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153
ball from a fallen tree to climb closer to the house, though why he was here, he wasn’t sure. Maybe Clementine would make him a sandwich, or offer him a drink—she had in the past when he’d done some handyman work around the place. He’d fixed a couple of broken drawers in the pantry, replaced some faucets, little jobs . . .
Now, he paused, caught his breath. Took off his steamed glasses to wipe them clean. Without them, because of his cataracts, he couldn’t see five feet in front of him.
He fumbled the glasses, nearly popped out a lens, then dropped them into the snow.
Bending on one knee, he reached into the bank and stopped short.
Had he seen something?
A movement to his left?
His skin crawled and he squinted, patting the ground, looking for his damned specs.
Nothing.
Just his imagination.
He turned back to the snow, then saw movement again. A blur in the snowy curtain . . . like a ghost flitting through the quivering aspens.
Ivor froze.
He caught his breath.
Saw the wraith again.
Oh, hell no, not a wraith! Shit no! This huge white beast ran awkwardly across the open yard. A Yeti! That was what it was. Goddamned abominable snowman, running through the forest with a long club in its hand. Oh, God, oh, God. First the aliens and now this? Was this sighting of a bona fide Yeti why Crytor had forced him onto Hubert Long’s property? To give him some validation?
154
Lisa Jackson
Heart thudding, he watched as the beast, picking up speed, loped across to the helicopter pad where a chopper sat idle, collecting snow, then dashed through the trees, only to turn its massive head and eyes, amber and filled with pure evil, toward him, zeroing in on him.
On one knee, Ivor bit back a strangled cry. His damned ticker nearly stopped. This was it. The massive snow monster was sure to beat him to a pulp with that long dark club . . . oh, hell, was it a rifle? Had the snow creatures evolved to the point of firearms? He crawled backward, slid down the bank, and silently prayed like he’d never prayed before, a sudden convert.
As if God spoke to the monster, it turned and sped away, running through the snow, its black paws visible.
“God help me,” Ivor whispered, clutching his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart and feeling snow fall onto his upturned face. He’d been spared. Because of the Lord? Crytor? Or just dumb luck?
Maybe Yetis were nearsighted.
Whatever the reason, he’d been saved.
Jesus H. Christ, could nothing go right? Why the hell was the old man on the Long property? After all the years of waiting, of planning, of being certain that no one was around, the old geezer had the nerve to go out for a wintry stroll to Brady Long’s hunting lodge.
Calm down.
Don’t lose it now.
CHOSEN TO DIE
155
No way could he recognize you. And yet, there was always the chance.
I cast off my gloves, along with my white suit, when I arrive at my truck. Everything, along with my rifle, is tucked away, hidden in the false flooring, and I’m dressed as I usually do in jeans, a flannel shirt, down vest, and jacket. No one saw me change, no one would suspect a thing.
