Forever Dead Read Online Free Page B

approached the pack I could see that it was held in place by the other end of the rope tied around the girth of the same tree. The result was that the pack swung below the limb by about five feet and above the ground by about fifteen feet. It was a professional job: whoever had hauled the food pack off the ground to keep the bears and other wildlife at bay was no newcomer to the bush. I suddenly felt like an intruder and did not particularly want to be caught drooling over someone else’s food, but then again curiosity is sometimes a strong incentive to ignore common sense. I looked around. There had to be a campsite nearby.
    I picked my way over to the tree. I could see that the rope had been wound around the trunk several times and then knotted, but the knot had been gnawed through by animals and the rope had broken, slithering around the trunk as the pack slipped until the rope had caught and wedged itself in a crotch of the tree. Not far enough for the animal, whatever it was, to get at the pack. There was a scrunched-up ball of blue paper litter caught in the rope. I pocketed it with the rest of the litter I’d picked up that day, which I’d burn on the fire that night, a reflex habit I’d gotten into years before. I couldn’t resist pulling on the rope to feel the weight of the pack. I watched as it jerked at the end of the line, the axe head glinting in the sun. Themovement disturbed a cloud of flies that swarmed off the pack and circled it. I watched, puzzled, as they regained their quarry. I grabbed the taut line and shook it once more and watched the flies in growing alarm.
    I struggled to free the rope from where it was wedged and then carefully paid out the rope and watched as the pack slowly descended to the ground. Even at a distance of a few feet the stench of rotten potatoes was overpowering. Who in their right mind would haul up a food pack and then let the perishables rot? It didn’t make any sense, unless the owner was hurt, a decidedly unwelcome thought. I backed away and looked around in alarm, but no one came limping out of the woods or screamed at me to get away. Quickly I hauled the pack back up out of reach and secured the rope to the tree. How long did it take for potatoes to rot in the summer sun? I looked around for another way out of the glade and saw a trail leading back toward the portage trail from the direction in which I’d come. Too bad I hadn’t seen it from the other end. I could have saved myself a slew of cuts and scratches. I’d go back that way. I scanned the grove looking for another route, the route taken by whoever owned this pack, and saw the cat sitting at the entrance to a trail, mutely watching me.
    The narrow path wound through the jack pines and rock boulders and made its way toward the water. The cat darted off ahead of me and disappeared.
    After a hundred yards or so the earthen path led me out into a well-used clearing with flat spaces for five or six tents. Beyond it I could see the blue waters of a small bay in the lake we had just paddled across.
    Immediately in front of me I could see the backside of a big white canvas tent, and as I approached it a red squirrel chattered noisily and scooted away to the safety of a tree where it continued its shrill rant. A clotheslinehad been hung between two trees to one side of the tent and there were some socks and a large pale blue flannel bush shirt and some running shoes, with most of the toes missing, hanging from it. Next to the clothesline there was a large ten-gallon tank, and as I shoved it with my toe there was a slosh of water. Whoever had set up camp here had spent many weeks in comparative luxury.
    â€œAnybody here? Hello?”
    The words reverberated through the woods like a physical assault and made the following silence seem unreal, as the flies buzzed and a woodpecker pecked and the breeze shook the leaves in the trees overhead. But no answer.
    I turned back to the tent. The