HYBRID: A Thriller by James Marshall Smith

Author:James Marshall Smith [Marshall Smith, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Braveship Books
Published: 2018-01-09T22:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-SEVEN

“Can we drive up to Bozeman after school tomorrow to buy my scout uniform?” Michael asked his dad. “The Camporee is Saturday.”

“I was planning on Bozeman later in the week,” Dieter replied. They sat at the kitchen table where Michael was gobbling a hot dog with spicy mustard dripping onto his T-shirt. Dieter watched Megan counting the cooked carrot slices on her plate. She’d exhausted stories by now of her first day at school and was quickly winding down.

Rusty scratched at the back door and barked. When Dieter opened it, Rusty flew inside. Dieter walked out onto the deck where a light breeze stirred treetops. As he scanned the yard and the thick forest backing on the property, a pair of ravens cawed from the upper limb of a cottonwood. Again he thought how lucky he was to call Colter home. When he returned inside, Megan had dropped a carrot slice on the floor for the dog.

“Please take Rusty out on the deck, Megan, and play with him a little while. Your brother and I need to talk.”

“I wanna stay here,” she whined.

“Mind your daddy please.” He patted her behind and gently shoved her toward the back door. “And stay on the deck like I told you.”

She reached up to the door for the slippery brass knob, careful to keep her other hand out of the jamb. He remembered the time she made the mistake of closing the sharp edge on her tiny fingers and her anguished crying.

When Dieter sat back down at the table, he turned to his son. “Bozeman’s an hour away. I’ll see if I have any calls later in the week. If not, we can drive up there.” Maybe he’d been too harsh. He wasn’t sure how to deal with his son at times like this. Since his mother’s death, Michael was drifting away. He could sense it in so many little gestures. The way he looked away from him at times, ignored his questions, or shrugged off his touch.

“Have you decided if I can go on the overnight hike?” Michael asked.

“We’ve talked about that a dozen times. I’m not changing my mind.”

Michael took another bite of his hotdog and chewed, appearing to think about his next move.

“You do know,” Dieter said, “that mountain hikes can be pretty rough going. Especially for guys your age. Sometimes even a little dangerous.”

“How come dangerous?”

“Lots of reasons.”

“There’s no snakes . . . like in Pennsylvania.”

“How do you know that?” Dieter asked.

“My friend told me.”

“You made a new friend?”

“Randy Cunningham. He’s eleven and he’s going on the Camporee.”

“Do you want more milk?” Dieter scooted his chair back to get up, but Michael didn’t answer him. He sat back down. “What’s the matter, son?”

Michael dropped the hot dog onto his plate and grabbed the bottom of his chair with both hands and squirmed. “Are you going to find somebody else to be our mother?”

Dieter reached out to place a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Who knows what life might bring, son. But I’m certainly not looking for anyone, if that’s what you mean.

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