Voracious
Authors: ALICE HENDERSON
Chapter 2 - Several weeks before
“With
Voracious
, Alice Henderson has created a gripping, atavistic supernatural thriller, a sexy, sensuous, and terrifying dark fantasy. It’s breathtaking and merciless, and I can’t wait to see what she does for an encore.”
—Christopher Golden,
Bram Stoker Award-winning author
“Heralds the arrival of a major new talent in the dark fiction field. Henderson brings tremendous tension, suspense, and atmosphere with this modern twist on the shape-shifter tale. This is one cool book.”—J. A. Konrath, author of the Jacqueline “Jack” Daniels mystery series
“A terrific debut. Alice Henderson has the talent to evoke nature as an extraordinarily potent force that is nothing short of breathtaking. [Her] vivid evocation of wilderness places is superb in this page-turning story. A writer to watch.”
—Simon Clark,
British Fantasy Award-winning author
“A polished and well-focused novel of raw animal terror. It pits a gutsy, outdoors-loving protagonist against an alluring, shape-shifting demon out of time who lusts not only for her flesh, but also for her extraordinary talent. Alice Henderson deftly crafts her own convincing mythology while telling a compelling, page-turning adventure that makes Glacier National Park itself into a character. Offering crisp action and tingly eroticism,
Voracious
also boasts an environmental subtext blended with astute philosophical explorations of the predator-prey symbiosis. Henderson’s first novel is both accomplished and a shining promise of more to come. A winner!”—William D. Gagliani, author of
Wolf’s Trap
and
Shadowplays
“You will tear through this book the way Alice Henderson’s monstrous creature tears through its prey. A combination of awe-inspiring setting and deeply personal terror,
Voracious
is irresistible.”—Richard Dansky, author of
Firefly Rain
I’d like to thank my agent, Howard Morhaim, for all his work. At Berkley I’d like to thank my editor, Ginjer Buchanan, for being such a pleasure to work with. Thanks to my phenomenal copyeditor, Sandy Su, who did a fantastic and thorough job. I owe much of my inspiration to Glacier National Park, with its jagged, snowy peaks, high alpine trails, and phenomenal wildlife. I hope fellow lovers of this area can forgive the few small liberties I took in my descriptions of the park and its surrounding areas. My deepest gratitude to Jason, for believing in me and being so supportive. And finally, I’d like to thank Norma, my traveling companion, friend, and mother. It was during one of our stays in Glacier National Park that the seeds of this novel were sown. I will always treasure the memories of us hiking along the steep Highline Trail and climbing to Grinnell Glacier.
MADELINE
was sure she was being watched. She squatted at the edge of the icy river, pausing a moment to dip her hand into the cold water and glance around behind her. For the past half hour, she’d had the most peculiar feeling that someone was following her, keeping just out of her sight. But she was in the wilderness, the far backcountry, and hadn’t seen another hiker in two days.
She paused at the bottom of a cliff, a waterfall streaming from the top and plunging a hundred feet to form the river at her feet. Mist plumed around her, beading in her eyelashes. The icy bite of the glacial meltwater stung her hand, but it felt good. The air was so
hot.
She’d never known it to be so hot in the mountains. For the past five days it had been well into the upper nineties. A strenuous four-hour hike had brought her up high into this mountain pass, where waterfalls cascaded over brilliantly green mossy slopes, and marmots scurried through wildflower-strewn meadows before darting back into their safe homes inside rocky slopes.
The feeling of being watched faded. Madeline glanced around her. No one was in sight, just the cloudless blue sky above her and the mountains, immense and snow-covered. It wasn’t like her to get jittery in the backcountry.
She let the water cascade over her hand. It made her feel more than cool; she felt free. She was in the mountains, away from her problems and the pressure of decisions. The wind was stronger by the current, sweeping along the water and bringing with it the cold from the glaciers above.
As she sat at the edge of the water, watching the sun bathe the brilliant yellows and reds of the wildflowers, a tremendous rumble thundered against the mountain. She peered upward toward the sound, where the waterfall disappeared above the cliff face. A resonant crack shook the mountain again, making her jump. She went off balance and crashed onto her knees. Icy water swallowed her hands. Quickly she scrambled away from the river’s edge and got to her feet. Another deep boom cracked against the mountain, sending a shower of pebbles and sand down on her from the cliff above. Madeline readjusted her backpack and looked up nervously to the top of the waterfall. It was definitely coming from up there. But what could it be? She wasn’t close enough to the snowpack for an avalanche.
Boom!
The earth quaked beneath her.
A sudden shrill symphony of whistles echoed up from the marmots. She glanced over to the nearby rockslide remains, and to her surprise saw marmots fleeing down the side of the mountain, at least twenty of them, skittering and leaping and running.
She suddenly knew that she didn’t have time. She should have run when she first heard it.
Madeline turned and leapt away from the river, the weight of her backpack slamming against her back as she ran,
thump, thump, thump.
And then the rumble became a roar, the roar a deafening cacophony of thunder, and in her peripheral vision Madeline saw a wall of water rising up at the top the waterfall, a tremendous wave of white turbulence. And she saw trees in the whiteness, their skeletal roots writhing in the tumult, like gigantic, fleshless hands, flexing and grabbing the air.
Madeline ran, muscles burning with the effort.
She tore across the mountainside, not going down, but going up and across, thinking the water would be less likely to reach her there. If one of those trees hit her in the head, she’d never survive. The air was burning in her lungs now, veins standing out on her neck as she struggled against the weight of her pack that wanted to pull her back.
She thought of dumping it, but there wasn’t time. Madeline raced on, trying not to think about the weight or the crashing water, trying just to flee.
And then the water hit her.
With tremendous force she smashed face-first toward the ground, but before the rocks there could cut her, she was swept off her feet in a torrent of water, tumbling and twisting and going under. Her nose filled with water, and she gasped for breath as her head went down into the frigid torrent. The fierce current whipped her around mercilessly, as if she weighed no more than a leaf.
As Madeline struggled to right herself beneath the water, her feet tangled in something hard and unyielding with a million fingers that snaked out to grab her. Rough wood and branches cut into her legs and arms, and she realized it was a tree, rolling in the current beneath her.
