Lone Survivor (Book 1): All That Remains

by Hunt, Jack

  Maybe that was why he said yes to the last-minute call.

  The phone jangled in his pocket. Landon ferreted through his coat and saw his boss’ name on the caller ID. Just let it go to voice mail, he thought, pushing it back in his pocket and crossing the street. Snow crunched beneath his boots, leaving another trail of prints behind him. The phone rang again, this time drawing the attention of Sara. She knew the look when he looked at the screen. There was only one person who would be phoning him two days before Christmas.

  “You’re not answering that. Leave it,” she said.

  “But—”

  “No buts. You get a few days off. Let someone else do it.”

  “And if they don’t have anyone?”

  “Then he’ll have to do it.”

  He grimaced. “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “It does in regular jobs.”

  “This isn’t a regular job.”

  She blew out her cheeks, frustration setting in as the phone rang.

  “Look, I need to take the call.”

  She told the kids to go inside as she made her way over for her final attempt at making him see reason. “No you don’t. He only calls you because you say yes, every friggin’ time. For once, say no. You have an excuse. The weather is terrible.”

  He’d flown in worse. Landon squeezed the phone, contemplating hitting ignore and turning off the ringer to avoid follow-up calls, and there would be many more. Dougy Richmond wasn’t one to give up. “What if it’s important?” he asked.

  “It’s always important. Whenever has it not been?”

  He nodded and hit ignore but didn’t turn the ringer off. She smiled and looped her arm around his as they headed for the door. Four steps, that was all he took before it jangled again. He stopped walking and Sara scowled. “No. No. No!”

  “It’s my job, Sara.”

  “And we’re your family. You spend more time away from home than anyone else. I mean, I think I’ve been more than patient, Landon, but even I have my limits. Now I’m asking. No, actually I’m telling you. Don’t take that call. I don’t feel good about it.”

  “You never feel good about it.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips before throwing a hand up. “Fine. Take it. I should have known. You don’t even want to be here anyway.”

  “Come on, Sara, that’s being a little unfair.”

  “Unfair? You want to talk about what’s unfair? Please. Don’t even…” She charged off in a foul mood. Landon tilted his head back, ran a hand over his head and stared up at the dark sky. Snowflakes landed on his face, some filling his mouth before he answered. His screen flashed. A thin, middle-aged man with a terrible mustache that looked like dirt appeared on the screen wearing a flashy blue shirt, and silver jacket. His blond hair was swept over with a buzz cut on the sides and back. Behind him was a large print of a plane crossing the ocean.

  “No. Not doing it!” he said before Dougy could get a word in edgewise.

  “And Merry Christmas to you.”

  “Dougy!”

  “I get it but I’m in a bind, Landon. You know I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t…”

  “Important? You are so… predictable, Dougy.” He balled his fist looking towards the hall where Hank was greeting people like a parish priest. He eyeballed him and scowled.

  “And you’re my employee, let’s not forget that.”

  “What if I hang up now?”

  “I’ll fire you.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Give me one reason why not?”

  “Because I’m the best you’ve got. In fact I’m the only one that is mad enough to fly some of the shitbirds you agree to ship all over the world.”

  He flashed his pearly whites. “And your bank account loves me because of it.”

  “It’s not all about money, Dougy. I’ve got a family. It’s Christmas. But you don’t get that. You’re single, living the high life, it’s always vacation time for you. While I’m the one doing all the grunt work.”

  Dougy lifted both hands. “Hey buddy, I feel your pain, I really do. But this is a big payday. The client doesn’t want to wait until the new year. He doesn’t care about your family or mine.”

  “What family?”

  “I got family,” Dougy said. “That’s actually why I’m calling you. Otherwise I would do it myself.” His face screwed up and his lip quivered. “You see my mom, bless her heart, she’s getting on in years… and I don’t think she’ll make it through another Christmas, so...”

  “Stop. Stop. Didn’t you say your mother died last year?”

  “No. Did I?”

  Landon raised an eyebrow.

  A grin formed. “Okay. Okay. I’ll pay you double.”

  “You already have to pay me double. I’m on vacation.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Man, you run a hard bargain. Okay, I’ll give you two extra weeks of paid vacation this coming year. Tickets to an all-expense retreat. You can take all the family to the Bahamas, kick back and…”

  “Turn off my phone?”

  Dougy leaned forward clasping his hands together. “Well, maybe not turn off the phone but…”

  Getting frustrated with him, he tried to cut it short. “Where is the plane going?”

  He cleared his throat, seeing his window of escape. “Alabama. I need it there by morning.”

  “Alabama? I thought it would be somewhere on the East Coast. That’s going to take me what, five, six hours to get there. And not to mention tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Sara will kill me if I don’t make it back for that. I’m already in the shit for taking this call.”

  “What do you want me to say, Landon? Huh? Clients move the needle. If I don’t jump on this, word will spread and that’s not good for you, me or business in general.”

  Landon sighed and cursed under his breath. “And the plane? This better not be some shaky chicken coop.”

  “Brand new. Cirrus Vision Jet. The damn thing even has a parachute system. Something called CAPS. Don’t ask me what it means but… the point is, you don’t have to worry about the weather. Besides, it’s just us East Coast boys that are getting hit hard. Compared to your neck of the woods, Alabama is beautiful. Heck, you might even get a suntan.”

  “Don’t push it, Dougy.”

  “So are you gonna do it?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  He made a face which meant no.

  Landon jabbed his finger at the screen. “You owe me big time.”

  “You’re my man.”

  “What about getting home? Please tell me you’ve made arrangements as I don’t expect getting a flight from the airport will be easy at this time of the year… or last minute.”

  Dougy closed his eyes tight. “Shit!” He brought a hand up and ran it down his face slowly. “I knew there was something I needed to do.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Landon, I’ve been overwhelmed by work.”

  “And by work you mean the shit that is underneath your nose?”

  Dougy paused for a second, frowned, and looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He sniffed hard and wiped the powder away with the back of his hand. “Hey. It’s Christmas. It’s just a little pick-me-up. You know. A guy’s gotta stay alert.”

  Landon couldn’t believe he was agreeing to this. The thing was he needed the work. Yes, his job paid well but with college on the horizon, and the inn’s renovation costs and expenses not getting any cheaper, it had all but burned a hole through their pocket lately.

  “Listen, try to get a flight back; if there isn’t anything, I have a bush pilot buddy of mine that makes trips this way all the time. He owes me a favor. Okay?”

  Landon didn’t say anything, he simply looked on unimpressed.

  “I promise. I will have you back by Christmas Eve, one way or another.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said before getting instructions on which private airstrip to go to and collect the plan
e. After hanging up he stood there looking over at his SUV as snow drifted down like ash.

  “You said yes, didn’t you?”

  Landon turned to see Sara, her arms folded tightly around her body.

  “I’ll be back by tomorrow evening.”

  She shook her head, bit down on her lower lip and breathed in deeply.

  “Mom. Dad. You coming in or what?” Ellie yelled as she hurried over without her coat on. Sara turned and told her to go back inside before she caught a cold.

  “I could take her,” Landon said.

  “You’re doing a delivery?” Ellie’s ears perked up.

  Sara immediately jumped on that. “Out of the question! It’s far too dangerous.”

  “It’s not one of those rust buckets, Sara, it’s a brand-new plane. She’s never been up. She’ll love it. Besides, you always said I’m not around enough and the kids suffer. So let me take her with me.”

  “I don’t like it, Landon. No, she’s staying.”

  “C’mon, Mom.”

  “No.”

  “Sara.”

  “Don’t encourage her.”

  “What, you want her to be fearful of flying like you?”

  Her eye squinted. Oh no, not again, he thought. Ellie wouldn’t let it go and Sara eventually caved in to the pressure. “And Max? Why don’t you take him?”

  “Because it was hard enough getting him to come out tonight,” Landon said. “No, he’ll only whine about it. He’ll make the trip a misery. Anyway, I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Those final words would haunt him.

  2

  The hunter was no stranger to death. Over the short span of seventeen years, Beth “Bluebird” Sullivan had witnessed death on more than one occasion. Understanding how it was necessary in order to survive gave her a greater appreciation and respect for life. She tightened her grip on the recurve bow as the crescent moon shone on the remote homestead and a howling winter wind nipped at her slender fingers.

  Pisgah was a terrain of high peaks, cascading waterfalls and heavily forested slopes. Stretched out across 50,000 acres of mountains from the east to the western region of North Carolina, it was a mecca for the adventurous and suburbanites who longed to dip into its vast greenery only to return to the modern world of electricity. For her, though, it was much more, a backyard, an off-the-grid playground, a place to hunt — home.

  By day, it lured in hordes of gawking bikers, hikers, campers, climbers, bird watchers, paddlers and naturalists. Most trekked the well-worn paths and campgrounds, never venturing into her neck of the woods at the higher elevation. In the summer she would often see swirling smoke from campfires in the distance. However, tonight, in the grip of winter’s teeth, it was all but deserted except for her, crouched in the darkness of a tall pine, still and silent.

  She was clad in hand-crafted leather and a snug camo jacket, with long blond hair and ivory skin. Undistracted by the snowstorm and her precarious position on the narrow branch, high above the ground she gazed intently. Her icy blue eyes stood out like a wild wolf’s, piercing and scanning the landscape for prey. Her gaze locked on the forest floor, even as her thoughts drifted to her mother’s tragic death, two years prior.

  Another Christmas, Beth reflected, it won’t be the same without you. Her beautiful young face didn’t reflect the loss as others might, nor show signs of the anxiety she had experienced adjusting to the new way of living.

  All that had been buried, locked away.

  She was hidden by a canopy of darkness as her keen eyes swept over the untouched powdery ground far below. A SIG Sauer P320 was holstered on her hip, and her hand gripped a recurve bow. She waited patiently.

  It was late in the evening, close to ten, the sun had been down for hours.

  Beth brought up the short wooden deer grunt to her mouth and blew it, letting out a few grunts periodically. Her ears listened intently for movement. Nothing. She clenched her jaw in frustration, her fingers digging into the bow. This had been the exact spot she’d caught two other deer that year, but she had yet to see another. Where are you?

  She was beginning to think that something had scared them away, a black bear, coyote or another hunter. Or perhaps the deer were further down, out of sight and she would need to shift position. Even though she’d been out there for hours, patiently waiting in a wind that was unforgiving, Beth didn’t shiver because she’d layered up, familiar with the drop in temperature. It was hovering in the low 20s.

  Unlike previous years, they’d seen a large dumping of snow over the past few days and there was no sign of it letting up. As comfortable as she was perched in the tree stand, it was tempting to give up and call it a night; but no, they needed the meat and she was determined to show that she could do it without help. She shrugged off her momentary weakness and narrowed her eyes. There were deer out there tonight, she knew it, and she wasn’t going back empty-handed, even if it meant sticking it out in the snowstorm until sunrise.

  She scanned again, blew the grunt and listened.

  At first, there was nothing. Then — there! Nearby. Her eyes zeroed in on the white-tailed deer making its way through the brush, stopping to chew. Its ears perked as it scanned for threats. A surge of excitement hit her as she readied herself. A smile of satisfaction lifted her lips as she watched it trot her way. That’s it. Having been taught by her father, she knew exactly where the arrow needed to hit, and how many pounds of draw-weight was required.

  Carefully, she brought up the bow and took aim.

  That’s it. Come closer. Nothing less than a clean kill was acceptable; she wasn’t one for letting an animal suffer. The deer closed the distance unaware of her lurking in the shadows.

  Beth released the arrow and it soared towards the target, striking it hard. A perfect shot. The deer bounced into the air and took off running on what her father called the death run. If it was a heart shot, the deer wouldn’t last long.

  Beth stepped confidently off the branch, plummeting to the soft white ground with all the grace of an Olympic gymnast. She landed with precision and burst forward, thighs pounding the earth like pistons following the trail of blood. Often, they would wait but she didn’t want the coyotes to get to it first. A few hours longer than necessary and they would have one hell of a meal. Darting between trees, she slowed within minutes of starting to run.

  As expected, the deer hadn’t made it far, only fifty yards or so before crashing in the brush, confirming the shot had penetrated the heart, and was clean.

  Beth slung the bow over her shoulder and made preparations to lug the deer back to the cabin using the leverage technique. She fished into her backpack and retrieved a six-foot rope.

  Quickly, she tied it off around the front legs and head to make it easier to lift the front end of the body. After, she made a loop at the other end and attached it to a large, thick stick and then began winding it down to create tension. She turned and gripped the stick below the back of her knees and lifted, bringing up a quarter of the body from the ground. With snow falling, dragging it back would be fairly easy even for her five foot six frame.

  No sooner had she taken ten steps than she heard a branch snap. She stopped trudging forward and listened. Nothing. In the wilderness and under the extreme weather conditions, branches snapped, and small animals like racoons would be out searching for food. Beth continued on through the forest, excited to show her father.

  It was rare to see so much snow, and even rarer to find herself almost knee deep in powder. Trudging through the darkness with only the moon for light, her chin hung low as she tried to keep the icy needles out of her face that were swirling up around her like a mini tornado.

  Another branch cracked.

  This time she lifted her eyes but it was too late.

  A massive weight from above crushed her, sending her rolling down the steep slope. An unseen figure clung to her as snow billowed in the air and she came to a stop twenty yards away. Bouncing up, snow in her eyes, her hand clasped her
hatchet and scythed the air in front of her but by the time she could see, they were gone. She turned 360 degrees, scanning the terrain. Footprints. A trail of footprints in the moonlight led away then abruptly stopped.

  She followed.

  Her head tilted back but this time she was ready.

  Beth lunged out of the way just as a hulking mass of leather and fur came at her. The face was swallowed by a deep hood but she knew who it was. The masked figure blocked her attempt at striking him with the hatchet, bouncing back and grabbing her arm, then twisting, and kicking her legs out from beneath her.

  She landed hard, flat on her back in the thick snow. Gasping and out of breath she looked up as the figure pushed back the hood to reveal her father Rhett Sullivan. Long curly hair pulled back into a man bun, a dark goatee with a shock of white to it, and ocean eyes that mirrored her own.

  “Nice try, kid, but what did I tell you?”

  “Keep my head up?”

  He nodded. “Bluebird, it’s one thing to be able to kill, another to avoid being killed. You don’t want to go through all that trouble to land yourself meat, only to have someone steal it out from underneath your nose. Now imagine if there had been two attackers. You’d be dead.”

  “Well, then I’m glad it was you.”

  “It might not be next time,” he said, a serious expression fading into a smile. He extended a hand and she clasped it, pulling her up. “What had you distracted?”

  “The snow.”

  “Come on.”

  She brushed herself off and glanced at him before telling him the truth. “Mother. Christmas.” She sighed and he put an arm around her as they made their way back up the slope.

  “I hear you. But you’ve still got me.”

  She chuckled but didn’t go into it. He avoided the discussion as much as she did. It was just too painful. It shouldn’t have happened and that was truth. As they reached the deer, her father looked down at it. “That’s one hell of a shot. Well done, kid. You’ve come a long way. Your mother would be proud. I’m proud of you,” he said gripping her shoulders. She knew he meant it too.