Greene's Calling: Seventeen Book Three (A Supernatural Action Adventure Thriller Series 3) Read Online Free
Author: AD Starrling
flattened against his skull as he gazed despondently at the southeast bank of the swamp. A whimper escaped his jaws.
Conrad followed his line of sight and froze. ‘You have got to be kidding me,’ he muttered dully.
The space where his home had stood for sixty-five years was now occupied by a giant ball of fire. The Cessna had crashed into his cabin.
Conrad swore and started for the shore, his strokes carving the water deftly. Rocky followed, the planter hat clamped firmly in his jaws. The dog’s forepaws scrabbled onto the pitted, scarred surface of the wooden jetty abutting the bank seconds before the immortal pulled himself out of the water.
Rocky climbed onto the rickety pier, dropped the hat, and shook himself energetically. Conrad barely noticed the spray of cool drops that splashed him from head to toe as he watched the conflagration some fifty feet away. Heat from the raging flames washed over him in waves that started to dry the moisture on his skin. The stench of kerosene was overwhelming. He headed toward the fire.
The Cessna’s aft fuselage and tail were the only visible parts of the plane that had remained intact after the crash; rising from the center of the wreckage, they angled awkwardly toward the sky, silent witnesses to the wake of explosive destruction around them.
Conrad stopped and observed the burning debris that dotted the landscape. There were no signs of the flames threatening to spread to the shrubs and trees next to the swamp, a fact that was aided by the heavy humidity and waterlogged land.
A frown dawned on his face as he slowly circumnavigated the remains of the aircraft and the ruins of his dwelling. He knew the chances of finding any survivors were remote at best. He soon spotted the body of the pilot.
The head and shoulders of the burning corpse could be seen sticking out from the rubble of what had once been his bedroom. If not at the moment of the collision, the man would have died during the explosion that followed.
Conrad grimaced. If the crash had happened at night, he and the dog would have been toast. His eyes followed the black fumes spiraling sluggishly toward the sky. It would only be a matter of minutes before someone in Alvarães spotted the smoke trail. Fear of a forest fire would have the authorities on his doorstep by the afternoon.
He turned and started to negotiate the area around the blast zone. Tail tucked firmly between his hind legs, Rocky padded silently next to him.
It was the dog who found the second body. About thirty feet south of the point of impact, at the end of a trail of flattened orchids and heliconias, a figure lay jammed between the buttress roots of a young kapok tree.
Conrad squatted and inspected the still shape held at an awkward angle in the timber embrace of the rainforest. The scent of the crushed flowers was at odds with the stench of burnt flesh rising from the dead man in the suit. The tilt of his head and legs indicated a broken back and neck.
Rocky whimpered and lowered his nose to the ground. He leaned forward cautiously and sniffed the area next to the body before rising with his forepaws against the buttress roots. He let out a sharp bark.
Conrad followed the dog’s excited gaze to a branch some forty feet above the ground.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he muttered.
Caught on the hanging vines dripping from the moss-covered bough was a slim, metal briefcase. The immortal studied the line of Bala ants marching up the trunk of the tree. Climbing to retrieve the case was not an option; he had been stung by the giant ants too many times to even think about risking their painful wrath. After a moment’s contemplation, he stood up, reached behind his back, and retrieved the gilded staff tucked in the waistband of his trousers.
‘What d’you reckon?’ he asked the dog, spinning the rod between his fingers. Rocky huffed approvingly.
Conrad twisted the second ring on the shaft and pulled on the ends of the weapon. The staff
Conrad followed his line of sight and froze. ‘You have got to be kidding me,’ he muttered dully.
The space where his home had stood for sixty-five years was now occupied by a giant ball of fire. The Cessna had crashed into his cabin.
Conrad swore and started for the shore, his strokes carving the water deftly. Rocky followed, the planter hat clamped firmly in his jaws. The dog’s forepaws scrabbled onto the pitted, scarred surface of the wooden jetty abutting the bank seconds before the immortal pulled himself out of the water.
Rocky climbed onto the rickety pier, dropped the hat, and shook himself energetically. Conrad barely noticed the spray of cool drops that splashed him from head to toe as he watched the conflagration some fifty feet away. Heat from the raging flames washed over him in waves that started to dry the moisture on his skin. The stench of kerosene was overwhelming. He headed toward the fire.
The Cessna’s aft fuselage and tail were the only visible parts of the plane that had remained intact after the crash; rising from the center of the wreckage, they angled awkwardly toward the sky, silent witnesses to the wake of explosive destruction around them.
Conrad stopped and observed the burning debris that dotted the landscape. There were no signs of the flames threatening to spread to the shrubs and trees next to the swamp, a fact that was aided by the heavy humidity and waterlogged land.
A frown dawned on his face as he slowly circumnavigated the remains of the aircraft and the ruins of his dwelling. He knew the chances of finding any survivors were remote at best. He soon spotted the body of the pilot.
The head and shoulders of the burning corpse could be seen sticking out from the rubble of what had once been his bedroom. If not at the moment of the collision, the man would have died during the explosion that followed.
Conrad grimaced. If the crash had happened at night, he and the dog would have been toast. His eyes followed the black fumes spiraling sluggishly toward the sky. It would only be a matter of minutes before someone in Alvarães spotted the smoke trail. Fear of a forest fire would have the authorities on his doorstep by the afternoon.
He turned and started to negotiate the area around the blast zone. Tail tucked firmly between his hind legs, Rocky padded silently next to him.
It was the dog who found the second body. About thirty feet south of the point of impact, at the end of a trail of flattened orchids and heliconias, a figure lay jammed between the buttress roots of a young kapok tree.
Conrad squatted and inspected the still shape held at an awkward angle in the timber embrace of the rainforest. The scent of the crushed flowers was at odds with the stench of burnt flesh rising from the dead man in the suit. The tilt of his head and legs indicated a broken back and neck.
Rocky whimpered and lowered his nose to the ground. He leaned forward cautiously and sniffed the area next to the body before rising with his forepaws against the buttress roots. He let out a sharp bark.
Conrad followed the dog’s excited gaze to a branch some forty feet above the ground.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he muttered.
Caught on the hanging vines dripping from the moss-covered bough was a slim, metal briefcase. The immortal studied the line of Bala ants marching up the trunk of the tree. Climbing to retrieve the case was not an option; he had been stung by the giant ants too many times to even think about risking their painful wrath. After a moment’s contemplation, he stood up, reached behind his back, and retrieved the gilded staff tucked in the waistband of his trousers.
‘What d’you reckon?’ he asked the dog, spinning the rod between his fingers. Rocky huffed approvingly.
Conrad twisted the second ring on the shaft and pulled on the ends of the weapon. The staff
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