Harmon cut through the woodlands at a steady clip, although the trailing load hindered his progress. In truth, he was in no hurry and was thankful for the slower pace, for shortly after leaving the Dark in his wake, its presence had waned, and he had enjoyed the freedom from its sinister eye. Only now, as he approached the halfway point of return, did he sense its grip tightening again. The sensation rose with each turn of the trail, the Dark not creeping up on him, but rather he creeping up on it.
He crossed a field following the tracks he had made earlier, parking his snowmobile behind a stand of spruce for safe cover. He got off the idling machine and waded through deep snowdrifts, far enough to get a clear view of the farm where he’d heard those chilling gunshots two days ago. A dirt road ran past it. He steered clear of the trees, beyond their reach, and knelt behind an embankment. He flipped up his visor and swallowed that fine, oily air. The world had stilled to ice.
Like the kennel quarters, the house showed no signs of activity. No smoke billowed from the chimney. The barn doors stood closed. A long, unplowed driveway led to the farmhouse, a dark hollow through thick, snow-covered evergreen.
The silence began to overwhelm him, and he questioned his decision to stop. He had been mulling it over since leaving town, and on approaching the farm, had decided to pass the place without looking back. But as it had at the mine, his curiosity had bested him.
He hunkered down as a scream sliced the stillness. It came from the barn. Shouting followed, a single voice that went on and on in a mad ramble. There was a deafening report, then another, and Harmon flopped onto his stomach as the shots pierced the top of the snowbank in an explosion of white.
He lay still while three more shots rang out. One hit a tree not far from him. The others ripped above him. He crawled backwards and made his way to his snowmobile. He pulled himself up and kept low. If only he had brought the Provider. If only he had kept on going.
He steered a sharp about-turn and gunned the throttle. The machine backfired and nearly stalled. He cursed it, backing off the gas. He teased it with more throttle and the engine roared back.
Harmon glanced over his shoulder. He saw no one, yet those eyes haunted him.
A bullet blasted into his trailer and he ducked. Another shot grazed his helmet and he nearly toppled. Another just missed.
Harmon raced across the field and onto the trail. He did not look back.