The Season of Killing by Leigh Mayberry (reading books for 4 year olds .txt) 📗

“I know.” If she expected an argument or resistance from Lester, it didn’t happen at that time. Mentioning Kinguyakkii made it personal to him.

Chapter Twenty-One

 Following the snowmobile tracks in the dark proved easier than Meghan expected. Matthew and Norman had two large long-track machines and at least an hour head start. Meghan and Lester had extra gasoline cans strapped to the rear of the saddles and a sober outlook.

Instead of riding tandem, Lester rode his Yamaha. Meghan rode Eric’s sporty short track machine that rode higher in the snow than Lester’s extended, heavier machine. She didn’t mention the fact it was the first time riding a snowmobile alone. It had a thumb throttle and a brake; how hard could it be?

Lester led the chase. Meghan relied on his years of experience, not only riding but lifelong Alaska wilderness knowledge and unpredictable snowfall. Along the ice and snow-covered Kobuk River, Matthew and Norman followed the river bends as much possible. It was harder in areas where shoreline and bends were indistinguishable from drifting snow.

The snowstorm had subsided. They had breaks in the threadbare black blanket that covered the sky. Along the horizon over the mountains, Meghan saw the sprinkling of twinkling stars.

Eric had called ahead of their arrival in town. Whatever the plan for the receiving end, Meghan had to rely on her sergeant and the rookie’s ingenuity to trace them when they eventually made through to civilization.

It was a little after three in the morning as far as Meghan guessed. The air grew colder. Inside her helmet, her face was warm enough. She managed to tuck her little finger into the glove to protect it more from the freezing air. It was numb, but she had other things to worry her. If it weren’t for chasing wanted fugitives, it would be a pretty night.

The heavy snowstorm added a few feet of snow dunes to the river basin. It was subtle gray snow in her limited peripheral vision, directly ahead in the wash of the bright headlights, it was a stark bleached cut groove of endless white. The last few days hid the rest of the shore, coating potential hazards of jagged rocks and abrupt scrub brushes and hidden boulders.

Then the tread lines they followed for miles along the river abruptly changed direction, turning south, as much as Meghan gauged from the geography. The taillight on the snowmobile ahead of Meghan lit up as Lester braked. She pulled alongside him and slid to a stop. Braking on the sled took more practice.

“What is it?” she asked. Meghan lifted the face shield. Brisk air slapped her face.

When they stopped, the idling machines dropped deeper into the snow plain. The Yamaha sat much deeper than Eric’s sled. Following the tracks had packed down the snow, but it meant drifts filled in the grooves.

“I’m having trouble following the river.”

“Are you following their tracks still?” Meghan asked. “It looks like they’re going away from town now.”

The leftover tracks, twin tracks that snaked together, overlapping, and weaving around each other, slithered out of sight.

“I think they’re an hour or two ahead of us. But see that line?” Lester pointed to the left, tracing the full threads that tangled together and split apart again. The machines breached the river’s edge. “I don’t think that’s part of the Kobuk River basin anymore.”

“So, where else can they go?”

Lester’s mustache grew ice crystals with the shield up. His breath came out like thick gray smoke in the cold. The temperature dropped since the storm broke; it dropped more since they left town.

“They might try for Selawik. If they’re stupid, maybe they’ll try to get to Elephant Point. It ain’t easy. They’re tracking over land now. It will take half as long, but it isn’t safe.”

“We can’t give up, Lester. We’ve got two potential murderers out there. I don’t want to risk someone else crossing paths with them. Not when they’re feeling trapped.”

Lester nodded. “Stay in my track now. Don’t veer at all. Keep back, but don’t lose sight of my taillight.”

“I trust you, Lester.”

The face shield snapped down as Lester throttled the machine. The Yamaha lurked out of the dugout and spilled snow over Meghan as she lowered the helmet shield. The engine sounded raw, like an outboard boat motor without water.

Meghan fell in line, following her lieutenant. The sled weaved as the front skis fought to forge a different path than following Lester’s trail.

***

Judging distance and lost on time, it was impossible to comprehend that Meghan got utterly and truly lost on the Alaskan tundra. Her arms ached, holding the handlebars as the machine bounced and bucked in the uneven trail.

It was a lot like horseback riding at high speed. Meghan learned to press her heels against the steel cage over the track, standing on the running boards. It helped keep her rear off the saddle as the machine bucked over the arctic landscape.

Meghan focused on Lester’s red taillight. Ten meters ahead, she maintained the distance. As far as she saw, gloomy shapes sprung up around the machines. The headlight illuminated everything ahead of her, but to the sides, the hills and mountains, ponds, scrub brush, and rocks all looked like blankets of gray-white that went on forever.

She glanced ahead of her. The taillight had disappeared. Panicking, Meghan squeezed the throttle, and the sled hopped over uneven terrain. Then she saw the tail of the Yamaha jutting out of the snow like a steel tombstone.

“Shit,” Megan hissed. She braked hard, yanking the handlebars to the right.

The skis caught something under the snow. A knot of dwarf dogwood snatched at her, pulling the front end until the snowmobile slammed against mud and snow.

Her shoulder and neck collided with the small Plexiglas windshield. The machine stalled.

Meghan dismounted on the left, away from the tangle of tundra