Primal Scream by Michael Slade
Authors: Michael Slade
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Psychological, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Suspense fiction, Horror, Canada, Fiction - Psychological Suspense, Horror Tales, Horror & Ghost Stories, Horror - General
Ads: Link
sawdust like ice men of old, then zipper it into a thermal body bag, but on seeing the pair approach, he left the remains exposed. Spann took a long look at what had brought her here, the naked blue body frozen hi blue ice, the genitals shriveled to the size of a baby boy's, the cuts on the bare feet from running through icy bush, the wrists locked together in front with handcuffs, the healed end of the right ring finger missing a phalange, the arrow angling out of the heart, the tubes hi the stump where the head was hacked off.
"You okay?" George asked.
"Yeah," Spann replied. "You see who shot Moses John hi front of me?"
"No," said the Cree. "The shot came from the west. From the sundance circle or farther on. Wind cleared a sightline for the marksman, but snow hid him from view. All I saw was John's head explode."
"Why shoot the holy man?" the Mad Dog asked. "Kill him so Grizzly has no power rival hi camp? Now he's the undisputed leader of the rebels."
"And can say we shot their spiritual leader," said Spann.
"Assuming the target was Moses John," said George. "He stepped toward you a moment before the shot. How do we know the target wasn't you? One in the" doomsday cult striking out at the New World Order."
"Either way, if he's involved, Grizzly just passed the point of no return. The hope for a peaceful outcome exploded with John's head." Spann turned her attention back to the corpse in the ice. "How tall is the stiff?" she asked.
"Five-six to the stump."
"That matches Jed Vanderkop. The hunter from Idaho who vanished near here last month. The stiff is missing the end of the same finger as him. Looks like an archer bow-hunted Jed."
"Stripped him, and cuffed him, and let him run for sport," said the Mad Dog. "Stalking him through the icy woods above the waterfall, where he was finally brought down with a damn good shot. The stream carried him over the falls, and he froze in the pool below."
"A white guy shot with an arrow close to a camp of white haters picking up ancient ways. The archer's M.O. seems to fit the rebels," said Spann.
"Hardly ancient ways," the Mad Dog countered. "The arrow's an Easton XX75 2219." With his glove he tapped the plastic nock of the olive drab camouflaged aluminum shaft. "Cam prevents sun splashing off it as a warning. It's fletched with three soft-yellow plastic vanes, for quieter flight and no moisture flattening out. From the slits around the wound, I'd say Jed's spine was slammed by a Wasp three-bladed broadhead 130-grain chisel-point or similar arrowhead. The archer uses an oversize arrow with a forty- to forty-five-pound bow. Any stronger and the shaft would punch through the spine. I know lots of bow hunters who'd shoot this arrow, and all of them are white ."
"That jibes with what John told me just before he was shot," Spann agreed. "He said he may have spied the archer hunting in the bush on the bluff above the falls at twilight prior to the freeze. When I asked who, last thing he said was 'The white man . . .'"
"The white man?" echoed George. "Not a lot to work with. But maybe someone knows a Caucasian who bow-hunts near here."
"Unless he meant the White Man," stated Bush Dodd. "In which case you're looking for a native trapper with lines around here."
"A native called the White Man?" wondered Spann.
"He's albino, and whiter than you or me."
"Real name?" George asked.
"Winterman Snow."
"Met him?"
"We crossed paths a few tunes in the woods. When I landed hell and gone in the bush. The guy's a lone wolf who lives off the land. Only comes out now and then to sell furs."
"You know," said Spann, winking at Dodd. "The good old days might not be over yet. We may get to bush-hunt our own Mad Trapper."
Tzantza
Vancouver
Saturday, January 6
Chief Superintendent Robert DeClercq returned home a day early from his vacation in France, riding the bus before sunrise this morning from Domfront to Flers, and then the train to chug three hours east
"You okay?" George asked.
"Yeah," Spann replied. "You see who shot Moses John hi front of me?"
"No," said the Cree. "The shot came from the west. From the sundance circle or farther on. Wind cleared a sightline for the marksman, but snow hid him from view. All I saw was John's head explode."
"Why shoot the holy man?" the Mad Dog asked. "Kill him so Grizzly has no power rival hi camp? Now he's the undisputed leader of the rebels."
"And can say we shot their spiritual leader," said Spann.
"Assuming the target was Moses John," said George. "He stepped toward you a moment before the shot. How do we know the target wasn't you? One in the" doomsday cult striking out at the New World Order."
"Either way, if he's involved, Grizzly just passed the point of no return. The hope for a peaceful outcome exploded with John's head." Spann turned her attention back to the corpse in the ice. "How tall is the stiff?" she asked.
"Five-six to the stump."
"That matches Jed Vanderkop. The hunter from Idaho who vanished near here last month. The stiff is missing the end of the same finger as him. Looks like an archer bow-hunted Jed."
"Stripped him, and cuffed him, and let him run for sport," said the Mad Dog. "Stalking him through the icy woods above the waterfall, where he was finally brought down with a damn good shot. The stream carried him over the falls, and he froze in the pool below."
"A white guy shot with an arrow close to a camp of white haters picking up ancient ways. The archer's M.O. seems to fit the rebels," said Spann.
"Hardly ancient ways," the Mad Dog countered. "The arrow's an Easton XX75 2219." With his glove he tapped the plastic nock of the olive drab camouflaged aluminum shaft. "Cam prevents sun splashing off it as a warning. It's fletched with three soft-yellow plastic vanes, for quieter flight and no moisture flattening out. From the slits around the wound, I'd say Jed's spine was slammed by a Wasp three-bladed broadhead 130-grain chisel-point or similar arrowhead. The archer uses an oversize arrow with a forty- to forty-five-pound bow. Any stronger and the shaft would punch through the spine. I know lots of bow hunters who'd shoot this arrow, and all of them are white ."
"That jibes with what John told me just before he was shot," Spann agreed. "He said he may have spied the archer hunting in the bush on the bluff above the falls at twilight prior to the freeze. When I asked who, last thing he said was 'The white man . . .'"
"The white man?" echoed George. "Not a lot to work with. But maybe someone knows a Caucasian who bow-hunts near here."
"Unless he meant the White Man," stated Bush Dodd. "In which case you're looking for a native trapper with lines around here."
"A native called the White Man?" wondered Spann.
"He's albino, and whiter than you or me."
"Real name?" George asked.
"Winterman Snow."
"Met him?"
"We crossed paths a few tunes in the woods. When I landed hell and gone in the bush. The guy's a lone wolf who lives off the land. Only comes out now and then to sell furs."
"You know," said Spann, winking at Dodd. "The good old days might not be over yet. We may get to bush-hunt our own Mad Trapper."
Tzantza
Vancouver
Saturday, January 6
Chief Superintendent Robert DeClercq returned home a day early from his vacation in France, riding the bus before sunrise this morning from Domfront to Flers, and then the train to chug three hours east
Similar Books
