Paskagankee Read online

  PRAISE FOR ALLAN LEVERONE

  THE LONELY MILE

  “Suspenseful and well-written, The Lonely Mile shows how far a father will go to save his child.”

  – Debbi Mack, New York Times bestselling author of IDENTITY CRISIS and LEAST WANTED

  “Allan Leverone delivers a taut crime drama full of twists and conspiracy. A serial-killer thriller with a heart.”

  – Scott Nicholson, bestselling author of LIQUID FEAR and DISINTEGRATION

  “Thriller fans will enjoy Allan Leverone’s new book, The Lonely Mile, which will carry readers along as a daughter is stolen by a vengeful serial killer…”

  – Dave Zeltserman, author of PARIAH and KILLER

  “…Leverone kicks down the doors with a tense, tightly-plotted thriller that will keep you turning the pages deep into the night…Grab this book and get ready for a wild ride.”

  – Christopher Poe, author of THE PORTAL

  “I was floored by the great writing…this book is a steal for anyone that is a fan of a good crime thriller.”

  – Book Sake

  “…a chillingly realistic suspense thriller that will have you holding on for the ride of your life.”

  – Life in Review

  “…this story drew me in, grabbed my attention, and wouldn’t let go until the very surprising and climactic ending…one hell of a roller coaster ride.”

  – Jersey Girl Book Reviews

  “…a compelling, engrossing, and impossible-to-put-down scream-ride from beginning to end.”

  – Café of Dreams Book Reviews

  “…the suspense never stops…an intense thriller…”

  – Martha’s Book Reviews

  FINAL VECTOR

  “Allan Leverone raises the stakes with every turn of the page in this can’t-put-down tale of ruthless terrorists and cold-blooded betrayal.”

  – Sophie Littlefield, author of the Anthony Award-winning novel A BAD DAY FOR SORRY

  “Written with edge-of-your-seat suspense and precise detail that can only come from a writer who did his research while on the job, Final Vector kept me, a white-knuckle flier, in awe from the very first sentence. The successor to Michael Crichton has landed. And his name is Allan Leverone.”

  – Vincent Zandri, bestselling author of THE INNOCENT and MURDER BY MOONLIGHT

  “From page one to the end you will be breathless with suspense…simply an entertaining and enjoyable and intense story.”

  – My Reading Room

  “…a great break from your typical mystery book…and a must have for anyone looking for a great page turner with mystery and mayhem.”

  – Community Bookstop

  “If you enjoy thrillers…this is a great option. It’s a fast-moving storyline with quite a bit of action. And you’ll find you care about the main characters—even the terrorists are interesting and unique.”

  – My Book Retreat

  “Final Vector…feels like I am watching an episode of 24. There is not a dull moment, and absolutely no lag time. There is something always going on, and Leverone keeps you on the edge of your seat…If you can get your hands on a copy of this book, do it!”

  – Southern Fiber Reads

  “Homegrown terrorists you actually relate to, the FBI and a whole lot of conspiracy…an amazing novel!”

  – The Belle of Boise

  “…a high-suspense thrill ride…”

  – Derry (NH) News

  “…a spectacular thrill ride…with lots of action, danger, hold-your-breath suspense, and a storyline that is realistic and relevant…this is definitely one you don’t want to miss out on!”

  – Life in Review

  “…keeps you on the edge of your seat, reading pages as fast as you can…I highly recommend that you read this book…you will not be disappointed.”

  – Two Ends of the Pen

  DARKNESS FALLS

  “A dark and creepy chiller!”

  – Ron Malfi, author of SNOW and FLOATING STAIRCASE

  “Fast-paced and eerily seductive, Darkness Falls is a well-told and atmospheric tale of loss and obsession, of madness and revenge. Allan Leverone is a terrific writer with a bright future. I hope to see him around for many years to come.”

  – Mark Edward Hall, author of THE LOST VILLAGE and SERVANTS OF DARKNESS

  “I found the characters to be compelling, the storyline was haunting and creepy…I would recommend Darkness Falls to anyone who enjoys a really nightmarish tale.”

  – Horrornews.net Book Reviews

  “…a creepy and chilling story that will have you on the edge of your seat while it twists its way to the haunting ending.”

  – Life in Review

  HEARTLESS

  “I very highly recommend this book! It is full of intense suspense from start to finish. As always…some great twists…”

  – Life in Review

  OTHER BOOKS BY ALLAN LEVERONE

  Heartless

  The Lonely Mile

  Final Vector

  Darkness Falls

  Postcards from the Apocalypse

  PASKAGANKEE

  Prologue

  NOVEMBER 16, 1691

  Stephen Ames shivered in the gathering darkness, a bone-chilling cold seeping into his body as he sat waiting for the girl’s arrival. The wind whispered and moaned through the bare trees as the Great North Woods prepared for winter. The silence was all-encompassing, unrelenting. He wondered if the bronzed young Abnaki woman would come as she had promised and if she would bring the child whose existence he had discovered just yesterday—his child—to meet him for the first time.

  Stephen was a member of a small group of missionaries traveling up and down the eastern seaboard of this strange, wild country; their mission, to convert the native savages to Christianity and thus save their souls. It was a difficult and dangerous life, nearly impossible at times, but also incredibly rewarding when he was able to make a positive impact on the lives of the people he converted.

  It was also a lonely job. The dedicated band of missionaries numbered roughly a dozen; though the exact total was constantly in flux as men joined the group or dropped out, unable to handle the stressful life, difficult travel and unrelenting physical danger. The last time the missionaries passed through this remote area, working with a tribe located in a small village hard by the Penobscot River, he had met a Native girl, roughly his own age of twenty-two, and had taken refuge in her arms from the constant, crushing loneliness.

  That was two years ago. The missionary group spent a couple of months working with the savages and then moved on, converting no one but making what they felt were potential inroads with a small number of the tribe’s more influential members. Unfortunately, the chief, an older savage with a deeply lined face and decades-old battle scars crisscrossing his body, had been unreceptive to the well-intentioned band of young men, eventually dropping all pretense of civility and forcing them to move on under threat of violence.

  Now the men were back in the area, nearing the northernmost portion of their territory, and had decided to pay another visit to the village to see if the situation with the tribe had changed. Perhaps the old chief had died and a new warrior had taken his place, one more receptive to the missionaries’ soul-saving message.

  It was during this visit two days ago that Stephen spotted the Native girl walking through the village and signaled her. She had run to him, recognizing him immediately, and in a curious combination of English, French, and the strange Abnaki native tongue, the two had worked out a time and place to meet the following night. She seemed nervous and anxious, glancing around furtively as if fearful of being observed, and after getting her message across to Stephen, disappeared quickly into the bustle of activity in the village.

 
; At their meeting last night, Stephen received the shock of his young life when he learned he was the father of a now eighteen-month-old baby girl. The Native woman had become pregnant by him and given birth long after the band of missionaries had been forced to move on. She related to Stephen how she had nearly been sacrificed by the tribal elders when they learned she was with child, but had been spared due to her age and the fact that the baby’s father had left the area, never to return. The child would be raised as a Native in the customs and traditions of the Abnaki.

  Shocked by this development, Stephen knew immediately he could never allow his child to be raised as an Abnaki. The heathen savages refused to permit the introduction of Christianity into the community, and Stephen was well aware of what that meant for his child: suffering in the fires of hell for all eternity. Although he had never met his baby, although he had only known for twenty-four hours that he even had a baby, Stephen realized he must do something to give his little daughter the opportunity to experience eternal salvation.

  So he had begged the Native girl for a chance to meet the infant, to see his child if only once, and she reluctantly agreed. Stephen thought how strange it was to have fathered a baby with a savage girl whose name he didn’t even know. They had tried numerous times two years ago to relate their names to each other, but the language barrier was simply too wide—the savage girl’s name sounded like nothing more than guttural nonsense to Stephen, and he assumed his name sounded the same to her.

  Stephen was surprised the Native girl had agreed to his request, as she was clearly suffering tremendous pressure from the village elders. The savages had never expected to see the band of traveling missionaries again, and the Native girl was obviously worried that either she or her baby would suffer some horrible fate Stephen could not comprehend thanks to their return.

  All the more reason, Stephen thought, to rescue my child from this primitive land, to give her a chance at a real life back in England. His parents would be shocked by the baby’s arrival, but he knew they could provide proper care for her until Stephen could return home following his missionary calling and raise her himself.

  Now, the night of the promised meeting, Stephen sat perched on a mammoth boulder, body heat leaching away in the freezing cold of the Great Forest. He feared the young mother had changed her mind about allowing him to see his baby. Perhaps the elders had somehow learned of the meeting and were even now holding her captive, forbidding her to leave the village. He hoped not; it would make a bad situation that much worse.

  But at last the girl padded silently down the narrow hunting path. On her back a sling made of thick animal fur had been fastened and buried deep inside it, swaddled in still more fur to ensure warmth, was Stephen’s child. The baby was fast asleep, and the Native girl was reluctant because of the cold to lift her out of the sling, but Stephen glimpsed her luxurious head of jet-black hair peeking through the top of all the fur. Her hair was thick and full and had a sheen and color identical to that of the Native girl.

  The Native girl’s entire body was shaking but not due to the temperature. If there was one thing the missionaries had learned about the savages in this strange land, it was that they knew how to keep warm in the winter. They survived in this harsh and unforgiving climate by utilizing skills perfected over the course of centuries to overcome the frigid winter temperatures. No, this was something else—the girl was clearly terrified. Stephen was glad he had decided to rescue his child from the clutches of these savages; it seemed obvious to him that something was very wrong.

  As he admired the baby—or at least the top of her head—the remainder of the close-knit band of traveling missionaries appeared, stepping out from behind trees, bushes and rocks and surrounding Stephen and the Native girl. He watched tensely as she turned a full three hundred sixty degrees, looking from face to face in terror, understanding instantly she had been tricked, that this late-night meeting was not going to go as planned.

  Stephen hated having to ambush the frightened Native girl like this, but he could think of no other way to wrest his baby away from clutches of the Abnaki savages. After meeting the girl in this isolated location last night—a good two miles from her village and at least another mile from the missionaries’ camp—and discovering that he was a father, he had requested council with the rest of the group.

  The men had been unanimously shocked by Stephen Ames’s admission of having lain with the savage two years ago, but they quickly agreed that action must be taken to remove the innocent child from the heathens, that she be provided the opportunity to grow to adulthood in civilized society. In a strategy session lasting deep into the night, a plan had been hastily devised. Stephen would meet the Native girl as agreed, and the remainder of the missionaries would show themselves upon her arrival. The resulting show of force, they reasoned, should be sufficient to intimidate the frightened girl into handing over the baby.

  After that meeting had broken up, however, Stephen had learned from his closest friend that the missionary leaders convened a second session, one to which Stephen Ames had not been invited. They suspected separating the child from her mother might not be so easy and knew they might require a second, more forceful plan, to be utilized in the event the young savage resisted. That was all the information Stephen had been able to pry out of his associate but was more than enough to cause him grave concern.

  Now, as Stephen watched with his heart in his throat, the young girl turned on her heel and began hurrying as quickly as she was able with a sleeping baby on her back down the narrow hunting path. She found her passage blocked almost immediately by two of the missionaries. They approached her with their hands held out, palms up, in identical gestures of supplication, speaking to her calmly, telling her she had nothing to fear. Stephen knew she did not understand and could see things were spiraling quickly out of control.

  He rushed up from behind, hoping to avert disaster, but as he did the rest of the group closed in on her as well and now she had nowhere to go, nowhere to run. The young mother tried to shoulder her way past the man nearest her as Stephen reached for her elbow and missed. The missionary shoved her roughly, and she tumbled into the forest ringing the path. Stephen shouted and the man grabbed for the baby and that was when all hell broke loose.

  ***

  ABNAKI WAR CRIES PIERCED the air as savages seemingly materialized out of nowhere, rushing to protect their tribal member. They moved quickly and within seconds had fully surrounded the missionaries. One warrior struck the man who had pushed the girl, hitting him in the face with his fist. Blood spurted and bone cracked and the man fell to the ground with an anguished cry.

  This seemed to panic the missionaries, and one of them pulled a strange-looking silver cylindrical device from the pocket of his long overcoat, pointing it at the Abnaki warrior who had rushed to the girl’s defense. Fire erupted from the end of the cylinder and a frighteningly loud boom shook the woods as the side of the warrior’s face disappeared in a pink and grey stew of blood, bone and tissue. The warrior dropped to the ground and lay still.

  Immediately bows were drawn and arrows launched by the Abnaki tribal members and knives and hatchets appeared. More silver cylinders were drawn out of more missionary pockets, belching more fire; the awful booming noises crashed through the forest and men on both sides of the conflict fell.

  ***

  STEPHEN SCREAMED AND TUMBLED to the ground as he was struck in the shoulder by a hatchet thrown from he knew not where. He had known the missionary group would be armed; they always carried weapons when dealing with savages, but they had never before been forced to use them against this particular tribe.

  His left arm felt numb and his hand tingled violently; he knew he was badly injured. Blood covered his shoulder and ran down his chest in a great wave. He looked for the Native girl, the mother of his child, but could not find her. Smoke from the missionaries’ guns hung thickly in the air, obscuring the moonlight and casting the scene in an eerie nightmarish hue. Scream
s rent the night, whether from missionaries or tribesmen Stephen could not tell.

  His vision began to narrow; he found himself peering down a long tunnel and soon the black edges of that tunnel began squeezing his vision into a steadily shrinking circle. The screaming and the cries of anguish now seemed to originate from a point much farther away than they had previously, although Stephen knew that was not possible. He was lying in the middle of the battle zone. He guessed he was dying and wished he could hold his baby daughter just once.

  Then nothing.

  ***

  STEPHEN AMES OPENED HIS eyes. He was still lying on the frozen ground of New England in November. He felt incredibly, bone-chillingly cold, colder than he ever had in his entire life. He was surprised he was not dead and wondered how long he had been lying in the forest unconscious. He attempted to stand up and only then realized he could not move. Stephen knew that unless someone helped him, and soon, he was going to die. He was surprised to discover the prospect didn’t frighten him.

  Moving his head, which seemed to be the only part of his body he could convince to work properly, Stephen scanned as much of the area as he could see. Bodies littered the forest, some of them Abnaki tribal warriors and some of them missionaries; men Stephen had lived and worked with for the past three years. A few of them were moaning softly, but most lay unspeaking and unmoving. Stephen suspected the majority of them were dead. Blood was everywhere, congealing on every surface, more blood than Stephen would ever have imagined possible.

  His most pressing thought—his only clear thought, really—was for his baby. Was she still near? He didn’t think so. None of the bodies he could see on the ground appeared to be those of women; although he knew he could not see all of the dead. He hoped fervently that the Native girl and his child had somehow escaped the carnage, as unlikely as that seemed.