Читать книгу Snowblind - Margaret Haffner - Страница 7

PROLOGUE

September, 1985

Phillip Loew staggered and fell again to the frozen ground. He fumbled at his shoulder and his hand came away wet with blood. His blood. As his vision blurred with pain he clenched his teeth against rising panic. Hard-driven snow blasted his face and the icy wind tore the breath from his lungs. He gasped for air.

Struggling to his feet, Phillip strained to see through the shifting veil of snow. Whichever way he turned, spicules of ice lashed at his face, and his eyes streamed. Was his assailant still out there somewhere? It didn’t matter; he had to get back to camp. He swung his head from side to side like a deer scenting the breeze. Which way? He couldn’t afford to guess wrong. ‘If the wind is coming from the west …’ He turned his left cheek to the strongest of the icy blasts and stumbled forward. Hand pressed to the bullet wound, blood still oozed between his fingers. He choked back a wild, hysterical laugh.

He’d been walking for what seemed like hours when he blundered against an arch of ice across a frozen stream bed. As his knees buckled, he slid down its smooth side to lie crumpled beneath it. He reached painfully for his backpack and the food it contained but the pack was gone. ‘Rest … just for a minute …’

Considering the severity of his wound and the abysmal weather conditions, Phillip Loew had done well, but then he was a strong, determined young man. In fact he had struggled far enough to get back to the camp. It was a shame he’d been going in circles.