Forever Dead Read Online Free

anything about collecting bugs from dead animals. I’m fine with the mice and shrews and frogs, even the butterflies and spiders and the little nets and stuff, but frankly, this is revolting.”
    â€œLook, I’m not sure I’m any happier about this than you are.” I sighed. “But I don’t have any choice. I’ve got to come up with something for this taxonomy course that’s not boring. Maybe if I offer some live labs along with all the dry dead stuff I can generate some interest.”
    Interest my ass
, I thought. How many undergrads were going to flock to the taxonomy course this year? And if they didn’t, what would the tenure committee think? Jim Hilson’s smirk floated in front of me like an irritating mote in my eye. He’d make himself too valuableto lose, and it was either him or me. I had less than two months to pore over the old course and come up with a new, madly exciting course before the fall term started. To boot, I had a paper that was close to being accepted for publication, but the reviewers wanted some extra analysis of my data. I wanted to concentrate on that, not on the entomology course.
    Ryan dumped his pack rather noisily on the ground next to the dead beast, but the insect miraculously stayed put.
    â€œYou move the insect away from that ‘thing’ and I’ll snap its picture. Then you can collect your grubs for your live labs,” said Ryan in a voice that held itself away from the gruesome scene like a pair of verbal tweezers. He didn’t mind taking the photos for me as long as he didn’t have to get cozy with the bugs themselves.
    â€œReally, Ryan. If I try to do that he’ll fly. Just plug your nose.”
    Ryan resignedly squatted down beside me. He unclipped his camera gear from his pack and extracted one of his close-up lenses and a tiny tripod and set to work. Once the photos were done I cornered the little bug with a miniature bug net and put it in one of my jars. I then collected a number of the grubs, some of which were stuck to a cedar twig that went into a jar as well. While I was waiting for Ryan to store his equipment away I slung my collection bag over my shoulder and padded back down the trail. The pines lining the portage acted like a sieve for the early afternoon sun, which squeezed through the cracks, weaving a tapestry of light patterns that swarmed over the forest floor. The thumping roar of the rapids, the moist smell of rich humus, and the sticky heat of the sun were like an elixir — it just was not possible to stay depressed out in the wilderness.
    I walked further along the path a short way to seewhat lay ahead of us and suddenly stopped, cocking an ear in the gentle breeze. I could hear something crackling in the woods off to my left, but it quieted when I stopped and all I could hear was the loud buzzing of a bee as it flew past me, the hot sun dripping on me like heated honey. The crackle began again and slowly approached me. I could see the bushes jerking and could clearly hear the soft sound of an animal swishing toward me. I waited, watching the branches moving, judging the animal to be small: maybe a coon, maybe a weasel. It couldn’t be anything much bigger. I hoped Ryan wouldn’t come gallivanting down the path and scare whatever it was. I stood statue-still on the path, holding my breath as the animal came closer until I caught a glimpse of a small, slim black form. Not a coon. Maybe a marten. Too big for a weasel. And then it was there on the path in front of me, its golden eyes glowing in its black face, one small black ear dangling at a strange angle. The cat stopped and stared back at me. Slowly I stooped and held out my hand.
    â€œHey ya, kitty.” The bedraggled cat held its ground, the leaves swished gently overhead, and then slowly, carefully, the cat moved, stiff legged, toward me; I noticed that it had only three legs as it brushed its body against my own.
    â€œWhat