Indian Winter - a novel
First draft started July 2005
Final draft completed July 2015
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overview:
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A young boy gets separated from his father and brother in the snowy woods of upstate New York. As rescuers fail to find him, he finds his own resiliency the best weapon to combat both the inclement weather and his abductor, a mute Native North American. The loner, a battle-scarred veteran of the Vietnam conflict, fells several who try to come to the aid of the youngster, and only the boy's mother, aided by a psychic connection with her son, and a retired state trooper are able to continue tracking the boy and his captor. A dramatic and memorable scene atop a treacherously icy waterfall concludes the tale, leaving the reader to wonder how he, too, might fare, lost in the snow.
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synopsis:
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Eleven-year old Bobby Bartlett becomes separated from his father and brother in the woods. His father, Stephen Bartlett, sends son Ryan for help. Ryan recruits his uncle, Pete Horner, to help search. Catherine Bartlett, the boys' mother, and Loretta Horner, Pete's wife, contact a neighbor, retired cop Don Crockett, who agrees to come over and help.
While Stephen continues the search, a deer-hunting Indian known only as Karahkwa, is afoot in the forest, and comes across Bobby. For reasons unclear, he drags the boy away.
When Stephen turns back and returns home for help, he encounters Pete and Ryan. Pete insists that the other two return home while he continues the search, while back at the Bartlett house, search parties are formed and four lawmen enter the forest, two on snowmobiles and two on snowshoes, hoping to rescue the boy before an oncoming blizzard arrives.
Pete tracks Karahkwa and Bobby to a cabin, but is unable to rescue the boy. After dealing with Pete, Karahkwa hears the lawmen's approaching snowmobiles and goes to face the intruders, leaving Bobby behind. More potential rescuers are slain by Karahkwa, but one manages to inflict a gunshot wound on the Indian. Crockett and the fourth cop are also ambushed by the Indian. One falls, but Crockett overcomes the injured Indian. However, while Crockett attends to his wounded companion, the Indian escapes.
During the time Karahkwa is gone, Bobby escapes from the cabin and takes a trail toward Russell Falls. When Karahkwa returns, he realizes the boy is gone and sets out after him as the weather worsens.
While this is taking place, Catherine Bartlett slips away from the farmhouse and follows Crockett, who has rejoined the pursuit after bringing the injured survivor back. Four people thus converge on Russell Falls for the final confrontation as the blizzard sets upon them in its full fury.
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an excerpt:
The skies had partially cleared, broken clouds scudding swiftly from the northwest, a trillion stars winking through the openings. Sporadic moonlight further enhancing his keen vision, the stealthy Indian, survivor of deadly combat in the jungles of southeast Asia, edged closer to his quarry. Approaching at an angle, Karahkwa detected an irregular shadow behind a large pine tree at the edge of the clearing. A man lurked there, armed with a rifle, its barrel jutting out in stark black contrast to the backdrop of snow. Although Karahkwa was still sixty feet away, he could hear the man's breathing and knew he was about to steal from the interloper the element of surprise. The other man, although impressively still and quiet, still looked toward the cabin, unaware death stalked him through the trees to his left.
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Supremely confident, Karahkwa was glad for the new snow, which softened the sound of his footsteps, the crunching of his feet on the icy crust beneath deadened by the layer of powder. Closer and closer he crept, his staff held loosely in his right hand, his left hand ready to grasp his knife. Briefly his attention flickered to the boy, but fearing little from that quarter, focused his attention on his prey under the big pine. Karahkwa closed half the ground between them, moving steadily toward the trespasser, when the man, still unaware he was being stalked, made a sudden move toward the cabin, rifle gripped in readiness. Karahkwa stopped and stood stock-still in the yard. At this angle, any move he made could be seen peripherally by his adversary, so he remained motionless, watching and waiting.
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Just as Pete reached the cabin, his attention was captured by indistinct movement inside the grimy window. He paused, turned his head to the right, then took two careful steps toward the window. On tiptoes he stood, rifle at his side, trying to peer through the window. Too late, he felt rather than heard something to his left, and spun around, gripping his rifle tightly as he turned.
To his astonishment a man was approaching with catlike speed and agility. He had only a split second to wonder how this had happened; his combat training and experience in deadly hand to hand combat in the wintry desolation of Korea clearly should have alerted him to the strangers's presence. It had not.
By the time this thought passed through his mind, his attacker closed the distance, braced himself, and swung his staff in a low vicious arc at Pete's knees. Pete yowled in pain as his knee collapsed underneath him, a silver bolt of agony streaking up his leg, his rifle flying off over his right shoulder into the snow. The man didn't hesitate, drew back the staff again, and swung it at his head.
Pete saw it coming and rolled to the right, taking the full force of the thick wooden staff across his back and left shoulder. He came up on his hands and knees, facing his attacker, who stood quietly with drawn knife in his left hand.
No words were spoken as combat was rejoined. His opponent thrust the knife at him; Pete parried it skillfully with his wrist. He jumped nimbly to his feet after knocked the blade aside, but lurched badly when he placed his full weight on his newly injured knee. The other man pressed the attack, deftly swinging his staff and knocking Pete backward. Pete sprawled with a thump against the side of the porch, casting a furtive glance at his rifle lying nearby in the snow. His foe must have noticed, for he immediately kicked the rifle farther away, and with a triumphant grunt, leaped at Pete, knife outstretched like a lance.
Pete tried to block the stabbing blow and managed to deflect the main thrust of it, but the tip of the K-Bar caught his inner arm and sliced cleanly through his coat, cutting Pete's arm to the bone. Pete yowled and reflexively pulled it back, but in the next second he felt a pain unlike any he'd ever felt as the deadly blade was thrust into his midsection, twisting and turning it as it entered his body.
A soft burbling sound came from Pete's lips, warm blood erupting a second later. He folded up, arms laced around his savaged gut, utter dismay overwhelming him that he had not been able to rescue Bobby. The last sound he heard was not unlike the crack of wooden bat on horsehide, but no one cheered the solid blow.
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Karahkwa stood silently under the twinkling trillions in the dark winter night, satisfied but not jubilant. Wet drops of blood dripped from his wooden staff near the end where the final, lethal blow had crushed Pete Horner's skull. The only sound was that of Karahkwa's breathing, long, deep. No other breaths were drawn in the icy blackness outside the cabin.