Rogues by John Conroe EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Authors: John Conroe
- Language: English
- Genre: Occult Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Prologue
Piscataquis County, Maine
Rusty machinery. That’s the mental image that the just-past peak foliage
inspired in Morris Alcombe, IV. Old, useless, rundown metal remnants of
the past. The sun was setting on the forest of dying leaves and setting on his
chances for a first-day deer. His mood reflected it.
For three years running, he’d bagged a respectable deer on the first day of his
annual expedition back to the interior of Maine’s wilderness. It gave him
immediate bragging rights among the other hunters in camp, allowed him to
kick back for the rest of the week, sleep in, and smoke cigars on the lodge’s
veranda while the others all froze their asses off deep in the woods. It was
the reason he paid Shorty a ridiculous bonus. And the guide had always
come through. Till today. Not only had there been no bucks to select from,
there hadn’t been any deer at all. Just birds—blue jays and crows mostly, as
well as arrowheads of flying, honking geese, headed south for the winter.
Not even the usual squirrels and chipmunks.
The day had been unseasonably cold, the sun weak, and he’d frozen his ass
off from before dawn till now. His chemical pocket heaters had given out
hours ago, his bag lunch had been unsatisfactory and insufficient, and the
battery on his phone hadn’t taken a full charge the night before, leaving him
without even electronic games to distract him. The sun winked out, dropping
below the tree line, the light growing too dim for the Austrian-engineered
lenses of his Swarovski Z6 riflescope as he tried a final, vain attempt to scope
the edge of the forest one hundred and thirty yards away. Nothing.
He stood up, his muscles stiff and unresponsive, which made him wobble a
bit. Not a good idea eight feet off the ground. Damn that Shorty. Not a
damned deer all day. It would take at least another day of this. Not what
he’d paid an extra thousand dollars for. Shorty would be hearing about that
as soon as he arrived in the Gator to pick him up.
The early evening woods were silent, not even birdsong, and the temperature,
which had stayed in the low thirties all day, now dropped steadily lower.
Might as well climb down; at least get the blood flowing. The sky was clear,
early stars starting to wink above him, and was lighter in the east as the moon
awaited her entrance into the night sky. It would be full tonight and probably
bright enough to shoot a deer by… if any still existed in this godforsaken
wilderness.
He unloaded his Weatherby Mark V .300 Magnum, not even the sight of
those huge brass cartridges able to buoy his mood. The rifle had been his
father’s, massively expensive and massively overpowered for this type of
hunting. Yet he loved the attention the classic rifle and cartridge combination
evoked among his fellow hunters.
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