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    Alaskan Rivers of Blood
    Alaskan Rivers of Blood
    Alaskan Rivers of Blood
    Ebook58 pages56 minutes

    Alaskan Rivers of Blood

    By Aaron Grunn

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    About this ebook

    In the wild tundra of Alaska a young man, Joe, finds himself on the wrong end of a gun during a drug deal. It's not long before he's quivering, and tasting his own blood. He and his friends decide to find out who is behind this betrayal.
    As they dig, they discover that Alaska has a dark underbelly—teeming with corrupt cops, mad gunmen, and femme fatales—that's just waiting to eat them alive. They wade in, and Joe soon finds that they may have chewed off more than they can handle.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherEiso Publishing
    Release dateAug 7, 2012
    ISBN9781476368788
    Alaskan Rivers of Blood
    Author

    Aaron Grunn

    Grunn is not of woman born. Well... maybe not. His mother claims otherwise.Still, he's one of the most exciting and unpredictable pulp writers of our time.As a child he drew stories. Then he lost his love of tale for a few years.When he was twenty, he got lost in the wilds of Alaska and injured himself. Running out of food, he wrote letters on the back of torn and worthless topographical maps. Then he wrote a journal. Then a story. He hobbled out of the tundra, starved and crazed.He recovered, his love for writing rekindled. But it was still something he wrote on the side, in the confines of his room. They were never books to be the seen by others.Luckily for the world, in the past few years he's taken his stories and laid them upon the altar of public opinion. You can visit his blog at: http://aarongrunn.blogspot.com/To sign up for Grunn's events and book deals, go here: http://eepurl.com/L9sm5Grunn's books are: High School Freak, Alaskan Rivers of Blood, & Terror in New York.

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      Book preview

      Alaskan Rivers of Blood - Aaron Grunn

      ***~~~***

      Alaskan Rivers of Blood

      By Aaron Grunn

      Copyright 2012 Aaron Grunn

      Eiso Publishing

      *

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      *

      All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead or otherwise, is purely coincidental.

      *

      The car rattles on the edge of the highway. The music belts out some endless guitar solo, and I have half a mind to yell for it to be switched off, and for the driver, John, to watch the road. John and Mark, in the front seat, are listening along, shaking their heads and pantomiming guitar chords as the song reaches a crescendo. John's driving with his knees so he can fully appreciate the tunes, his paunch pushes against his thighs. I keep silent. They’re like brothers to me.

      Peaks rise up on my side of the car, black and rugged. As the roadside blur of rails and brush opens up, a burst of purple grabs my eyes. Flowers as far as I can see. I wish to be done with the car and its putrid combination of farts, weed, and body odor. I roll down the window. The crisp Alaskan summer air slaps my face. I close the window. I can see Mark twitching, his long hair bouncing along.

      We’re out of weed.

      Three hours later we’re parked in the corner of a motel. I lie alone in the back of the car. John and Mark are inside a room marked by a dog and a Maori man. Since when are there Maori men in Alaska? Wasn’t New Zealand heaven on earth? Why would someone leave that for this shitty motel?

      The man's large. At least six foot with a breadth matching that of the door. He has huge lats, and a tattoo that crawls out from his white dress shirt, spreads on his neck, and darkens his lower jaw. It must have been painful; I imagine a needle vibrating his skull for hours. His board shorts and sandals seem odd. He stares out transfixed at a single point in space as his large nose expands with each inhalation.

      The dog maintains a similarly stolid stance, though every now and then it looks up to him as if asking how long this charade is going to last.

      I step out of the car—thirsty.

      The sun's dodging in and out of the clouds, while a rare humidity has settled, making it feel warmer than normal. As long as it isn’t raining.

      We're surrounded by pine trees and Devil’s Club, a nasty sharp brush that tears through skin. The motel, two one-story buildings facing each other with chipped paint on the doors and walls, seems almost abandoned. There are two other trucks besides our car

      Hi, I say to the man.

      He turns his head, examines me and turns back to his stolid posture. His dog regards me, flattens its ears, and growls until his master taps him gently with his foot.

      I know with what Mark and John are doing inside that it's probably at least somewhat tense in there, especially given the law’s presence during the last few days in this area. But I'm thirsty, and my stomach's grumbling.

      What's this Maori so damn serious about? I take a step towards him and stop when his dog starts to growl again.

      I wouldn’t come closer if I was you, the man says without looking over.

      He has a deep voice.

      I feel sweat pouring down my shirt. Why am I nervous about this place? Something doesn’t strike me as right.

      Can I go inside? I ask.

      He glances over at me, then returns to his routine stare. I clench my fists. I've a 44 revolver in the car, and I've half a mind to start waving it.

      Where are you from, New Zealand? I ask.

      He looks over. I can tell from the way his face relaxes, becomes more fluid, that not many people have guessed this before. I am. You?

      He’d ask about me. I am darker than a lot of people here in Alaska. No, but I’ve been to the North Island, I say.

      "Oh, where

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