by Hunt, Jack
OUT OF THE WILD
A Wilderness Survival Thriller
Jack Hunt
Direct Response Publishing
Copyright © 2020 by Jack Hunt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to an online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
Out of the Wild: A Wilderness Survival Thriller is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
To my two daughters. Always remember — I love you, I’m proud of you, and you are stronger than you realize.
Acknowledgments
A big thanks to the tireless and courageous bush pilots who were kind enough to offer assistance by phone and email to make the aviation aspects of this novel as realistic as possible. You know who you are.
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Outlaws of the Midwest series
Chaos Erupts
Panic Ensues
Havoc Endures
The Cyber Apocalypse series
As Our World Ends
As Our World Falls
As Our World Burns
The Agora Virus series
Phobia
Anxiety
Strain
The War Buds series
War Buds 1
War Buds 2
War Buds 3
Camp Zero series
State of Panic
State of Shock
State of Decay
Renegades series
The Renegades
The Renegades Book 2: Aftermath
The Renegades Book 3: Fortress
The Renegades Book 4: Colony
The Renegades Book 5: United
The Wild Ones Duology
The Wild Ones Book 1
The Wild Ones Book 2
The EMP Survival series
Days of Panic
Days of Chaos
Days of Danger
Days of Terror
Against All Odds Duology
As We Fall
As We Break
The Amygdala Syndrome Duology
Unstable
Unhinged
Survival Rules series
Rules of Survival
Rules of Conflict
Rules of Darkness
Rules of Engagement
Lone Survivor series
All That Remains
All That Survives
All That Escapes
All That Rises
Mavericks series
Mavericks: Hunters Moon
Time Agents series
Killing Time
Single Novels
Blackout
Defiant
Darkest Hour
Final Impact
The Year Without Summer
The Last Storm
The Last Magician
The Lookout
Class of 1989
Inaction will cause a man to sink into the slough of despond and vanish without a trace.
Farley Mowat.
Contents
Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part II
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Part III
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
A Plea
Readers Team
About the Author
Prologue
July, Alaska
She remembered falling.
The asphalt disappearing, the snapping of branches, the scream escaping her lips.
Like slides of a projector flipping wildly, too fast to comprehend, every moment played out in quick succession, one after the other, nothing but a blur of sound and images imprinting on her mind: blinding headlights, the locking of brakes, tires skidding, a glimpse of spruce trees, then handfuls of gravel spitting in every direction.
Then… nothing but weightlessness, just bracing for impact. It was as if time slowed then resumed its normal speed.
The violent collision of metal and branches ignited the airbags as the bright red 4 x 4 Volkswagen SUV cut through the night, plunging nose-first into a rushing waterway. A wave of icy water fishtailed over the vehicle before the current sucked it down into a foam-lipped eddy.
Six Mile Creek was mostly a Class IV, gorge style rapids flowing through the rugged Chugach Mountains of Kenai Peninsula, an adrenaline junkie’s paradise buried deep in the heart of the National Forest. With narrow routes, steep drops, and booming whitewater, it wasn’t for the faint of heart.
Kara Shaw lost consciousness for but a few seconds until an icy wall of water slapped her in the face as it billowed through the air vents like liquid nitrogen, and gushed over the open driver’s side window, ushering the world back into view in terrifying color. Gasping in shock, her mind wrestled with reality as her senses screamed and she fought to still a hammering heart.
The ice-cold water took her breath away in a suffocating fashion.
Seconds, that’s all she had as river water rose around her, swirling and threatening to draw them down into a watery grave.
Although it was at the height of a summer’s night, the sudden immersion and low temperature had the strength to seize muscles and overpower the mind. In an instant, she unbuckled her seat belt and shot her mother a glance. She wasn’t moving and was slumped forward. Blood gushed down the side of her face. The passenger side window was sealed shut, cracked, and smeared with blood.
She shook her mother’s shoulder to wake her.
No response.
Frantically, Kara tried unbuckling her belt but it wouldn’t come loose. It was jammed. All the while the vehicle was sinking and water rising, almost up to her chest.
“Mom! Mom, wake up!” she yelled, refusing to quit as she tugged at the belt without success. She needed a knife, anything that could cut through the seat belt webbing, but there was nothing to be found.
The untamed turbulent water was now up to her neck, and partially covering her mother’s face. Taking a deep
breath Kara ducked beneath the surface, removed the key from the ignition, and tried to use the edge of it to cut the belt, but it was no use. Panic took hold as the realization set in that if she didn’t leave now, she would drown.
The water had come in too fast, filling up the interior in a matter of seconds.
She wanted to scream.
Beneath the milky gray, she glanced at her mother one last time before reluctantly swimming out of the window. Immediately the strong current noosed her body, sucking her away from the wreck and thrusting her downstream. Her back crashed into boulders, and every few seconds she would breach the surface and inhale before going under again.
Even under normal conditions, someone rafting these wild waters and wearing a lifejacket could drown, and here she was with nothing to help her.
Deep in the throes of Mother Nature, with death as a possible outcome, the water spun her mercilessly, twisting and rolling her body even as she tried to assume the whitewater defensive position of floating on her back with her arms outstretched, feet higher than her butt, and legs facing downstream. Kara struggled to keep her head and feet above the water as her coat billowed with air, acting almost like an inflatable jacket. Still, it wasn’t strong enough to resist the power of the current.
Thrashed around like a rag doll, the roar of water rushing over stone was deafening as it swept and dropped her downstream, picking up speed. The agony intensified as she bounced off boulders like a pinball. Every collision was worse than the last as bone-crushing pain shot through her. The force was so strong that it felt like she was in a washing machine being spun.
Trapped — there was no sense of up or down, just an endless nightmare.
One moment she was sucking air like a fish out of water, the next plunged deep beneath the surface and brought close to the point of drowning. Each time she collided with sharp rocks, she was sure she’d be knocked unconscious. Surviving these waters required more than she had: wet suits, helmets, and a personal flotation device, and even then there was a chance of perishing. Many a rafter had lost their lives in the wild rivers of Alaska.
Unable to think or breathe, it seemed like she was in the rapids for hours but it was probably only minutes.
Just as she began to believe this was it — her final moments before she passed to the other side — there was a sudden flash of her father’s face and her will to live kicked in.
Kara’s head reached the surface and she gasped.
She knew if there was any hope of survival, she’d have to clamp on to a low-hanging branch or get behind one of the many rocks she kept colliding with. But stopping was the problem.
There was no one here to save her and if anyone had pulled over at the crash site, they would have concluded she was inside the vehicle, dead.
Kara eyed a fast-approaching boulder.
This was it.
A gut instinct, life, her mother, something told her to reach… her hands caught it, fingernails tearing as she clawed, desperate to hold on. For a split second, she thought she might be swept around it but her fingers held fast, cold, and rigid.
She had it or better still, it had her.
Using what little strength remained, Kara hauled herself out of the water, clambering onto the rock, and then over to another. Her mind never telling her she was safe until she stumbled onto wiry, shrubby grass and collapsed. Her face was streaming with blood, and she could taste iron in her mouth. A finger on her left hand was bent sideways, clearly broken. Her ribs felt like they were fractured as every attempt to breathe was excruciating.
She had no idea how far she’d traveled or where she was. Exhausted, she remained still for an unknown amount of time, hoping, praying that someone would find her and airlift her out. But no one came. As darkness wrapped itself around her like a cloak and her body shivered, chilled to the bone, she heard the growl of vehicles, then sirens.
Mustering enough energy to rise, Kara staggered up a steep incline, pulling at branches, her vision blurred by blood. Gratitude was fleeting, as every painful memory sought to crush her spirit. As the moon spread its light over the road she tumbled out, losing her footing, falling on all fours.
Headlights flashed, and someone swerved, brakes squealed.
Kara screamed in anguish, an overwhelming sense that she was alive but tortured by the reality that her mother wasn’t. She would never forget that fateful day, it would be forever etched in her mind — she was only fourteen years old.
Part I
1
Fifteen years later
Anchorage, Alaska
The silence of the morning was obliterated by the wail of a smoke alarm. Henry Shaw looked up from his desk in confusion as he took off round glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He let it ring out for a minute or two, wishing it was a car alarm, an annoying neighbor who’d triggered it, but he’d heard it enough times to know better.
As he shuffled out, the aroma reminded him.
“Damn it!” he barked as he entered a smoke-filled kitchen and hurried to remove a pan of blackened bacon off the stove. The pan was engulfed in flames. He cursed under his breath as he bolted to the front door and tossed it all outside. Henry snatched up a small red fire extinguisher attached to the wall and blanketed the pan in a cloud of white powder.
Whoosh.
Like a burst bag of flour. It went everywhere.
He coughed, waving a hand in front of his face.
One of his neighbors, Joe, a bald retired fella with more time on his hands than he knew what to do with, stared at him from across the street, wearing a long bathrobe, plaid pajamas, white T-shirt, and slippers. He tapped a rolled newspaper against his hand, eyebrow raised, chuckling.
“Having a BBQ again, Henry?”
Henry narrowed his eyes and grumbled as he retreated into the sanctuary of the two-story home located on a cul-de-sac. He fished out of the toaster charred slices of bread and stabbed the pedal of the garbage can with his foot to get rid of them, then proceeded to go room to room opening windows and turning on every fan in the lower half of the house.
Fans whined.
A cool October breeze blew in.
While he waited for the air to clear, he sauntered into the bathroom to take a leak. After spending the better part of ten minutes in his routine of counting numbers and looking at different objects — tile flooring, steel handle, drywall — a grounding method to get his aging body to work, he exited, cursing old age.
Henry ambled over to the fridge, the door was littered with colorful reminder notes from top to bottom. Some were weeks old, to-dos he’d forgotten to remove, others still needed to be checked against his wall calendar to determine if they warranted urgency.
CALL KARA AND WISH HER A HAPPY BIRTHDAY
Henry peeled the note off the stainless steel and ducked his head inside the fridge to see what could pass for breakfast. The pickings were slim. He hadn’t hit the grocery store in over two weeks. Under the glow of a pale light, a few bottles of beer, half a brick of butter, a carton of milk, some condiments, and the remainder of a blueberry pie stared back. He grumbled. His neighbor, Debbie Ratchet, a widow, had dropped off the pie. It was her angle, a harmless and kind gesture that might have passed as neighborly if it wasn’t for the fact that she was in the habit of doing it twice a week. At first, he’d been surprised, then suspicious, and after that thoroughly disturbed. Who had time for all this chitchat? Better still, who ate this many pies? She might have been on his doorstep every day if he didn’t park his truck in the garage and pretend he wasn’t home.
Henry fished out the pie, peeled back the foil and gave it a wary sniff, then shrugged. “When all else fails — pie!” He snagged a used fork from the sink and headed back down the corridor. The cream-colored walls were adorned in wood-framed photos of his family and various bush planes. Every room in the house had some décor that reflected his love of aviation, his career of choice.
In the years since losing Indi, he’d struggled to deal with liv
ing alone. He had good friends, mostly work colleagues, and strong ties in the villages throughout Alaska, but that didn’t equate to true friendship, not that he was a social man or a huge talker. That was Indi’s strength, she had been good at that. No, if it wasn’t for his work, and hobby, he might have put a .40 caliber to his temple a long time ago.
After taking a few mouthfuls of pie, he set the rest down on top of a large, crinkled map of Alaska. There were numerous old, thick, leather-bound books stacked haphazardly around him; two were spread wide, close to his archaic desktop computer, a machine that would have made Bill Gates proud. He powered it on and was greeted by the familiar and irritating blue screen of death.
He pummeled the top and swore at it, threatening to replace it as if it understood him. Henry powered it off, and on again, four times before it worked.
Damn technology, he hated it.
He’d been meaning to replace it, at least that’s what a fridge note told him.
Henry set his glasses back on his face, sighed, and took another scoop of pie before scanning a page of his book, then glancing at the monitor to form a comparison before making another scribble in a journal.
He’d consumed story after story of lost gold mines and sunken ships throughout Southeast Alaska. His descent into madness, at least that’s what some called it, had led to filling over twenty-seven journals. Each one littered with ideas, connections, theories, some that came up empty, others that drove him down another rabbit hole. His hobby was like a drug, a thrill that he’d had since his youth but had lost in the wake of losing Indi. But now it was back, drawing him in, adding meaning to his paper-thin life.