly, the trees thick and dark, their branches heavy with moisture and dripping icy droplets. Huck followed Aeneas at a careful pace, scanning the ground for prints or signs of passage. Then he caught himself. They stood in the middle of the yew stand. Signs of harvested timber lay to the right of him. The trail went to the left. Had Ena placed cameras around here?
His breath quickened. He’d call her after he found the driver. He might actually have the guy on video.
The blood trail skipped and splattered, sometimes thick and clear, other times barely more than a hint of crimson against the earth. Whoever was running was hurt bad. And bleeding worse.
Aeneas let out a short, clipped bark. His nose pointed left, then right, before he bolted forward.
“Easy, boy.” Huck pushed through low-hanging branches, and sharp needles scratched at his arms and snagged his coat. His boots dug into the mud, the ground soft from the fairly gentle rain. He kept his senses tuned to the forest around them and the woman behind him. A quick glance confirmed that Walter flanked Laurel from behind.
Good.
Huck spotted the occasional streak of red along the bark of a tree or splashed across mossy rocks. The driver was stumbling, falling, slamming into things as he tried to escape. “I just see one track. Nobody was chasing this guy.” He must’ve hit his head in the crash. Why else would he stumble away from safety?
“Doesn’t make sense.” Walter’s voice cut in. “If he’s hurt that bad, he should’ve gone downhill. Away from the mountain.”
“He’s panicking.” Huck scanned the forest, eyes narrowing at a fresh smear of blood along a tree trunk. “He’s not thinking straight. Or maybe he has a hiding place.” In the yew stand? Huck let the dog guide him, his own instincts kicking in. He spotted a half boot print pressed into the mud, the edges blurred by rain but still clear enough to make out. “Blood’s thinning out,” Huck murmured.
Aeneas darted left, then right, his paws making quick work of the uneven terrain. The dog’s tail lashed back and forth, his focus absolute.
Huck pressed on, gaze sweeping the forest as he moved. Pine needles crunched beneath his boots, and his breath fogged in the chill air.
Aeneas let out another bark, this one deeper, more urgent. Huck’s pulse quickened. “We’re getting close,” he whispered. “Remember, this guy is probably armed.” The dog surged forward, his paws tearing through the underbrush like he’d caught a stronger scent. Huck kept pace, his legs working hard to keep from tangling in the twisted roots and low-hanging branches that clawed at him like skeletal hands.
Blood. The trail was getting thicker now. Darker.
“Easy, boy,” Huck murmured, though his own voice carried an edge of urgency he couldn’t quite suppress. His eyes swept the forest floor, catching the telltale spatter of red against the frost-laced ground.
Aeneas barked, his voice sharp and triumphant. Then he stopped so suddenly Huck almost tripped over him.
“What is it?” Huck moved around the dog, his own instincts prickling. He’d tracked too many bodies over the years not to recognize the weight of death in the air.
The man lay face down, his body half-splayed across the uneven ground, one arm twisted beneath him at a brutal angle.
Laurel stepped up to his side.
Walter swept the area with his gun.
Laurel took in the entire scene, her head moving while her body remained still. “This area has been recently logged.”