by Jeff Carson
Deadly
Conditions
A DAVID WOLF NOVEL
By Jeff Carson
http://jeffcarson.co
[email protected]
Published By
Cross Atlantic Publishing
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved.
David Wolf Series In Order
Gut Decision (A David Wolf Short Story) – Sign up for the new release newsletter at http://www.jeffcarson.co/p/newsletter.html and receive a complimentary copy.
Foreign Deceit (Wolf #1)
The Silversmith (Wolf #2)
Alive and Killing (Wolf #3)
Deadly Conditions (Wolf #4)
Cold Lake (Wolf #5)
Smoked Out (Wolf #6)
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 1
The man leaned over the wheel, squinting through the windshield as another powdery gust of wind hit the side of his truck. All he saw was a swarm of snowflakes illuminated by his headlights, and he felt his eyeballs twitch back and forth as he tried desperately to get his bearings. When he instinctively let off the gas, the truck lurched and stuttered, rocking him in the seat. He kicked the clutch and downshifted to first, and then he felt the truck meander to the side, though to which side was impossible to tell.
It was useless trying to orient himself. Like looking through the eyepiece of a twisting kaleidoscope. Just as he was about to stomp the brakes, the whiteout let up and the two pinpoints of red light flitted back into view on the otherwise deserted county road ahead.
Dammit. He turned the wheel left and got back into the twin ruts in the snow he’d been following, hoping to God they were somewhere near the center and safe from drainage ditches, roadside boulders, and anything else hidden under the blanket of ever thickening white that could derail his plans. County 15 was a desolate, winding dirt thoroughfare with steep drops off the left shoulder in a few spots. Houses were few and far between. If a driver got in trouble here, it was a long walk to get help, and an even longer one in weather like this—overall a stupid place to be driving tonight.
He was waiting for his quarry to call it quits, turn around, and coast back down the hill before the deepening drifts stranded them. Maybe they would take the girl back to one of their places or go to a hotel or something.
He looked at his watch – 11:26 pm, Saturday night, on the eve of surely the biggest powder day on the mountain in years. Fat chance getting a hotel room. Out-of-town skiers on the mountain today would have sensed the opportunity and snatched up any vacancies after the big gala.
What a night to have a big event on the mountain, he thought with a shake of his head. It was going to be mayhem for people getting back down the gondola and to their homes and hotel rooms.
He scratched his nose and grasped the wheel with a two-hand white-knuckle grip. The defroster howled, blowing hot air on the highest setting against the windshield. No matter the wipers’ speed, an immovable arc of water remained on the glass. The red taillights ahead illuminated it, and it reminded him of oozing fresh blood.
For the last day, all he could see was blood, and the way this girl was acting, she was just driving him madder as the seconds ticked by. Picking up two men in the span of a half an hour? She had simultaneously proven herself a bigger whore than he’d already thought and killed his entire plan in one slutty move.
He shook his head and gripped the wheel even tighter, and then spit into the floorboards of the passenger seat and growled aloud. He had never felt more disgust with any human beings than he did with the ones conniving behind the scenes of Rocky Points.
Well, he’d felt a similar disgust once before. And, that? That had ended badly. Was he going to remember anything after this? Or, was he going to wake up in blood again? The thought made him nervous and his hands were slick on the wheel.
Since the memory of his first time was buried deep in the cave of his mind and he didn’t have a map to find it, he knew this was going to be like his first time all over again. It had to be done. He would not fail. He turned the heater knob down and the cab quieted. The digital clock changed to 11:30. This was looking to be a futile waste of his time. They were going to go to her house, if they could make the last mile, and then what? There was sure to be a house full of roommates, and the neighbors that all lived in that line of six houses in the middle of nowhere, and no opportunity. The driver bared his teeth and shook his head.
Ahead, the taillights rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. All he could see was the thick curtain of juicy flakes flying into the lights and windshield and the twin tire grooves.
Damn, it was deep, he thought, looking to the left and barely seeing the trees in the forest. The snow had started at sundown, and really ramped up after nine. By the looks of the ruts, at least twenty inches had accumulated already, and the storm was still coming in full force.
Enough was enough. He should quit and get back home while he could. He started scanning for the widest part of the road to turn around.
Ahead, brake lights flared red and he jammed his foot down on his own brake. The truck had stopped.
He shut off his headlights, and the chaotic scene outside went black. He squinted and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Finally, he could see the twin grooves running up the road, dark gray on the gray snow, disappearing into a television static night, and then the faint lights of the motionless truck.
It was almost impossible to see, the snow and wind were relentless, but he swore that the cab light flicked on and then off. The tail lights shone as the truck backed and k-turned, and then the truck’s headlights were coming straight for him.
His pulse jumped as he considered his next play. He flicked on his headlights and shifted into first. His knobby tires spun briefly and then caught. He shifted into second, following the tracks ahead. Less than a minute later the truck’s headlamps glared into his cab as it passed. He squinted and held up his hand to cover his face, figuring the truck’s occupants might be pressed against their windows and wondering who in their right mind was out in this weather along with them.
He sighed and looked in his rearview mirror. The taillights disappeared around the corner without braking.
It was over, he decided. He followed the ruts to the point where the truck had turned around. There was no sense breaking new ground and risking falling over the edge of the road, sitting in a snowdrift overnight, and possibly dying for his carelessness.
As he drove, he tested the high beams. Visibility was worse, so he shut them off.
He leaned forward again and squinted. When he had flicked off his l
ights, he could have sworn he glimpsed a dark figure along the right shoulder several yards ahead.
He blinked rapidly, then squinted again, and when the shape moved, his pulse jumped. It was a person.
“Holy shit,” he whispered to himself, and sat up straighter in his seat.
It was her. There was no mistake. She was waving, and then she held up a gloved thumb.
The driver swallowed, letting his brain process the opportunity standing in front of him. An opportunity that had vanished just a few moments ago had now materialized once again and dropped in his lap, and to his frustration, he found himself floundering, wondering what to do.
He slowed down and stopped next to her. Before he knew it, her face filled the passenger window. As she pressed against the glass and peered inside, the driver opened up the center console, grabbed the gun’s rough plastic handle, and pulled it out.
If he shot her when she opened the door, would he black out and wake up a few hours later? Just sitting in a car, engine running, door open, and a bloody corpse lying nearby, waiting for early-morning plows to discover them? Was he even conscious now? Was he dreaming?
His breathing was frantic, and his skin tingled as sweat glands opened up all over his body.
She pounded on the window and yelled something too muffled to hear.
He clicked the lock and she opened the door. The dome light went on and a blast of snow and cold swirled into the cab as she bent inside. He tucked the revolver in between his legs way too late, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Hey! It’s you? What the hell are you doing up here? Don’t answer, I don’t care. Can I get a ride?”
“Yeah. Get in,” he said. His voice sounded a mile away in his own ears. He reached into the center console again, pulled out his leather gloves, and put them on.
She jumped up onto the seat butt-first and knocked her feet together out the door to drop off the snow, and then twisted into the chair and shut the door.
The cab was suddenly filled with her sniffling and breathing and flowery scent. She pulled off her wool hat, flipping snow all over the dashboard.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Shit. Sorry. Thank God you’re up here. Oh man…do you think you can get up the rest of this hill to my house? Do you know where I live?”
The driver stared at her and smiled. Or what was he doing? Sneering? He couldn’t tell.
She looked at him and frowned, “Are you okay?” she asked.
The driver picked up the revolver and pointed it at her face.
“Oh, God!” She twisted and grabbed for the handle, and then put her hands up in front of her face and shut her eyes. “Please. Please. Don’t hurt me. What are you doing?”
“You know you killed her, right?”
“What?” she said, still cowering against the door. “What?”
Every muscle in his body tensed as rage overtook him.
“Unzip your coat,” he said, flipping on the cab light.
Her eyes were wild and wide, pupils tiny and mascara running down her cheeks. She nodded profusely, “Yeah, okay,” she said, fumbling to take off her gloves. At first, she moved quickly to unzip her jacket. Then, she looked up at him as if a sudden brainstorm had given her an idea, and she slowed down, arching her back a little and taking a calming breath. “Yeah. Let’s get comfortable.”
He set his jaw and inhaled deeply to contain his rage. It figures this whore would think if she puts out, I’ll punch her ticket out of this, he thought. He kept his aim steady and pulled up on the emergency brake, shifted into neutral, and let up his feet from the clutch and brake.
“Now pull open your jacket with both hands, and pull it down your back, and push out your boobs again.”
She smiled and gave him a wink, and then slowly did as she was told.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and scooted his chair all the way back, watching her closely. She was now sitting with her hands effectively wrapped against her sides, but he would need to make sure she couldn’t fight back, so he put the gun to her head and climbed on top of her, and then put his knees on her arms.
She gave him a smile and closed her eyes, trying to look like she was enjoying it, unconvincingly so.
He dropped the gun on the driver’s side seat and grasped her neck. First, he just gripped her and started squeezing. And then she started to squirm.
There was no preparing for this moment, and her fierce counterattack startled him. She thrashed and twisted underneath him, and he tightened his grip until his muscles shook, and then he gripped harder still.
She sagged down in the seat, like she was trying to escape by sliding underneath his legs, but he just leaned on her harder and a gurgling sound spouted from her lips. Even through the leather gloves, he could feel the pounding of her blood in her neck, and then, after what seemed like an eternity, she went still, and the pounding stopped.
He gripped her for a while longer, knowing she was already dead, but just wanting to make sure. He finally eased his grip, the leather of his gloves peeling off her skin as he pulled away.
He had almost forgotten. With a quick movement, he opened the center console again and pulled out the tube of Ruby Fire lipstick. He removed the cap, carefully twisted the tube’s base to expose the right height of color, and then applied the mark to her forehead. He leaned back and assessed his work. Maybe not exactly like the original, he thought, but close enough.
He wiped a tear from his cheek before it dropped onto the warm lifeless body. It was strange. As the seconds ticked by and he replayed images of the past few minutes, a persisting adrenaline spike spawned an airy sense of wonder. I did it. I strangled her. I killed this pathetic excuse for a human being. Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, he thought. Maybe I am out cold, lying on a dead woman in a running vehicle on a deserted road in the middle of the night.
He slowed his breathing and looked around, watching the flying flakes and listening to the windshield wipers squeal behind him. Then he felt the warmth on his knee and jumped over onto the driver’s side. She had pissed herself, and it was all over the seat.
He reached over and pulled on the door handle, and then shoved her out. She ended up hanging out the door with her legs still jammed inside on the floorboard, so he crawled onto the passenger seat, feeling the warm liquid soak through his jeans, and then rolled her out into the deep snow.
For a few seconds he stared, watching the snow cover her body like a fine lace sheet, and he again wondered if this surreal scene was a dream. The bitter-cold wind and his sticky wet jeans reeking of urine convinced him otherwise. It seemed real because it was real.
He climbed back in the driver’s seat and decided that even if it were a dream, the prudent thing would be to dream about getting the hell out of there. So, he turned the truck around and he did just that.
Chapter 2
The anticipation on the pass was electric. If Wolf had not been cocooned in his winter duty gear—hat, gloves, fully zipped coat, pants, boots—he was sure his body hair would have been standing on end.
“Waiting on you, Sheriff,” the distant sounding voice crackled through everyone’s radios.
Wolf looked at the other bundled faces and wide eyes of the people around him, and then shifted his gaze up the snow-blanketed highway that bent out of sight behind the pillowed pines. It was the day after a huge dump of snow, and a beautiful morning on a bluebird day, as skiers called it—a cloudless, radiant sky. Despite the crowd surrounding him, Wolf regarded the scene as desolate and peaceful. For the moment.
He turned to look past the congregation of official personnel that surrounded him. A few hundred yards down the highway a line of still vehicles puffed exhaust behind a closed gate arm. For five minutes now, people had been abandoning their vehicles and huddling on the roadside next to the fresh wall of plowed snow, jockeying for position to see, cell phone cameras swinging between the bright mountaintop and the congregation of Sluice County Sheriff’s deputies, Rocky Points Rescue volunteers, and Colorado Departm
ent of Transportation workers milling in the cold shaded road above them.
An RKPT-News 8 crew was set up in front of everyone next to the road gate, with an expensive camera mounted on a tripod, lens aimed high up the mountain.
“Stand by!” Wolf shouted, a puff of cloud jetting from his mouth. He thumbed the radio button and brought it to his lips. “All clear.”
The uniformed men and women surrounding Wolf swiveled in unison to look up, and he gave a final glance to the line of vehicles down the road. They reacted to the synchronized commotion and stared up. He watched as motorists nearest the front shouted down the line and people began sprinting toward the gate for a better view.
Wolf felt like he had just opened a cage containing a wild beast.
“Fire in the hole,” Bob Duke, longtime director of the resort’s ski patrol, said through the radio.
Even through the tiny speaker, Wolf could hear Bob’s high-pitched excitement, and it coaxed Wolf’s body to tense and tingle. He resigned himself to the moment, and assured himself they’d had taken every precaution so that no one would be in harm’s path. Wolf had taken CDOT’s recommended perimeter around the slide zone and doubled it. He had discussed the terrain above the motorists in detail with the avalanche specialists. There was nothing more to do but…
Two sharp-edged blasts thumped the air, and Wolf looked up.
The deputies nearby began whooping as a white cloud began billowing from the bowl high above.
On a normal blast day, when the conditions on the resort’s southernmost bowl were just right to slide, a triggered avalanche would make its way down a third of the mountain, and stop in the relatively flat zone at the bottom of Brecker Bowl along the southern boundary of the resort.
But if snow conditions were just right (or just wrong) and an especially deep layer of powder lay over a weak layer of sugar snow, the slide could ride through the flat zone and spill into the treeless chute that had been gouged out over the millennia by other slides. An especially big avalanche could get as far as the highway. That specific zone was a safe distance up the road, clearly discernable by smaller, younger trees and an open glade carved out by millennia of avalanches running out there.