Only the Dead by Vidar Sundstøl Read Free Book Online Page A

nature of hunting. The fact that everything he heard and saw was important. That each step he took, and the way he moved, counted. That everything had significance. And yet almost nothing happened. Maybe he saw a flock of nuthatches. Maybe he heard a pinecone fall. An entire day could pass in that fashion. It was almost like experiencing a great, liberating nothingness. But then all of a sudden, in the midst of that nothingness, a deer might be standing there, on alert, its long ears moving like remote-controlled antennas. Then it all came down to a few seconds of deliberate action. As if all of existence had been kneaded into a compact little ball. And when he fired, he also shot a hole in that ball, and then everything once again resumed its usual dimensions. Although not quickly. It was true that it took time. But slowly the day would return to normal. Gradually his hands would stop shaking from adrenaline. The deer would lie there, steaming on the ground.
    He got out his cell and phoned his brother.
    “Yep,” said Andy.
    “Was that you shooting?”
    “Yeah, but it was moving at a helluva speed. I missed. Was it you that flushed it out?”
    “I don’t think so. I was driving really cautiously, so . . .”
    “Have you noticed anyone else in the area?”
    “No.”
    “Me neither.”
    “Well . . . regardless . . . I’ll be there soon.”
    “Okay,” said Andy and ended the call.
    Lance picked up his pace, no longer trying to move quietly. Soon he reached the clear-cut for the transmission line, which was mostly low shrubs and heath-covered ground. He walked forward and then stopped in the middle of the open landscape as he looked for Andy, but he didn’t see him. The high-voltage lines hummed overhead. For a moment he wondered where the power line came from. He realized he’d never asked himself that question before, no matter how many times he’d looked at it. It was just a power line, buzzing with energy. He had no idea where it came from or where it ended.
    “Hello?” he shouted, raising one arm in the air.
    His brother had to be able to see him, standing out here in the open. The transmission line clear-cut was well over a hundred feet wide, stretching as far he could see in both directions. There wasn’t even a bush that reached much higher than his knees. He must stick up like a lighthouse.
    “Hello?” he shouted again. Still nothing but silence all around him.
    Vapor issued from his mouth in a thick cloud each time he exhaled. He noticed that it was also rising from the neck of his jacket, from his warm body under the Gore-Tex. He thought about the buck that he’d aimed at yesterday, how the steam had risen from its body as it stood there in the rain on the other side of Copper Pond. He should have shot it; then he wouldn’t have needed to come out here to the woods with Andy today. But it was too late now.
    Again he looked all around, letting his gaze survey a small section at a time, just as he usually did when searching for a deer. That was when he caught sight of his brother on the other side of the clear-cut strip. Partially hidden behind a fir tree, Andy was standing there, watching him.
    It’s impossible to cross the creek. I’ll just have to follow it through the woods to see if it gets any narrower. I don’t like this dark forest. I just don’t. Back home we had hardly any forests. The trees that we did have stood far apart. Here it’s nothing but miserable darkness. I start walking along the creek and reach the first of the fir trees. I didn’t know there were trees this big anywhere. If I try to see the tops of them, it’s like the whole vault of the sky comes plunging down on my head. They’re trees and yet they’re something else too. They’re too big to be just trees. I walk in between them. The trunks are so thick it would take at least three men to link hands around them. I hear water running in the dark. That cursed creek! I say. But my words fall straight down to the