Spider Mountain by P. T. Deutermann

Author:P. T. Deutermann [Deutermann, P. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense, Thriller, Espionage, Fiction, General, Mountain life, Suspense Fiction, Action & Adventure, North Carolina, Ex-police officers, Women - Crimes against, Great Smoky Mountains National Park (N.C. And Tenn.), Great Smoky Mountains (N.C. And Tenn.)
ISBN: 9780312945930
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2006-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

We made pretty good time, but only because we were going downhill for most of it. We walked the few upgrades we encountered and stopped often to listen for vehicles. My foot made it clear that it was going to get even with me. At times I wished it would just go ahead and fall off. My main concern was that once Rue’s body was found, they’d definitely get those dogs out. We’d left a clear track down that dirt road, and the pavement wouldn’t disguise the scent very much. I thought about crossing the river to interrupt the scent trail, but the stream was getting wider as it flowed downhill, and I was afraid we’d lose too much time. We badly needed to get out of Robbins County.

About an hour before sunrise, we came upon a whitewater rafting outfitter’s place situated between the road and the stream. There was a log lodge building, which advertised tickets and supplies, and a dirt parking lot with chains across the entrance and exit. We stopped to catch our breath and then looked at each other. A raft ride would be a whole lot easier than jogging down the road. And it would eliminate our spoor.

We snuck around to the back of the place and found canoes hanging upside down on racks and a row of inflatable rafts stacked on their sides, big ones, medium ones, and even two-man jobs, all attached to a large oak tree by a cable with a padlock. The wire and lock were mostly there for show, because the wire ran through individual rope handles on the rafts. I cut out one of the medium, eight-man rafts, and we pushed it down to the ramp. There were paddles strapped inside as well as life vests. We unstrapped two paddles, put on some damp life vests, loaded the shepherds, and pushed out into the stream.

“Ever done this before?” I asked.

“Once,” she said. “In Colorado. Much bigger raft, with professional guides. I was just along for the ride. Never felt so helpless in my life.”

“Those are big rivers. This stream shouldn’t be too bad. I think we can mostly drift with the current.”

“So is there a reason that place called itself a whitewater rafting outfit?” she asked pointedly.

“Probably in the spring when this thing is up and running,” I replied, with more confidence than I actually felt. I’d been out a couple of times but would have to admit I knew next to nothing about navigating real rapids. Fortunately, it was late summer and there shouldn’t be enough water in the stream to build any real rapids ahead. If there were, we could always get out and resume our cross-country marathon.

“Do you think this will slow up the pursuit any?” she asked, again mirroring my own thoughts. I was dragging my left foot, sock and all, in the cold water. It felt wonderful. Getting the boot off had not been wonderful. I’d cut away the laces and then let the weight of the water pull it off.

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