David Dun Official Website - Chapter 1

Welcome to the website of David Dun, thriller author

CHAPTER 1, Part 3
The Beginning | Part 2 Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

As Kier wound his way down from Elk Horn Pass, he felt the four-wheel-drive climb over the billowy drifts and enjoyed the familiar sounds of his truck's heavy-treaded tires compressing new snow. The mindless driving eased his anger at the hell Winona had just been through. Kier had noted, but not remarked upon the infant's dark complexion. It could have been Winona's natural child, fathered by a fellow Tilok. Tilok parentage seemed unlikely, though. Few Indians could afford the reproductive technology of this clinic. It wasn't like the measles or an appendectomy or a normal birth where government dollars or insurance coverage was available. Could the parents have been from some other mahogany-skinned race? Kier wondered. He had been expecting a white child, and this visit had been an eye-opener in more ways than one.

As the grade lessened and the road met the valley floor, a thought occurred to him: He wasn't going to get back over Elk Horn Pass tonight or tomorrow. The snow would be impassable until the heaviest plows got off other jobs and managed to break through. This wild valley, being so sparsely populated, was not a high priority for county snow removal.

Being stuck in Mill Valley would actually come as a welcome relief—a little time off from his veterinary practice in Johnson City. He could stay in his cabin and complete the construction of a bookcase that had been an unfinished project for months. It all dovetailed with his visit to the Donahue ranch. For a mare in foal, Kier might have sent an assistant into the valley, but the Donahues were as close to him as family.

The evergreens to either side of the roadway were imposing, white cones. Interspersed, from ground to sky, the hardwoods sent out gnarled winter-darkened branches with iced toppings—witches' fingers, the Indian kids called them.

Windblown snowflakes choked the air. In the valley, the new snow would soon melt. But in the high country, winter had arrived. Nearly vertical, moss-bearded granite faces and green, conifered slopes rose thousands of feet from the river gorge that cupped the road on which he drove. According to Tilok legend, the world began here. A little of the coastal California mountain range still belonged to the sovereign nations of the Hoopa, Yurok, and Tilok tribes, but the greater part by far belonged to the U.S. government.

Rounding the corner at the abandoned Murdock homestead, Kier looked up the old road past the leafless maples and into the old orchards that were feasting places for the deer, ghost places for men—reminders of a time when small farmers populated the valley. They lived a simple life, with no radio, lots of kids, lots of food, hand-me-down clothes, and screen doors to control the bugs.

Even through the fresh snow at the Murdock turnoff, he could see the imprint of multiple, deep-treaded tires. His pickup bounced and fishtailed as it rolled over the big, frozen ruts. Strange. Few vehicles would be heavy or large enough to leave such a calling card. Either a loaded dump truck or water truck had made several trips or, even more unusual, several heavy vehicles had traveled to the Murdock's in a convoy.

Kier considered turning around and investigating, but the snow already covered the valley floor, and he needed to check out the horse. If Claudie was right, the mare would drop her foal any time now.

Six of the eight miles down from the summit Kier saw the tail of a snow-covered, boxy car just ahead of him. It looked like Claudie Donahue's Volvo, and given the number of cars in this area, it almost certainly was. Strange that she would be coming back from town in this weather, especially with the mare's delicate condition and her own health impaired by a bout of shingles. Kier thought it odd that Claudie didn't pull over to let him pass, since the truck could break a path through the snow for her sedan.

Now the Volvo slowed even more. The blizzard was whiting out everything so badly, that maybe Claudie feared she would miss the turnoff. But that wasn't like her. She knew the road as well as anyone.

Kier flashed his headlights repeatedly, signaling for her to stop, and finally she did. He pulled alongside the car, slid across the seat, and rolled down his window, sticking his face into the wind and snow. Her window lowered, and Kier's mouth fell open. This was not Claudie Donahue.

"What do you want?"

The woman behind the wheel had curious brown eyes like brook-shined stones, wet with intensity. Her brown hair was pulled back sleekly to the top of her head where it cascaded back down in well-coifed curls. Her dark sweater was embroidered with gold thread, and her lapel sported a gold rose pin. She had the look of the city. Nothing this refined had ever arrived in Mill Valley, much less in a blizzard.

For a moment the words stuck in his throat—not so much because of her appeal as at his shock at encountering this creature that didn't quite fit in this world of dirt, trees, ice-covered mountains, barns, manure and sawdust.

"You going to the Donahues'?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Maybe I could help."

"Didn't know I needed any."

"Well I'm the local vet, and I'm going there now."

"Oh. Hello." Her face softened slightly. "Well, I guess I'll see you there then. I'm visiting my sister to give her a hand until she gets a little better."

He hesitated, wondering if she knew he ought to go first and break trail. Shouting in the storm felt awkward, especially since they hadn't had any introduction.

Her chained tires dug in and she lurched ahead. Perhaps she felt more secure with him trailing along behind.

And then he knew.

He hadn't been thinking. She was Claudie's sister, Jessie. He knew perfectly well from photos that Jessie was brunette and beautiful.

"A woman from New York City, driving in these mountains, in a white-out," he told himself, shaking his head.

The most he had heard about Jessie at one sitting was a few years back, when Claudie told Kier her kid sister was joining the FBI, her specialty computer crime. Claudie had been so proud. According to Claudie, Jessie was a tough one, the type who kicked guys in the testicles and smiled.

The arctic cold front was doing its deed in earnest. With the truck's wipers losing the fight against the ice, the Volvo quickly disappeared, then abruptly reappeared out of the storm—at a dead crawl. Kier nearly rear-ended her, swerved, and made a split-second decision to go around the car. Now was his chance—he would lead the way.

To his surprise, the Volvo jumped ahead, moving toward the centerline. It was too late to avoid a collison. Grating fenders sent an ugly feeling through his gut. The Volvo's left rear fender crumpled against the oversized tires of the pickup.

Within seconds, Jessie's fist was pounding on the passenger's side window. He opened the door, and she jumped in.

"I have never had an accident." She said it in a deliberate, clipped way. Her cheeks were red, her dark hair flecked with snow. "Now this."

"I'm Kier Wintripp. Like I said, I was just on my way to Claudie's. It's nice to meet you. And I apologize for the fender."

"Jessie Mayfield." She shook his hand in a business-like way.

"I can be of more help if I go just ahead of you," Kier continued. "The truck will pack down the snow, and I know the way."

"I know the way." She paused. "Look, you pulled around without any warning," she said more sharply. "I know I sound angry." Another pause.

Kier decided that whatever she was thinking was a welcome distraction from her anger.

"That's probably because I'm pissed," she said, half laughing. He noticed what on a better day would be a terrific smile.

"Don't be. I crashed into your car. You have a right to yell."

"Wait, wait." She shook her head. "I am not yelling."

He knew he should drop it. But he couldn't resist.

"Claudie will understand. Blinding snowstorm. You pulled ahead unexpectedly while I was trying to go around you. To break trail."

"I was trying to get to the middle of this disappearing road, and you neglected to explain that you should go ahead when you stopped me."

"This is no big deal," Kier said. "You're just not used to driving on mountain roads in a snowstorm."

"I'm from New York. It snows every winter."

He stared at her, somewhat amused, somewhat stumped.

She stared back. "My sister calls you the James Herriot of Wintoon County. Says you tame mean dogs just by looking at them. Even tame shrews. So where did that soothing personality go?"

"By not looking at them. I just don't challenge dogs."

She opened the door and stepped into the snow.

"Ever try it on people?"

"I treat most anything. If your shrew has a problem, you could call for an appointment."

She shut his door firmly.

* * * *

The Beginning | Part 2 | Part 3 Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6