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No wonder man was always out to conquer Nature, A
Scuffling sounds came in with the fog, then laughter, then laughter receding. Trail crew were settling into their second phase. The light drunks had dined and were wending their still somewhat steady way homeward. The hard core were settling in for the evening’s sodden festivities.
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Scotty Butkus passed within a yard or two of the window where A
Tinker and Damien were camped in Moskey. In July, the height of the season, even if they had told anyone of their destination, it would have been impossible to foretell precisely which camp they would find empty when they arrived. Knowing they were well hidden, A
Without taking the time to replace the files or lock the cabinet, she slid the window up the rest of the way and stepped out onto the gravel. Keeping in step with Scotty’s boot-shod stride, she used his noise to cover hers.
Once past the dock he veered left, following a dirt road into the heavily forested center of Mott. On the windblown duff, he made less of a racket and A
Trees pressed like shadows onto the road. Without them it would have been possible to lose one’s way even on a track rutted by two-wheeled carts. Fog robbed A
The road forked. The left fork led up to the water tank that served the island. The right fork led to the permanent employees’ apartments. It seemed years since she had walked that road, found Hawk in the District Ranger’s yard playing with a baby, but it had been less than twelve hours.
Scotty passed Pilcher’s door, passed the Chief of Interpretation’s apartment. He was going home. To drink himself to sleep, probably, A
The hunt was finished. She turned to retrace her steps but a sense that the evening’s activities were not over stopped her. The gift of the cloak of invisibility had been bestowed for a reason and that reason had yet to manifest itself. “You’re getting as bad as Tinker,” A
Mudroom, hall, living room: a trail of light preceded Scotty through the apartment. Though A
The overhead in the bedroom came on and the parade of lights was at an end. A
Scotty might have passed out, she reasoned, though he’d not seemed nearly that drunk. More likely he’d wandered back into the living room and was settled comfortably in front of the television while she refrigerated her posterior out in the dark.
With a sigh, she pulled herself to her feet. It was time to go home and the Belle Isle, however unappealing, was home.
Twenty yards up the trail, she heard a door slam. Once again the fog became her friend. She stepped off the path into the shrouded darkness. Footsteps, sounding stealthy only because she waited in stealth, came up from the dwellings. Booted feet: Scotty Butkus passed her. He’d changed into dark clothing and carried a bundle a little larger than a human head under his left arm.
Windigo stories flooded A
He stopped. A
Scotty began to move away from her. Whatever had been the cause of his halt, the result must’ve been reassuring. He went on with a confident step. A
The fog moved in sinuous waves, some so dense she could see scarcely two yards, some thi
Scotty kept on till he reached the docking area in front of the Administration Building. Showing more sneakiness than he had to date, he studied the dock, peered at the office, then, satisfied he was alone, boarded the Lorelei.
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The Lorelei’s ru
She ran lightly across the quay, her rubber-soled shoes making no sound on the concrete. Just as the Lorelei eased away from the dock A
Faint green light glowed from the windows. Radar was on. The Lorelei crept out of the little harbor. In the middle of the cha
For an irrational moment, A
The bow fender thumped in place. Boots clumped. A
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