The Fusion Cage

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Amber Ryan knew that there was something wrong the moment she reached the edge of the forest. She crouched down amid the sun dappled trees, the dark green and black disruptive pattern material of her camouflage smock blending in perfectly with the light from the setting sun shimmering through the long grass.

The town below her was nestled deep within the confluence of three valleys and intersected by the silvery line of Hope Creek that wound its way down from the highlands of the Logan Creek Conservation Area. The high hills created a natural, shadowy haven surrounded by deep forests of pine and aspen within which the tiny town of Clearwater had lain since the gold rush of two centuries before. A population of just three hundred fifteen. One road in, one road out. The next town was more than ten miles away.

Amber, her eyes shielded from the sun’s glare by her sunglasses, slowly lay down in the long grass. She shifted her position to avoid crushing the bodies of two grouse hitched to her belt as she slipped the rifle she carried off her shoulder and removed the protective plastic shields on the telescopic sights.

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