Aya Fukunishi, The Complete Collection 2011-2016 by Aya Fukunishi

Author:Aya Fukunishi [Fukunishi, Aya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B01G7KECD2
Published: 2016-05-24T16:00:00+00:00

Wolves of the Five Tribes: Bloodcoat Rogue

by

K A Taylor

The forest was silent, as if the crisp, deep cover of white snow absorbed all sound, and all life. The drifts glowed in the light of the full moon, but otherwise the forest was dark and still as the grave...

… Except for a single, dim yellow light, flickering on and off like a strobe.

“Oh, damn it all to Hell!” Isla Stone yelled with frustration as she slapped the flashlight with the gloved heel of her palm. As her voice shattered the silence and echoed through the snow-clothed firs the light returned, dimmed quickly, then died once again. “Stupid God damned piece of crap,” she muttered angrily, pulling off a glove with her teeth so she could unscrew the base of the flashlight. The spent battery slid out, and she quickly replaced it with a fresh one from her jacket pocket.

Isla sighed with relief as the bulb flickered on, and hurried to replace her glove before her fingers began to ache with cold. She was already worried about frostbite, and as she bent over the hood of the car and picked up the wrench she split her worry between the charred terminals of the spark plugs and the numb, tingling tip of her nose.

Isla had been stranded for three days now, trapped by the snow at a remote ranger's cabin deep in the Rogue River-Siskiyou National Park. She kept reminding herself that she was lucky. If her Camry had broken down anywhere else in the park she'd surely have frozen to death by now. It was only by chance that it had crapped out just a few hundred meters from the disused cabin, and it had been an even greater stroke of luck to find the cabin unlocked, and an emergency survival kit behind the door. She'd never been more relieved to find a box of candles, matches and tough, tasteless biscuits.

Working with clumsy, gloved fingers she pushed the final spark plug into its slot and struggled to screw it into place with the wrench. Close enough, she thought as the wrench – the wrong size for the job – slipped from the head of the plug. It didn't have to be a perfect job. It just had to be enough to get the engine started, so she could run the heater and charge her phone through the cigarette lighter; so she could finally call for help and escape this frozen nightmare.

Isla dropped the wrench to the ground and fought through the deep snow that had piled around the car in the days since she'd pushed it to the cabin. With an almighty yank she pulled open the driver's door, climbed in and fumbled through the glove box for the key.

“Please, please, please, please,” she whispered, and closed her eyes as she turned the key.

Nothing. The starter motor turned over weakly, but after a few seconds of strained coughs it cut out again. Isla stared blankly ahead, her emerald eyes glazed over, trying to clear her mind of all thought.

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