"Lamar, Melinda - The Gentle Giant" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lamar Melinda)

-: Gentle Giant :-


THE GENTLE GIANT
By Melinda Lamar
ISBN: 1-928670-72-5
Published by Awe-Struck E-Books
Copyright ©1999


-Dedication-
To all of you at Rogue Writers Ink for your inspiration and vote of confidence, and to my critique partners extraordinaire. I couldn't have done it without your support -- and of course, that of the Little Man and the Giant Squid.
To the MMMMMMM Gang -- thanks for your shredding skills, purrs of encouragement, in the face assistance, lap warming, finding me when I didn't want to be found -- and for reminding me of the importance of a warm, sunny corner and an afternoon nap.
Dad -- Thanks for showing me stubbornness can be a virtue.
Bro -- Remember the "what if" questions? Be careful what you ask. I might just write a book!
Mom -- I miss you. You taught me the power of words, and for that I'm eternally grateful.
Mom and Dad U. -- You're the BEST!
Andy -- I haven't changed my mind, either.
Bibliography: Krantz, Grover S. Big Foot-Print -- A Scientific Inquiry into the Reality of Sasquatch. Boulder, CO: Johnson Printing Company, 1992
["Prologue"]["#TOC"]
Prologue
He walked, placing his feet carefully on the stones. He knew where he was going. An instinct, a memory he didn't remember learning, showed him the way. Reminded him to stay only on the stones.
The breeze stirred, rustling in the tall, sticky trees he called home. He pushed onward, upward, until he crested the ridge. There, the breeze whipped to a frenzy, parting the clouds lingering from the light and noise and water. Revealing the familiar, comforting black and white dapple of the dark time.
He stood for a moment, sniffing the air, breathing in the telling scents, the new things it disclosed. Something in his world was not right, and he took no comfort from the familiar pattern overhead.
He was not alone. Other Ones were out there. Someone not like him. The enemy. The hackles on his neck prickled.
He felt fear. The fear that another ancient memory told him he should feel. For a moment, his step faltered, slipping off the stones. The vague sensation of wet earth sticking to his feet. Not caring. Hurrying on into the night.
"Hey, Lennie, I think we got somethin' here," called Harvey, the shorter and dumpier of the brothers, overdressed this morning in a camouflage coat and woolen cap. The sun was breaking over the Cascade Mountains in Southern Oregon. Already the air was heavy with humidity and warming quickly.
"This time it better not be some damn bird tracks," Lennie grunted, rubbing a bead of sweat from the end of his nose with a grubby thumb.
"No, this time I think I got me a hoof print," Harvey said, kicking aside the leaves with his boot and pointing at it with the butt of his hunting rifle.
"Let me see, you jerk, before you stomp all over it." Lennie leaned over the area Harvey had cleared. "That ain't no deer track, you jerk, it's a coupla' bear toes."
"Bear, deer, don't make no difference to me," shrugged Harvey, scratching his crotch, the adrenaline rush of the chase pounding through him. In his mind he heard the bear squeal. And die. Power.
He liked to watch things die.
Harvey scratched himself again, excited by his thoughts, and took a few eager steps in the direction the bear toes indicated. Soon.
What he saw next stopped him. Stirred the fervor in him even more. He knew what this track was even without Lennie telling him. To kill something like this...the pleasure would be bigger than he'd ever known. And there would be the money, too. They'd pay him to kill.
But, he knew Lennie, even as smart as he was, couldn't track this. No siree, he needed an expert. Someone to lead him to the kill.
He rushed back to Lennie. "Come here, I got somethin' Len, I got somethin' so big you ain't gonna believe it."
In five minutes, the brothers, with Lennie at the wheel of their dilapidated rusty pick-up, were hurtling down the winding back roads. Spewing mud and fishtailing around the tight curves, Lennie kept his foot on the gas. Speed was imperative.
Harvey grinned. He felt no fear. Only the thrill of money and blood-lust. And Power.
Something startled Diamond Norwell from the warm cocoon of sleep. She hated to let go of the warmth, hated to relinquish something so wonderful to the empty light of day. She groaned when the phone next to her clanged again.
Rolling over and lifting the heavy weight of white-gold hair dangling in her face, Dia curled her fingers around the receiver.
"This better be good," she mumbled, throaty from sleep.
"With you, Babe, I know it would be." The familiar, deep voice of the ex-DJ wove itself through the last fibers of her dream.
"Mmmm, hi, Bob," she muttered, propping herself up higher. "Who else would dare disturb me at the crack of dawn on a Saturday?"
"Oh, I've been up for hours. Nothing like a teething infant to deprive one of sleep. Mandi's resting now, and so is Judy, so I decided to torture you."
"Yeah, right. So what have you got?"
"Got a message through your BFNetwork phone line about fifteen ago. There's been some more activity up near the R.E. Sector."
"What kind of activity?"
"Indirect terrestrial."
"Okay, give me the coordinates, Bob." Dia grabbed the pad and pencil on her night stand and jotted down the information. "I got it. I'll give Jerry a shout, and I'm on my way. Thanks, Bob. Oh, and give that adorable little girl of yours a hug for me, will you?"
Dia held her finger over the disconnect button, fighting the feelings that surfaced when she thought too hard about Bob's daughter, Mandi. Or any other female child under the age of ten.