Backwoods by sara12356 Read Free Book Online Page A

I’m a forester. My name’s—”
    “I know what you said.” Spittle sprayed in
fine droplets from his lips as Moore’s voice rose a ragged,
scraping notch. “Now I want the truth.”
    In three swift strides, he collapsed the
space between them. Andrew hunched his shoulders, closing his eyes
as Moore shoved the gleaming barrel of his pistol against his
temple.
    “Please don’t,” Andrew whispered, frightened
now; damn near the closest he’d been in his adult life to
unadulterated terror. Because this guy wants to kill me. This
isn’t a game. He’s come here to shoot me.
    “How did you find me?” Moore demanded. “How
did you know I was here?”
    “I didn’t,” Andrew said, wincing as the
muzzle dug more fiercely into his head. “I swear to God, I don’t
know what you’re talking about. Please, I swear.”
    The gun remained pressed against his skin for
another long moment, then at last, Moore drew it away. Uttering a
shuddering sigh, Andrew remained rooted in spot, eyes closed.
    “Haven’t you people done enough?” Moore
asked. Some of that furious venom had been stripped from his voice,
leaving a hoarse, nearly pained tone. Andrew opened his eyes
hesitantly, and inexplicably found the older man staring at him
with a pleading sort of expression, the pistol now dangling in his
hand at his side.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
Andrew said, and Moore’s face hardened again, that cleft between
his brows deepening. Again, the pistol raised and Andrew cowered as
Moore crammed the muzzle into his brow once more, forcing him to
his knees.
    “Please,” Andrew gasped. “Please, don’t.”
    He gritted his teeth, his body tense as he
waited for the horrible, thunderous report of gunfire, for what he
assumed would be searing pain as the bullet punched through his
skull. Moore pulled the gun away again, but Andrew remained rigid,
frozen in place, paralyzed with fear.
    “No,” Moore said, his voice low and guttural,
nearly a growl. Andrew heard the soft sound of his footsteps and
risked opening his eyes in time to see Moore walking out the door
to his room. “That’s your way. Not mine.”
    ****
    What the hell have I gotten myself
into? Andrew thought again as he walked downstairs, because
things were sliding progressively from bad to worse to plain old
fucked up at entirely too fast a pace for his liking.
    He hadn’t decided if he should tell Major
Prendick about his encounter with Dr. Moore and his pistol. Given
the Major’s reception—which had likewise involved a pistol aimed at
his head—Andrew suspected Prendick might not have been too opposed
to the idea of Moore popping a cap in his ass. Hell, he might have
even instigated the entire confrontation.
    At the foot of the stairs, Andrew was struck
by a strong smell emanating from the dining hall. Not entirely
unpleasant, it wasn’t exactly appetizing, either, and reminded him
of the way the corridors in elementary school had smelled in his
youth close to lunchtime: the intermingling odors of canned corn
and fish sticks.
    Ahead of him, he could see a large gathering
of uniformed soldiers at the doorway of the dining hall, lined up
and ready to fill their trays.
    “You don’t want to do that,” he heard Suzette
say as he headed in that direction. He glanced to his left, found
her crossing the lobby toward him.
    “I was just on my way to find you,” she said
with a smile. “Invite you to join me for dinner.”
    He laughed without much humor, given that the
imprint of Dr. Moore’s gun barrel was now outlined in a dim bruise
against his temple. “You must really want to see me killed.”
    She looked quizzical, the good cheer
faltering in her smile, and he told her about what had
happened.
    “Oh, my God,” she said, seeming appropriately
aghast. “I can’t believe he did that. He wouldn’t have shot you.
Trust me. He’s all bluff and bluster. He wouldn’t have the
balls.”
    Despite this reassurance, Andrew didn’t