Winter Territory_A Get Jack Reacher Novel

by Scott Blade

  Reacher said, “I’m going wherever.”

  “So are you like a drifter?”

  Reacher nodded.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have picked you up then?”

  Reacher said, “I’m not dangerous. But certainly hitchhiking has gotten a bad reputation these days. Which makes it harder and harder to get rides.”

  “That’s why I picked you up. No harm in giving a young guy a ride. Even if you are a drifter. I give people rides through here all the time. I find it to be safe enough.”

  “Well, I sure do appreciate it,” Reacher said.

  Floyd said, “You’re a nice kid. Why are you drifting? Running away from something?”

  Reacher stayed quiet and Floyd seemed to reconsider his comments and then he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

  Reacher said, “It’s okay. Perfectly reasonable question. No, nothing like that. I’m actually looking for someone.”

  “I see. So sort of a tracking someone down situation?”

  “You got it.”

  Floyd smiled a good friendly smile that shined through the beard. Then he said, “So it’s like a quest?”

  Reacher stayed quiet.

  Floyd asked, “Are you like a bounty hunter?”

  Reacher smiled and then said, “Yes and no. In a way I am because I am tracking someone. Then again. Not really because a bounty hunter hunts people down for money. No one is going to pay me to find the guy that I’m looking for.”

  Reacher paused a beat. And then he said, “The man that I’m looking for is my father.”

  Floyd said, “So it’s a personal matter?”

  Reacher nodded. Said nothing about the details of his quest to find and know his father.

  Floyd seemed to sense that as well and changed the subject.

  He asked, “So you ever been on an Indian reservation before?”

  “Can’t say that I have. I guess that the closest that I’ve ever been to one is passing through the same county.”

  “Ahh. They’re great. They are all different but basically the same. They are kind of sad if you think too much on it. But for the most part they have an Old West feel. This one that we’re headed to is about as untouched by society as can be. Now they do depend on tourism a lot and that is primarily their only outside source of income.

  “Many other ones around the country have casinos. And some don’t. This one doesn’t.”

  Reacher nodded along and stayed quiet. He thought about it and realized that he had never given Indian reservations much thought before. He loved history. So he wasn’t really sure why he had never considered visiting one before. It had simply never occurred to him.

  Floyd paused and glanced in his side mirror and switched on his turn signal and changed lanes over to the fast lane. He sped up and the Explorer revved and jumped. It had a well-oiled engine, no doubt about that.

  Reacher asked, “So what makes this one so indifferent to society?”

  “The Red Rain Reservation doesn’t have a casino like I said, but they depend on tourism and almost have no choice, but to stay open for tourists because it is located high in the mountains in Yellowstone National Park.”

  “An Indian reservation high in the mountains and in one of the biggest parks in the world? That does sound really interesting. I can’t wait to see it.”

  “It’s quite something. The other thing about it, like a lot of reservations, is that it has a very poor side. There are some decent buildings, but for the most part the residents live in poor conditions,” Floyd said.

  Reacher nodded and said nothing about it. Then silence fell between them and Reacher stared out the window.

  “I’ll tell you something interesting,” Floyd said. “Have you ever heard of Red Cloud?”

  Reacher paused for a moment and thought about it before he answered. Then he said, “Red Cloud is Chief Red Cloud of the Oglata Lakota Tribe. He is revered as a strong war leader. He led as a chief from 1868 to 1909.

  “He was one of the most adept Native American opponents that the U.S. Army ever faced. In 1866, 1867, and 1868 he waged a successful war campaign known as Red Cloud's War. It was a dispute over the Powder River Country in northeastern Wyoming and part of southern Montana.”

  Floyd turned his head and stared at Reacher for so long that he almost veered over into oncoming traffic; then he jumped back to life and straightened out the Explorer. He moved his old hands to the ten and two o’clock positions on the steering wheel and then he gazed back at Reacher, just a quick glance this time, not more than a few seconds. He asked, “How did you know all that?”

  Reacher turned in his seat, the seatbelt pulled with him. He shrugged and then he said, “I like history. Especially American history. I remember things like that.”

  Floyd asked, “What, do you have a photographic memory?”

  “It’s actually called eidetic memory. I can recall images, sounds, or objects with unusual precision and accuracy within minutes.”

  Floyd smiled and chuckled a little, probably because he didn’t know what else to say to that. Then he said, “Well, it fades as you get older. Trust me. I can barely remember what day it is when I wake up in the morning. Sometimes Mrs. Floyd has to remind me.”

  Reacher smiled and let out a friendly laugh, but he thought that his memory wasn’t very likely to fade. It never had. Most people that he had encountered reacted the same. They were impressed by his uncanny memory, but to Reacher it had been as much of a curse as a blessing.

  Imagine recalling so much detail in your brain that it can often be hard to decipher between where the real world ends and the memory begins. So far in life, Reacher had not come to this problem, but it was a real concern. There was plenty of scientific evidence out there to support the fact that eidetic memory wasn’t healthy for a person. The ability to recall so much clear detail often meant that the brain suffered in some other way. There is, after all, only so much RAM in a computer and the human brain is a natural computer. If a computer’s memory gets filled to the brim, often the computer’s performance will suffer somewhere else.

  Reacher hadn’t known his father, but he did know that he got his brain power from his father. His mother had been a very smart woman, but her brain functions were that of a normal intelligent person, not a freak like himself. And one of the negative aspects of not knowing one’s parents was the inability to diagnose future health traits, like problems with the brain.

  Reacher ran his fingers across his cropped hair, warming his head.

  Floyd said, “Old Red Cloud has a descendant at Red Rain. The Tribal Police is made up of two peace officers during the winter months and five in the summer when they add three more deputies. The two officers are father and daughter and their last name is Red Cloud.”

  “A father and daughter pair of cops?” Reacher said and then he thought, That’s a new one to me, although not unfathomable because my mother was a cop and I solved a lot of cases for her.

  Reacher’s mother had been a sheriff back in Mississippi and she had taken advantage of his powerful mind early on. She had been supportive and nurturing of his gifts. So she had taught him everything that she knew about homicide investigation and police work. It wasn’t long until Reacher was solving crimes that not even she could figure out.

  Reacher decided to change the subject. He glanced over at Floyd and asked, “So what kinds of goods do you deliver to the Red Rain Reservation?”

  Floyd said, “Dale sells all kinds of things, but the thing that we deliver the most of is coffee.”

  Reacher smiled and asked, “Coffee?”

  “Well, actually coffee beans. Sure as heck do. We bring huge sacks of them every month. I got a pile of sacks stacked all the way in the cargo space.”

  Reacher turned and sniffed the air.

  How did I miss that? he thought. The air was filled with the scent of fresh coffee beans. Coffee was his drug. According to his mother it was his father’s drug as well, and probably generations
of Reachers before that.

  “Do you drink coffee?” Floyd asked.

  “You have no idea,” Reacher said.

  Driving through Yellowstone National Park was one of the best experiences that Reacher had had in six months. The park was enormous and filled with rugged snowcapped mountains, miles and miles of untouched wilderness, winding roads, and rolling half green and half snowy plains as far as the eye could see. He had seen a herd of buffalo roaming in the distance around one of the bends. The closest that he had ever been to a buffalo before was seeing it on a menu.

  The traffic that traveled along Highway 20 had weakened miles back. Reacher was sure that he had seen a sign that indicated that Highway 20 had turned into Grand Loop Road, but he had paid little attention to the signs. The grandeur of the forest around him had taken precedent over signs. Nature’s creations were far more beautiful than manmade objects.

  They drove on for a while, following the road as it looped and snaked and Reacher figured pretty quickly why it was called Grand Loop Road. The Grand was an understatement and Loop was more like twists and turns, but in the end it was worth it to follow the road just to take in the scenery.

  Reacher craned his head and peered up at the sky. The sun was half hidden behind a cloud in the 3 o’clock position and then he craned his head again and scanned the horizon. The clouds in the distance were reminders of Jarvis Lake. The day that he had ridden in with Hank Cochran six months ago there had been a looming storm. These clouds were different than those. They were high in the mountains, but just as foretelling of an incoming storm.

  Floyd leaned forward and looked out of the windshield and peered up at the clouds.

  He said, “Boy, those clouds don’t look good.”

  Reacher nodded.

  Floyd returned his eyes to the road and asked, “Do you want me to drop you off at Tower Junction? It’ll be much easier to find shelter and even get a ride from there than Red Rain.”

  “I’ll get out at the reservation. It sounds interesting and I’m a guy looking to experience interesting things.”

  “Kid, the reservation is beautiful and the people there are warm, but they don’t really like outsiders who aren’t there to trade or buy from them.”

  “It’s not illegal to be there as a tourist, right? This is America.”

  Floyd said, “No, not exactly. They can’t keep you out. I don’t think that they can.

  “Look, there’s a shuttle service that runs to Tower Junction. I think that it runs till 8 p.m. If I were you I’d make sure that you’re on it. There’s nowhere to rent a room on the reservation, not like a motel or anything.”

  The guy paused a beat, then he said, “They will probably be pretty friendly to you until nightfall. And then they’re going to wonder why you’re there. So if that’s where you want to go, no big deal. But like I said, be on the last shuttle out around nightfall. Tower Junction is a good 30 miles down the road. The last thing that you want is to get stuck hitching rides out there. Especially since I’m guessing that those clouds are bringing snow. Maybe worse.”

  Floyd paused again and then he said, “We should turn on the radio. Check for a weather forecast.”

  He switched the radio on. The Ford was a newer model vehicle. Reacher wasn’t sure about the year, but it had all of the bells and whistles including buttons to control the stereo from the steering wheel.

  Floyd pressed some buttons and tuned the stereo to a nearby channel that Reacher wasn’t familiar with. The broadcast came on with one of those buzzing emergency sounds and then a voice said, “This is an emergency notification by the broadcasting emergency system of Wyoming.

  “As of 2:30 p.m., a blizzard warning is in effect for all of northern Wyoming. The storm seems to be headed north into Montana. But it could change direction and come into the Yellowstone National Park area. Extreme caution is advised.”

  Floyd said, “See, that blizzard might sweep through here and then you’ll end up landlocked. Be careful out here on your own.”

  Reacher stayed quiet.

  They drove on through the hills and plains and then followed the road as it wound up through the mountains. As they climbed to a higher altitude Reacher could feel the temperature outside dropping dramatically. At one point Floyd had to blast the heat at the highest setting just to keep the inside of the cabin comfortable.

  The road went up over a steep hill and as they passed over the top, Reacher saw straight down into a deep valley outside the passenger side window. It was a fall that certainly would kill him if he opened the door and decided to jump out, which was not a temptation that he had.

  At the top of the hill, Grand Loop Road went on to the east, but Floyd slowed the vehicle and pulled over to turn onto a road that was rock and gravel. The Explorer took to the track like an SUV was supposed to.

  They followed the track which snaked up through more mountains and came into a light snowfall. Which delighted Reacher because he was from the South where it never snowed. He remember it snowing way back in 2004 on New Year’s Day, but even that was gone practically before it hit the ground. He remembered his mother letting him make snowballs, which were more like snow cones, but he loved it. They had played snowball fighting in the backyard and she had let him practice his aim.

  She had said, “Throw it like a live grenade. Don’t count. Don’t think about it. Let it be second nature. Throw it.”

  Which made Reacher wonder when he would ever have need to throw a live grenade.

  They drove farther into the mountains and the air whitened like the wind carried moisture. The road ahead curved and even though things were graying together in a way that was the opposite of the beautiful landscape farther down the mountains, Reacher could see well enough. His eyes were well equipped for any climate or atmosphere, a feature that meshed with a string of powerful genetics from a family tree where one side was wiped out and the other side he had known of only one other Reacher—his father.

  On the ride up with Floyd, he had wondered why they would build a reservation high up in the mountains when there was so much land below. Surely, the plains and wilderness and springs below the mountain range provided a much more plentiful place to support an entire tribe of people. But then again Reacher had no idea how Indian reservations had been created. Maybe they were born from a shady treaty with the government. Probably they were formed after months and months of deliberations. He had no idea how much say the Native American tribes had in the negotiation process.

  The track was a rocky two-lane drive. At first there were close leafless trees with snow drizzled across the branches. Then they drove on for about a mile passing open plains and then they came to a treacherous gorge with a cement bridge that was in decent shape, better than the road.

  They crossed over the bridge and drove on another half a mile and came to the entrance to the Red Rain Reservation. Reacher sat up higher in his seat and gazed over the Native American reservation. It was spectacular in an Old West sort of way like it was built for the set of a movie.

  Light smoke trickled up out of the smokestack of a large two-story building that looked like some sort of a community center or a welcome center that was built close to the reservation entrance.

  Before they entered, they came to a set of impressive gates, built high out of thick wood. They weren’t painted and still had that wooden glimmer to them as if they had been sanded and shined. The sign was written in bold black letters across a flat board like it had been written in the Old West except that the font was machine generated.

  The sign was three tiered. The bottom two pieces read: Red Rain and Indian Reservation. The top tier had been broken off and hung vertically from one splintered corner.

  Reacher craned his neck and followed the sign as they passed underneath it. He turned back to the front when it was behind them and looked into the side mirror back at it. The top tier had read: Welcome. Someone had turned that part of the sign down and the locals had never fixed it.

  T
he Explorer’s suspension rocked up and down slightly over the snowy track.

  Floyd drove past the community center. The smoke from the chimney rose past them and Reacher saw it in the side mirror as they drove farther up. After about another half a mile, they came to what appeared to be the bulk of the reservation’s civilization. Reacher hadn’t known what exactly to expect. The traditional economy of reservations wasn’t that lucrative, but he had never set foot on an Indian reservation before, so it was all new to him and he didn’t want to have any prejudgments.

  Set off to the west and north were dozens of old beat-up mobile homes huddled together like a shantytown. There was no logic or reason to the borders between them. Some were parked close enough together to be touching and some were scattered farther apart.

  To the east were three separate tracks that broke away from the main one and veered off in three different directions like a trident with three twisted, uneven tips that speared off into strange directions.

  Near the southernmost track there was a set of low, roughly made stucco buildings, painted in an ugly mix of white and salmon colors. The roofs were flat with small patches of snow falling off the sides like sands in an hourglass.

  The ground around the buildings was covered in snow and Reacher could see icy spears of grass piercing up and leaning over to one side. Some of them cracked and broke off under the weight of the ice.

  Everywhere there hung sharp, jagged icicles like knives hanging from a rack in someone’s kitchen. They were on the sides of the group of buildings and off the broken porches of the mobile homes.

  Floyd pulled up closer to the stucco buildings and parked in a space between two old ‘80s model trucks.

  “This is my stop. This first building here is the local store which has no name really, but everyone calls it the general store. The owner buys a bunch of stuff from us every month. We’ve been delivering to them for over a decade,” Floyd said. Then he killed the engine and clicked his seatbelt and it slid up and back to its starting position.

  Reacher got out after him. The truck seemed to rock back up on its suspension like a giant had gotten out of the cab. Reacher frowned and shut the door and looked over the roof and down at Floyd. He placed one of his giant bear hands on the roof and felt the ice cold steel chill his skin.