Last to Die: A gripping psychological thriller not for the faint hearted Read Free Page A

limbs.
    Once warm, he belted a weight around his waist, grabbed the chin-up bar he had built into the ceiling and executed a set of twenty perfect, fully extended chin-ups. He dropped to the ground, undid the weight and performed the same number of push-ups. The muscles in his back rippled, the veins popped in his biceps. He repeated the combination three more times.
    He finished the final set and stood before the mirror again. He scrutinised his body for a full minute, searching for flaws. He found none. He walked, naked, to a metal shelf fastened to the opposite wall by brackets. He had built the workbench himself and it was meticulously organised. Every tool had its place; every surface was clean and free of dirt. On it sat a heavy-duty canvas bag and beside that a slim metal case.
    Caleb pulled out a stool and sat down. He unzipped the bag and removed from it a custom-made take-down longbow. He assembled it with practised ease, snapped the rubber hand guard over the hinge and restrung it in one fluid motion. He waxed the strings and ran his thumb over the cedar limbs, checking for nicks or scratches. The bow was a thing of rare beauty. He had purchased it over a decade before from a master craftsman who lived in Marshall, North Carolina. It weighed less than two pounds, had a twenty-eight-inch draw and was as silent as the grave. His accuracy with it was beyond question. Any fool could fire a gun or a crossbow from a distance, and these days most any fool surely did, but only the true hunter could place himself within the perfect strike zone using a stick bow.
    Satisfied, he removed an arrow from the quiver. The arrows were a speciality of his and he made dozens of them every year. They were constructed from light wooden shafts finished with both eagle and buzzard fetching. The fetching was wrapped with muskrat sinew. The tip of each shaft held a single broad-head arrow with four ridges. He made the arrowheads from obsidian, using a knapping design his father had taught him. Each arrowhead was then heated, allowed to cool, and honed so fine they could slice through dense rubber like it was butter. Caleb held one up to the light. He looked down the line, visualising it as it left his bow. It would fly straight and true, of that he had no doubt.
    As well as his bow, he carried an old army knife that had once belonged to his grandfather, and a 30/30 Winchester rifle with open sights he had inherited from his father. The rifle was an annoyance. Although this particular model was relatively light to carry, it did slow him down some. He had never needed to use it, but experience had taught him to be prepared for the unexpected.
    He put the rifle down and unwrapped the knife. The handle was cherry wood. There had once been a pattern on it – he vaguely remembered it – but it had long since been worn smooth. He thumbed the blade and a bead of blood rose immediately to the surface of his skin.
    Caleb rewrapped the knife and walked to the gas-powered shower to the rear of the cabin. He turned on the water and when it was almost too hot to bear, he stepped under it and washed using a special soap. He removed all traces of sweat from his body, lathered again and rinsed a second time. Scent carried on the air and it was easy to reveal a man’s position that way. He finished off with an ice-cold blast to close his pores and then shut off the water. He stepped out of the shower and returned to the main room of the cabin, allowing the air to dry his skin.
    He studied the map pinned to the wall opposite the workbench, running through a mental checklist of the terrain, memorising the route. There were natural predators in the woods, bears and coyotes both. The bears around his way were skittish and more interested in feeding and staying as far from humankind as possible. The males tended to bluster, but a sow with cubs would charge without hesitation and it did not do to forget that.
    He tapped the map with his index finger. The area he