Alaskan Paybacks Hunter and Hunted

ALASKAN PAYBACKS

HUNTER AND HUNTED IN ALASKA

by

Jim Ricca

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 Jim Ricca

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This book and e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book and e-book 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.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Cover design and formatting by Caligraphics

This book is available in print at most online retailers

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The Alien's Reward II The Alliance

The Alien's Reward III; Insurrection

The Circle of Wounded Souls, Book One

The Circle of Wounded Souls, Book Two

The Circle of Wounded Souls, The Circle of Survivors, Book Three

The Circle of Wounded Souls, The Broken Circle Book Four

Legacies: an American Journey

Kathryn’s Summer

Running Down Terror

The Replacement Priests

Chapter One

Somewhere in South-central Alaska

Oh God! No! I’m alive.

I'm not sure if I should be happy over this realization, but I damn sure know I’m going to regret it.

Slowly one eye cracked open and an intense burst of incredibly painful sunlight burned my retina; an immediate order from by optic nerve slammed the offending lid shut.

What’s coming is going to be extremely unpleasant, but there’s a deep subconscious urgency to wake up and do something, in spite of an immediate desire to just stay put until I die.

Using my fingers, I slowly pried both eyelids fully open. Somehow, during the night the insides of my lids had been coated with eighty-grit sandpaper and I had to assume they were severely bloodshot to boot.

The digital clock, on the floor next to my head is dancing around and strobing 06:00 AM in a sick fluorescent green.

Shit! I must have had a really bad one last night; the clock never did that before!

Cursing the Alaskan summer and the midnight sun, I struggled to get up, but my attempt was rewarded by violent electric shocks in my brain along with crippling waves of pain from my rib cage.

"Oh yeah; I made a big mistake last night. One of these days I’ll remember: no good deed goes unpunished."

I waited a second or two as an all too familiar and sickening feeling washed over me, bringing back sensations I haven’t felt since I came-to in a 1st Cav Med-Evac unit; a long time ago, in a land far, far away and a hell of a lot hotter and nastier than Alaska.

Slowly and painfully I looked down at my torso and was surprised to see the handle of a shiny new Gerber Mini-Magnum knife stuck in my lower left side. I was sure the blade was still attached to it and THAT was probably the cause of my immediate discomfort.

Blood had crusted and scabbed around the point of penetration, gluing my t-shirt to my skin.

This is gonna hurt. I tried to reach around with my right hand to perform a knife-ectomy.

"Whoa, how the hell did I get this new piece of jewelry?" I inspected a blood-speckled, stainless steel handcuff with a broken chain, attached to my right wrist. A quick glance at my other wrist indicated it was lacking the mate.

Damn, I hate to break up a matched set.

I groaned as I rolled to my right; it’s the start of my standard operating procedure of getting to my feet while my left side is injured.

My dog, Snarfles chose that moment to make his grand entrance to the kitchen where I lay in pain.

He hesitated a moment, giving me a long look then slowly, but purposely, strolled over to my position where he lowered himself to the floor until we were nose to nose.

Where the hell were you last night, you mangy mutt?

He looked me dead in the eye and gave me that look with its all too familiar meaning, Hey Boss, have a good time last night? He has always been a sarcastic cur of an oversized Malamute.

He’d become a professional with the routine of helping me to my feet after a hard nights partying. He swung his body next to my right side and braced himself to take my weight, as I used his broad back to push myself to my knees, then up to my feet.

Good Boy, Snarf, now go get my med-surg kit and bring some hair of the dog that tried to eat me last night.

He lifted his head just high enough to sniff at the knife handle without touching it, and gave me a sympathetic whimper.

Knowing what would happen when I pulled the knife from my side, and being the loyal, caring dog that he was; he scooted out the dog door and took off for parts unknown.

Thanks, Pal I shouted after him, That’s right, Lassie, go get help for the stupid bastard that’s been sharing his food with you for the last seven years.

He never appreciated my sarcasm, especially after I had him de-nutted a couple years ago.

Just too damn horny, that stinkin mutt, I muttered at the dog door, still swinging on its hinges.

What did you expect me to do when I caught you trying to hump that female black bear? Huh? What was I supposed to do? Wait till you knocked her up, and then come crying to me that your bastard kids need a home? It was useless arguing with him. What was done was done and he should have known better.

Hobbling to the wall where my old, army combat medic kit was hanging from a nail, I grabbed it on my way to the kitchen table to perform that delicate medical procedure commonly known as; yanking the knife from my side and jamming some cotton balls into the hole to stop the bleeding before I passed out. It was a simple procedure, but it was somewhat complicated by the lack of an assistant, whose main job was to call for help if I passed out before I could plug the hole.

Anesthetic; I needed anesthetic. Grabbing my half empty bottle of ATF approved painkiller, Wild Turkey Bourbon, I staggered to the table.

Scuffling at the front door.

Shit, the son of a bitch is probably coming to get his knife back. Luckily, my .45 Colt automatic was on the table and I had it in hand, cocked and ready to rock as the door swung open.

Are you going to shoot me or welcome me in, you crazy bastard?

There in the doorway, staring at my bloody body and taking notice of my hand howitzer, was my neighbor, adversary, good friend and part time nurse who unfortunately, had a funny habit of passing out at the first sign of blood. Six feet tall, auburn hair, brilliant jade green eyes and built like a brick shithouse; Liz Pierce, was either going to be the best thing or the worst thing to happen to me today.

Oooooh, did we have fun last night, Jimbo, or were you playing mumbely- peg with a blind guy? She laughed and then gulped when she noticed the Gerber. From behind her long shapely legs, Snarfles poked his head for a look at what was going to be his entertainment for the day.

I was walking down to the creek to catch some breakfast when Snarfles grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me up here.

She patted his head and muttered something about his being a good doggy.

He did, eh? He probably wanted to make sure you didn’t miss out on all the fun when I remove this iron infection in my side here.

The dog began panting in an attempt to cover up the big smile on his wolfish face.

But more likely, he remembered that he doesn’t have thumbs and can’t use a knife or the can opener, so he grabbed you just to make sure he’d get fed in the event I croak.

What can I do to help? Liz responded hesitantly, but with real concern as she walked slowly towards me.

I laid down on my combination kitchen/dining room table and workbench, taking care not to bump the knife handle in the process.

OK, Florence Nightingale; here’s what I need you to do. I handed her a bundle of sterile cotton, Before you blow your nose in this stuff, I’m going to pull the knife out of my side.

Once I get it out… Liz! I need you to look at me while I’m talking to you.

She was looking everywhere except at me and my bloodied shirt.

She was turning white; about to pass out and I needed to act fast. I grabbed her hand and placed it next to the knife blade, right where it entered my side, then placed her fingers over the cotton.

Now, when I scream, you just push the cotton in the hole until it stops the bleeding. OK?

She wouldn’t look at me; just nodded her head in agreement and said weakly, Yeah, sure. I’m ready.

Snarfles was now standing with his front paws on the table, really intrigued with the knife handle.

Snarf, this is no time to be messing around.

He looked me in the eyes, seemingly intent on my words and suffering. Then, without hesitation and with an unbelievably swift move, he grabbed the handle in his mouth and yanked it straight out as he pushed himself backwards off the table.

Holy Shit, Snarf! You trying to kill me or what?

I quickly grabbed the cotton from Liz; her knees were beginning to buckle as she fainted. I stuffed the cotton into the freely bleeding and extremely painful wound as fast as possible.

I was pretty sure the bleeding had stopped before passing out from the combination of too much pain and too little blood. No need to struggle further, I let myself drop deep into dreamland.

Consciousness returned gradually, accompanied by waves of pain and something wet on my face.

Ah, nurse, I moaned, as someone swabbed at my face with a warm sponge. It felt good but the sponge smelled a little sour, not the strong sterile alcohol aroma, but a familiar, unpleasant odor. You got me pretty clean so far, but its time to change your swab.

I tried to raise my left hand, and a strong blast of pain erupted from that side.

Geez! Morphine! Nurse, can you get me something for the pain? While I was still speaking, the sponge wiped across my mouth, nose, eyes and chin.

OK, OK, I know it’s been a while since my last bath, but do you really need, to …. Opening my eyes, I saw the hairiest, ugliest nurse on earth.

Damn, Snarfles, get off of me! I’m gonna live. Go get Liz again. I’m going to need a Doc to sew me up.

The huge Malamute woofed softly; used his snout to point to Liz, who was still out cold on the floor. The dog sat next to her body with eyes and ears at attention, waiting for instructions. He was anxiously shifting his weight from side to side; ready to jump into action at the merest word from his injured master.

All right there, Rin Tin Tin, let me get up. I have to get to the truck and drive myself to the hospital. You stay here and keep an eye on Liz till I get back.

Snarfles started whining and emitting a low pathetic growling, almost a mewling sound, which translated to, You’re not really going to leave us here are you?

Snarf, I groaned, as I slowly, ever so slowly rolled over on my right side and onto unsteady legs, There’s this big hole in my side, so I can’t very well carry her to the truck and I really don’t have time to bring her around ‘cause I could bleed to death in the meantime.

As much as I liked Liz, there just wasn’t time to take care of her. She would be OK after a short while. She always passed out when she saw human blood. Liz had earned a Masters Degree in Nursing from the University of Wisconsin, but how she was able to do that with her propensity to faint at the site of blood I’ll never know.

What was really strange was that she could clean fish with no problem and help me field dress a Moose or Caribou without the slightest bit of squeamishness.

We’ve been friends ever since I acquired the cabin from old Ralph, the last of the real Alaskan Mountain Men. She and Ralph had been very close friends and Ralph told me Liz was the daughter he never had. She looked up to him as if he was her father, and they spent long hours talking about everything and anything under the sun, with Ralph dispensing his highly valued and well thought out wisdom, along with his uproariously funny stories.

After Ralph passed away, she would stop by on her way to and from fishing the creek that ran through my land. She had a great sense of humor and a tolerance for my odd behavior. It was obvious she was lonely at times, but she, like me, needed solitude. We gave each other the privacy we required and quickly became friends.

Over time, we developed a strong relationship, but it remained strictly platonic. I never tested our bond and neither did she, as she became the sister I never had, and I became the brother she needed.

Liz had some serious trauma in her past and was very leery of becoming engaged in another relationship, especially with a nut like me; not that I was looking for anything more serious than friendship. After asking her once about her past, all she said was that I didn’t want to know and she didn’t want to talk about it.

That was good enough for me.

Married, with a wife back home in Pennsylvania, I didn’t try to hide that fact from her. She seemed to be relieved I had a wife and actually was intent on remaining faithful to her. Liz told me once that she was impressed that I was able to maintain a simple friendship with another woman while my wife was five thousand miles away; especially living out in the boonies with no one around for thirty miles.

No one was more impressed with my behavior than me, especially with a woman as beautiful as Liz. Thinking about my behavior one night, I remembered what my wife told a female office worker at a party once. Asked if she was worried that I’d have an affair with one of the many good looking young girls in the office, my wife replied instantly that she had no worries at all, because I was just too damn lazy to fool around.

Sad to say, she was right.

At least I thought I was still married; not having seen my wife since I left the house to go hunting one day, and that was over ten years ago. I still sent her money when I came upon some and wrote her letters once in while, but since I didn’t know my mailing address, (Ralph never told me, and the post office wouldn’t deliver that far out in the boonies) I couldn’t put a return address on the letter so she couldn’t write back.

But still; the sight of my blood, splattered all over me and my kitchen, was enough to drop Liz like a rock. Liz and her nursing degrees were of no use to me now. I had to get to the truck and drive myself to the hospital.

Staggering to the door and almost fainting along the way, I grabbed the keys and leaned against the jamb until the world stopped spinning.

If you want to bring her, Snarf, you’ll have to do it yourself, because I ain’t in any shape to help. Make up your mind, either stay here with her or drag the Amazon out to the truck.

With that said I cautiously walked to the cab of my old truck, opened the door and with great care and even greater pain, climbed inside. It took about fifteen minutes for the pain to subside enough for me to get my vision back. As I was about to crank over the engine, the vehicle unexpectedly rocked on its springs. Expecting to see a black and white Husky mug staring at me through the rear window, instead, there was his hairy ass, standing on the tailgate mightily trying to pull something into the truck bed.

Jesus H. Christ, the dog had dragged Liz from the cabin to the truck by himself and was earnestly attempting to pull her into the bed. He had a good grip on the back of her coat, and by bracing his front legs against the rear bumper, had managed to get her upper torso partially on board.

Hold on a second, I’ll give you a hand, you son of a bitch. I really shouldn’t because you wouldn’t do it for me.

I barely managed to get out of the cab without collapsing, and by leaning against the side of the vehicle, I was able to work my way back to Snarfles and his girlfriend. Sitting alongside her, using my right hand, I was just able to help load the rest of her limp body into the bed.

That’s all I can do, Snarf, you'll have to drag her the rest of the way. Maybe she’ll come to on the way to the hospital.

The dog looked at me with inquisitive eyes as if to say, What; aren’t we there yet?

I sidled my way back to the cab, fired it up and managed to arrive at the clinic forty-five minutes later, with nothing more serious than a few scrapes against the side of the truck from a pine tree that wandered into my path along the way.

Before the engine died, Snarfles took off like a shot for the electric doors that led into the Emergency Room. I had to reach across my chest with my right hand to open the door, which brought about some pretty colorful fireworks and even more colorful language.

Eventually the ER doors slid open. An angry looking nurse was being pulled from the hospital by Snarfles, who appeared to have a good grip on her freshly torn skirt.

I swung my legs down from the cab; then leaned against the wheel as I slid down onto the parking lot in an effort to make it easier for the stretcher crew to load me onto the gurney. I always tried to be helpful that way.

As I rolled on my right side, the nurse gasped at the sight of my very bloody body.

Oh my God!

She slapped at Snarfles and told him it was OK. She then turned and shouted for the two nurses who followed her through the door to get help. They had been intrigued by the dog’s insistence that she accompany him to the lot.

The nurses ran back inside as the woman knelt over me asking, What the hell happened to you? HEY, tell your stinking dog to behave…Let me go you dumb mutt! I’m here, now let me work, she shouted, no longer amused by Snarf’s antics.

Weakly, I told Snarfles to sit. He instead turned and ran barking toward several men who were hustling over to the truck, pushing one of those wobbly-wheeled gurneys.

I pulled a six-inch knife out of my side here and managed to get some cotton in it to stop the blood, I croaked out softly, My blood type is B-Negative and I have health insurance with the VA.

With all the vital details out of the way, I felt safe in allowing myself to pass out.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I was rising out of the fog created by whatever painkiller they gave me. So pleasant and warm; it felt as though I was floating in a sea of thick blue smoke. It was really enjoyable and serene, but a persistent cold, wet object was pressed against my ear. What ever it was, it kept blowing into, then sucking air out of my head. I thought I was dreaming of a date I'd had back in high school with this girl who really needed some instructions in the fine art of….

Mr. Richards, can you hear me?

The ear was suddenly cleared of the unpleasantness but the voice returned, Mr. Richards, can you hear me? a strong male voice asked. I opened my eyes and there was that same ugly, hairy nurse.

Snarf, get down. Who the hell let you in here, you filthy mutt?

Mr. Richards, I’m Doctor Kahn; can you hear me OK?

Oh yeah Doc, I hear you fine. How long have I been out?

You’ve been unconscious for three days now. You lost a lot of blood from that knife wound and we had a hell of a time securing plasma for you.

The Doc angrily told the dog to go lay down in the corner. Snarf responded with a threatening growl.

Dr. Kahn was a man of dark complexion, about five feet ten inches tall, roughly one hundred and fifty pounds and obviously of central Asian descent. I really liked this guy from the Asian subcontinent; he was always polite and very professional and a damn good doctor to boot. He’d patched me up several times before without lecturing me on my lifestyle, drinking habits, smoking, bar room brawls and fights with various Alaskan carnivores. He knew he'd be wasting his time trying to change my behavior.

Kahn had his back to the wall of the room and Snarfles was forcing himself between the Doc and me.

With my right hand, I grabbed a water pitcher and backhanded it at Snarfles, shouting as loud as I could, Sit the hell down you stupid Irish Setter!

Snarf took the pitcher across the top of his shoulders. He instantly looked at me the same way he did after I had him neutered. But he backed up to the foot of the bed, where he sat on his haunches, trying to shame me by looking hurt.

All dogs know that Irish Setters are the blondes of the K-9 universe. Thinking I’d better reinforce my order to back off, "Don’t forget Snarf, I ate a lot of dog-meat when I was overseas, and I liked it."

Sorry, Doc, I apologized, that dog just goes nuts on me sometimes, and he usually does it at the worst possible time. I guess he caused you a lot of problems by not leaving my side.

The Doc laughed and ran his hand over his face, But not quite as you would expect. You see, when the ER team ran out to you in the parking lot, he was seen trying to pull the nurse away from you and wouldn’t let her inspect your wound. Then he ran and grabbed one of the Aides and pulled him to the back of your pick-up, where they found Ms. Pierce unconscious. Not knowing how badly she was injured, they assumed that you were in worse shape because of the bloody mess you were in, so they tried to bring you inside first, but the dog wouldn’t let them.

Kahn exhaled loudly and shook his head from side to side while stealing a glance at Snarfles, now standing on his hind legs, front legs braced against the foot of the bed, sheepishly looking at his dumbfounded master.

So, the two attendants saw to Ms. Pierce, bringing her into the ER while Nurse Brown called for more help on her cell phone. As it happened, Ms. Pierce regained consciousness upon entering the ER and explained your situation. She held the dog while we retrieved you and rushed you to the Operating room and began transfusions.

Kahn smiled and went on, "Your ability to relate your blood type and the extent of the wound before you passed out saved your life. It saved us the time required to do x-rays, cat scans and such. It allowed us to open you up and close the punctures to your intestines, plus stop all the bleeding. It was touch and go for a while there, trying to get you enough blood, but the people down at Ft. Richardson were