Last to Die: A gripping psychological thriller not for the faint hearted

by Arlene Hunt

  ‘I can’t complain.’

  ‘Stayin’ on the straight and narrow?’

  ‘For the most part.’

  ‘Good to hear. So what can I do for you?’

  ‘I spoke to a man last night called Willie Scarsdale, showed him something and he said I ought to come talk to you.’

  ‘Old Willie still beatin’ brush?’

  ‘Not so much these days; glaucoma.’

  ‘Shame.’ Nathaniel shook his head.

  ‘Would you look at something, give me your thoughts on it?’

  Ace unwrapped the arrow from the cloth and held it out to Nathaniel. Nathaniel took it and studied it for a moment.

  ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘I found this near to where my brother’s dog lay dead.’

  ‘A dog?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Well, that’s an unfortunate end for the animal, but I don’t see—’ Nathaniel raised the arrow to the light and frowned. ‘Obsidian, don’t see many of these traditional heads no more.’

  ‘Willie said you might recognise it.’

  ‘Maybe. I’d have to check some. You boys want to leave it with me and I’ll see what I can find out?’

  ‘Sir.’ Mike stepped forward. ‘My wife Jessie is missing, She’s been gone since last Friday and I am nearly out of my mind sick with worry. Tell the truth, I thought she had left me and taken the animal with her. I know now her car remained in town and our dog was killed around the time she went missing. If there’s anything you can tell us about that arrow, sir, I would really appreciate hearing it.’

  ‘You think this has something to do with your wife?’

  ‘I do,’ Ace said. ‘I think it has a lot to do with it.’

  Another expression crossed Nathaniel’s noble face. Mike felt gut-sick watching the transformation.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Come on inside,’ Nathaniel said finally, ‘let me see what I can stir up.’

  62

  It was moss; dark and green and growing on a shaded section of rock. Jessie stared at it. From somewhere, a faint trickle of water had surfaced and fed it.

  She licked her lips: they were dry and parched and her throat ached. She ripped a piece of moss from the rock and smelled it. Damp and earthy; she squeezed it between her fingers until her hand shook, trying to extract a bead of moisture.

  Nothing, not a single drop.

  She flung the moss aside with a snarl of impotent rage. This was not fair, this was not right.

  After a moment, she managed to regain her composure. She ripped another piece of moss from the rock and examined it. She cleaned the roots off and, after a moment of hesitation, popped it into her mouth and began to chew.

  It was cool, cool but disgusting. She gagged, but kept on chewing. What little moisture the plant held soothed and cooled her mouth and she chewed until it had dissolved into mush and then spat it out. Before her stomach turned, she grabbed another handful, stuffed it in to her mouth and chewed again. This time she did gag, but not until she had extracted every last single drop of moisture and lessened her ferocious thirst. It was not much, but it was something. She stuffed some of the moss into her pockets and began to climb again.

  Halfway up the next embankment she stepped on a loose rock, lost her footing and fell. Before she could catch something, she tumbled back down the slope, rolling and bouncing until she slammed into the dirt at the bottom of the scree.

  Jessie lay amongst the rocks and weeds, facing skywards, winded and bleeding from a number of cuts. Her shoulder was on fire and when she turned her head she saw that the skin above her left bicep had split open and was bleeding profusely.

  She tried to get to her feet. The air shimmered; she put out her hands but the earth tilted beneath her and she fell down again. This time she stayed down until she was sure she had enough strength to remain upright. When she finally stood up, she found she was cut and bleeding from various places and she was minus a trainer. She spotted it a few feet away and limped over to get it.

  When she had reclaimed her trainer, Jessie faced the embankment again and searched out a shallower line to climb. Her head throbbed and when she blinked the ground before her sometimes wavered.

  She knew the fall had cost her time and energy she did not have. With growing despair, she drifted wearily along the base of the scree, seeking a new route. The vegetation this high up the mountain was sparse; thin, spindly pines grew at awkward angles through the poor soil. There were more rocks and stones lying in wait for the unsuspecting ankle.

  Finally, she found a less steep incline. She wiped her forehead and looked at the baked surface. Was this really the right thing to do? Crossing the rocks left her exposed, and she knew he had a gun. If she went out there and he saw her he could easily pick her off.

  What if she stayed in the woods? Maybe she could hide somewhere.

  She dismissed that idea almost immediately. He had to know these woods and she did not. He would find her there without question.

  She looked down, blood was running down her arm and pooling by her shoe. She scuffed at it to hide it. Her body felt like sitting down. She was utterly exhausted, depleted of all energy. It scared her how much she wanted to stop. She turned and scanned the valley below, peering towards the dense foliage below, listening for any sound that betrayed him. Birds sang and a lone white butterfly bobbed past. He could be anywhere out there.

  Fact time.

  There were no options open to her. If she stayed put or tried to hide he would find her and he would kill her.

  Game over.

  She smeared the blood on her arm and wiped her hands against her trousers before pressing on.

  The heat was relentless. Despite the lesser angle, rocks and pebbles skittered down and away from her with every step, bouncing over the hardened soil, gathering speed as they fell. At times, Jessie was almost pressed level against the hillside as she dug her aching toes into the compacted earth, frantically searching for traction. It was not long before her hands began to bleed, torn ragged from snagging brush and rough stone. She tried to keep to the cover of the stubby bushes that sprouted here and there through the soil, but more and more she found herself exposed and vulnerable on bald sections. She did not stop and she did not look down.

  She no longer cared about below; all her energy was focused on above.

  Close to the top of the scree she paused, clung to a dried, half-buried root and squinted upwards. Above her lay a short stubby band of scrubland, after that she could see another rocky outcrop, and then she was almost in the mountain proper. There would be shelter there, caves, shade, perhaps water. The thought of water made her double her efforts. She dug her toes in and pushed off. She was almost at the top when the crack of a rifle filled the air and she heard the ricochet of a round to her left and saw a kick of dirt.

  Oh my God, he’s shooting at me.

  She pressed herself flat into the dirt, then realised that was pointless. She needed to get to cover. Jessie began to climb faster, trying to reach the small band of scrub trees and bushes growing above the scree.

  She was only feet away when the second shot rang out.

  63

  Mike sat beside Ace on a scarred leather sofa and waited impatiently as Nathaniel shuffled around a small room off the cluttered livingroom. He came in and out of the room many times, retrieving photos from various boxes and folders, blowing dust from lids and frowning at contents that seemed to surprise him. A number of times, Mike heard him grunt and mutter, but finally he laid his hand on what he had been searching for.

  ‘Here you go.’

  Nathaniel came out and handed a number of pictures to Ace. ‘I thought I might have a few others but I guess over the years I musta misplaced them. Don’t think I threw ’em out, but you never do know. Things have a way of walking out the door in this house.’ He raised his head and aimed the last line towards the kitchen.

  Ace spread the three photos on the coffee table before him and Mi
ke. The photos were aged, faded yellow and curled at the edges. In the first one, a number of men stood by the rear of a pick-up carrying deer carcasses. Mike recognised Nathaniel, though he was considerably younger, and a younger man wearing a blue cap with fold-down earflaps.

  ‘Nate sure did like the cap,’ Ace said softly, touching his hand against the photo.

  Mike glanced at his brother.

  ‘He did,’ Nathaniel said, his voice tinged with sadness. ‘Said it was good luck.’ He leaned over the table. ‘Other fellow there is Aldo Switch, he’s the fellow used to make these arrowheads. Sharp as a boar’s tusk they were, hard as flint.’

  Ace shifted onto the second photo.

  Two men stood over dead animals in each, one young, one older.

  ‘That’s Aldo Switch there,’ Nathaniel said, nodding to the photo. ‘See the equipment?’

  Mike raised the photo to the light and studied the picture. Between the men lay a massive Kodiak bear, his paws outstretched, with blood trickling from his nostrils. The older man squatted beside its head, his chin raised, his dark eyes arrogant and the lines around his mouth set in a haughty cruel manner. Both men carried longbows and quivers. The fetching on the bows was identical to the one that lay on the table before Ace and Mike.

  Mike passed the photo to Ace for closer inspection. His hand trembled a little as he did so. Ace took it and nodded, then added. ‘Kodiak, taken in spring by the looks of it.’

  ‘Aldo never did pay no heed to laws and customs,’ Nathaniel said with a snort. ‘He’d tell you flat out he’d hunt when he wanted and to hell with anyone who thought different.’

  ‘Where can we find this man?’ Mike asked.

  ‘Sorry son, you’re barking up the wrong tree with that one. Aldo went out hunting winter of ’98, up the mountains somewhere, never came back. Not that too many mourned his passing. He was a mean son of a bitch, even on his good days.’

  Ace tapped the photo. ‘Who’s that with him?’

  ‘That’s his boy.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Tell the truth I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘I never heard Aldo call him by his Christian name. Kid didn’t talk much. Some folk reckoned he was not right in the head, but me, I reckon he had a hard row to hoe, that one.’

  Mike stared at the photo. The younger Switch was tall and thin to the point of being skeletal. He wore his dark hair shaved close to his head and a livid scar ran from his mouth to under his jawline. His eyes were dark like his father’s and he stared into the camera with little or no expression.

  Nathaniel opened a different box and found another photo; this one was of the younger Switch standing over a bighorn sheep. Again, he faced the camera, unsmiling and seemingly uninterested in his game or having his photo taken. Something else struck Mike: there was snow on the ground yet the kid wore a thin jacket and wore no hat or gloves.

  ‘Kid was a natural,’ Nathaniel was saying. ‘Saw him take down turkeys on the wing, and the Lord knows those stupid creatures don’t give much by way of second chance if you miss. He could shoot the ticks off a squirrel with barely a breath taken to aim. Aldo used to bet on him against out-of-towners with crossbows and rifles. Kid used a homemade stick bow, as long as he was tall.’ Nathaniel shook his head. ‘People used to bet against him, but only the once. The boy was one track. He got a bead on something he’d track it until he had it. Aldo liked to brag about his skill, saying he could have made a real professional go of it with him if he’d a mind. Even talked about entering him in a few of the competitions. Never did follow through. Aldo was an intemperate man, and too jealous to put the boy forward. Put drink in him and the combination was lethal.’

  ‘Where were they from?’

  ‘Little Fork. You know it?’

  Mike and Ace shook their heads.

  ‘Scut of a place about thirty miles east of here. Up beyond the pine range. I can give you directions.’

  ‘That would be appreciated.’

  ‘Not much left of it now, I suppose … not much back then neither.’

  ‘You mind if we take these, Nathaniel?’ Mike asked.

  ‘Take ’em. They’re no use to me.’

  Mike gathered the photos and put them in the breast pocket of his shirt.

  ‘That boy,’ Nathaniel said, musing through his memory. ‘He really was a strange one.’

  ‘What age would he be now?’

  ‘In his late twenties I expect.’

  ‘Might he still have family up around those parts?’

  ‘Could not hardly say; it’s been a long time since I heard the name Switch. After Aldo went missing, the boy didn’t show for no more shoots. I figured he’d drifted on with himself. Might have sold on his father’s gear. Can’t hurt to ask.’

  Ace and Mike exchanged a look that Nathaniel noticed.

  ‘You think this Switch fella has something to do with your wife?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’d sure like to talk with him one way or another.’

  ‘I don’t recall him being much of a talker.’

  ‘He’ll talk to me,’ Mike said firmly, as he got to his feet. ‘Yes sir he will.’

  64

  Caleb stopped and took a long drink from his carry on. He gulped the water down, recapped the plastic bottle and strapped it back to his waist. He cocked his head and listened; he heard nothing but birdsong. He looked at the ground closely, searching out her trail. He found a section of soil that had been disturbed by her tennis shoe and pressed his fingers to it. Only the deepest part held a trace of cooler, damper soil. She was moving much slower now than he had been, exhausted, no doubt, by the incline and the heat. He was gaining on her rapidly.

  Caleb climbed on, moving a little faster now that he knew she was slowing. His earlier displeasure was gone. It was good that she had turned out to be a worthy adversary. It had been a long time since one had made him work this hard, and he appreciated that. He wondered if he might tell her how close she had come. Once over the mountain, there were a number of homes scattered about the valley. They were folk like him, mostly, pure country and careful to mind their own and turn an eye. So far this remote area had remained relatively free from the infestation of blow-ins, the city slickers buying up tracts of unyielding land to build sprawling mod-con cabins in a futile attempt to get in touch with their inner woodsman.

  Caleb’s lip curled with contempt even thinking about them. Half the mountains he had once roamed freely were destroyed by pop-up towns festooned with antique stores and stores filled with hiking gear and ‘authentic’ rural junk. Turn a road now and you could find Dairy Queens and twee, overpriced restaurants named after long-dead or non-existent ‘Grandmas’, populated by flavourless Yankees, resting their spotless Timberlands on highly polished stools and sipping frothy lattes, waxing lyrical about the great outdoors they were half afraid to venture into lest they lose the signal on their cell phones. It sickened him. They sickened him.

  Caleb stepped over another cluster of rocks and skirted a sheer rock fall covered with lichen and moss. He bent down and picked up a little soil with his fingers, allowing it to crumble between them. He could see she had passed here and had stopped to search for water. The slime-coated rocks would not have offered much by way of comfort, though he was not surprised to find pieces of chewed moss.

  He hiked to a section of the next ridge and stopped. Caleb wiped the sweat from his forehead and braced his shoulder against a fir. He searched the mountain above him, moving his eyes left to right, then right to left again. He chewed his inner cheek. If she was up there she had to be hiding, or she had changed direction, but that didn’t seem likely.

  He scanned again and on the next sweep detected movement.

  Bingo.

  He climbed the rocks to get a better view. Yep, there was no doubt, and she was climbing hard. He was impressed by how far she had managed to get. He unhooked his rifle and raised it to his shoulder. He closed one eye and sl
ipped his finger through the guard and rested it against the trigger gently.

  He waited, breathing slowly and easily, ignoring the heat and the sweat that ran down his back. She stopped climbing for some reason.

  He waited.

  From this distance he could probably hit her, but that did not interest him. That would be a waste. But he could certainly have a little fun.

  On the slope Jessie began to move again. Caleb fired and watched as his prey froze, and then began climbing with speed towards cover. He grinned, raised the rifle and fired again, this time aiming for the ground above Jessie’s head. Amazingly, she did not stop, and as he watched she made it to the tree line and disappeared from view.

  Caleb shook his head. She was brave but she was a fool after all. She was trapped now in that small pocket of cover. Above her was naked rock, below was the scree. There was no place to hide. She had taken her gamble in going up.

  And she had lost.

  Caleb climbed down from the rock and began the last ascent to collect his prize.

  65

  Mike and Ace said their goodbyes to Nathaniel and following his directions drove directly towards Little Fork. Not long after leaving, Mike looked over at his brother, his curiosity getting the better of him.

  ‘How do you know that man?’

  Ace glanced in the rear-view mirror and repositioned his cap. ‘His son Nate and me used to be tight.’

  ‘I never head you talk about no Nate.’

  ‘Yeah well, you didn’t know him so no point talkin’ about him with you.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Dead. Probably.’

  ‘Probably? You don’t know?’

  ‘No, not for sure.’

  ‘But how—’

  ‘Leave it alone, Mike.’

  Neither brother spoke much after that, except to consult a road map now and then as they drove deeper and deeper into the countryside.

  Little Fork was not much more than a crossroads with some surrounding houses. Ace pulled into a two-pump gas station and filled the truck, yawning and scratching the stubble on his face. Mike got out and looked around.