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    Stream of Conscience
    Stream of Conscience
    Stream of Conscience
    Ebook142 pages1 hour

    Stream of Conscience

    By Rick Davis

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    About this ebook

    Environmental protection and agricultural production clash when an arboretum in a small, rural town proposes a stream restoration project. A seemingly routine evaluation by landscape architect Luke McAllister turns life-threatening when he and a colleague discover a skull. McAllister and Special Agent Kelly Atkins, with the Kansas Bureau of Investigation, collaborate to investigate two murders, separated by twenty-five years, which threaten the project. In addition to contending with a killer willing to go to any length to protect secrets, the pair must also confront their respective emotional challenges from the past.

    Stream of Conscience is a thriller that portrays the delicate balance between agricultural production and environmental protection set against the backdrop of a stream restoration. Patterns of human behavior, shaped by past experience, merge with landscape evolution to illustrate the corresponding process of achieving equilibrium and growth. Steadfast rural values, viewed through a family mired in grief, guilt, and greed, struggle against the influence of societys evolving environmental ethic. Stream of Conscience follows the twists and turns of family deceptions and lies to ultimately find the truth as the stream restoration project moves into full swing.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisheriUniverse
    Release dateJan 7, 2010
    ISBN9781440183782
    Stream of Conscience

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      Book preview

      Stream of Conscience - Rick Davis

      Stream of Conscience

      Rick Davis

      iUniverse, Inc.

      New York Bloomington

      Stream of Conscience

      Copyright © 2009 by Rick Davis

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

      This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

      iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

      iUniverse

      1663 Liberty Drive

      Bloomington, IN 47403

      www.iuniverse.com

      1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

      Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

      ISBN: 978-1-4401-8377-5 (sc)

      ISBN: 978-1-4401-8379-9 (dj)

      ISBN: 978-1-4401-8378-2 (ebk)

      Printed in the United States of America

      iUniverse rev. date: 11/19/2009

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      greatplainsmap.tif

      Chapter 1  

      A light snow swirled around Luke McAllister as he trudged, waist-deep, in Crooked Creek. Through the gray light he discerned the property line ahead. Tall, deciduous trees arched over a meandering stream surrendered to a barren, linear channel in an agricultural field—a festering wound on the landscape. Luke’s wooden staff served as a guide to avoid deep holes and woody debris as he navigated upstream toward a landing.

      Luke emerged from the stream with a shiver. Insulated waders and a hooded sweatshirt were no match for the dropping temperature and blustery wind. To compound matters, it was nearly dark, and a quarter-mile of undulating ridges and furrows separated Luke from his truck. Scanning the fallow land, he recognized the historic meander pattern of the stream before it had been straightened for agricultural production. He followed the gentle depression snaking through the field toward a crescent patch of dormant vegetation. The swaying thicket of dogwood, willow, and cottonwood provided a rare glimpse of the historic stream channel, but studying the oxbow could wait another day.

      Luke instinctively crouched at the sudden crack overhead, but only the wind assailed him as he glanced at the waving branches. Another crack, and soil splattered on his right leg. Precious seconds passed before he realized it was a bullet. Diving into the thicket, he glanced off a stump that punched the wind out of him. What was happening? Deer season? Luke couldn’t remember since he didn’t hunt. He cursed for not thinking of the possibility earlier. Fear turned to terror. Were the shots meant for him? Did someone view him as a trespasser? Worse yet, was someone stalking him? Luke crawled toward the refuge of a large, uprooted burr oak. He slithered under the trunk and faded into a mass of tangled branches.

      During his career as a landscape architect with the Kansas Department of Natural Resources, Luke’s field experience defied his physical limits. He’d encountered various ways of testing his boundaries, but never gunfire. His challenge had been to restore stream corridors obliterated for economic development. In return, token tax dollars for conservation programs placed Band-Aids on mutilated natural resources for the benefit of the public eye. Two decades of mounting frustration with bureaucracy spawned Luke’s dream. Stream Resource Design, a fledgling one-person firm, specialized in designing and constructing stream restoration projects. Free from the shackles of bureaucracy, Luke could pursue his vision of balancing natural resource protection and economic production. Most clients were interested in streambank stabilization, a Band-Aid applied to a symptom of poor watershed management. Rarely were clients interested in stream restoration, which reconstructed its appropriate width, depth, profile, and meander pattern.

      Luke had jumped at the refreshing challenge when contacted to restore a half mile of stream. Great Plains Arboretum would like to enlist your services, board member Meredith Kraus had explained on the phone yesterday. The Arboretum has the opportunity to purchase adjoining property with a half-mile of channelized stream. We’d like to explore the feasibility of a stream restoration project. How do we begin? The arboretum was located in the small community of Holbrook in northeast Kansas, only an hour drive from Luke’s rural home near Topeka.

      The first task of a stream restoration project was to conduct a site analysis. For Luke, the toothpick survey was a cursory ritual that provided an overview of the site. Normally a casual stroll armed with an ample supply of toothpicks, the survey disclosed a past for diligent stewards to interpret. Even property lines articulated the diverse, often polarized, land ethic of man. Stream restoration plans explored visual solutions to span human differences and provide a blueprint for unifying dissected ecosystems.

      Luke checked his watch. Fifteen minutes had passed. Was it long enough to venture from his refuge? Was someone waiting to finish the job when he emerged? Luke considered the options. Hiding increased his odds, but guaranteed hypothermia. Using the cloudy, windy night as an ally, he devised a plan. Rather than backtrack, he would crawl through the oxbow and exit the opposite side. He might reach his truck parked on the county road, providing he didn’t stumble into his assailant.

      Luke wiggled out of his woody sanctuary. Crawling in rhythm with the wind, he inched forward, pausing between gusts for foreign sounds. The dense thicket faded into a gentle swale. Sensing no immediate threat, he raised to a crouch and slid into the remnant stream channel. Solid footing beneath a carpet of leaves turned to muck. Luke inched across the channel, avoiding noise and maintaining his balance. Safely across, he listened for his assailant. Only the blustery wind urged him forward.

      Cross%20Section%20of%20Oxbow.tif

      Luke crawled to the edge of the oxbow. Despite stinging hands, he distinguished a fallen branch he could use for self-defense. Canny evasion transformed to rage for battle. How could someone be so careless with a firearm? Why would someone shoot at him? Luke emerged from the oxbow, fortified to confront the unknown.

      Reprieve from attack turned to sluggish content, sprinkled with confusion as hypothermia subdued Luke as he wobbled across the field. The boundless black night swallowed him as he dropped to his knees. Two small orbs dancing across the field added to the confusion. Struggling to prop himself with the tree branch, Luke toppled to the ground as a humming engine grew louder. Panic and confusion turned to resigned tranquility as a door creaked open.

      Chapter 2  

      What are you doing, besides trying to kill yourself?

      The voice sounded familiar. Focusing on the kneeling figure, Luke recognized Brock Evans, wildlife biologist with the Kansas Department of Natural Resources.

      Let’s get you into the truck, Brock said.

      Luke wobbled toward the truck and climbed into the seat as a blast of heat consumed him.

      Warming up? Brock asked. The tall, husky, thirty-year-old wildlife biologist dwarfed the cab of his compact pickup. His intimidating stature was accented with a full beard, which flashed a broad grin.

      I think so, Luke said, wincing as fire pulsated through his extremities. How did you know where to find me?

      I called around sundown and listened to the message on your machine. Working with you for ten years, I knew you finished field work early in winter. Figured I’d better check on you.

      Wish I would have quit earlier. I don’t know which was worse, being a target or nearly freezing.

      A target?

      Yeah. Somebody shot at me by the oxbow.

      Nah. Probably a stray bullet from a deer hunter.

      Twice?

      Brown chest waders against a gray thicket at dusk is not a good combination for a stroll during deer season.

      Brock was right. Not wearing an orange vest or cap could have cost Luke his life.

      Want to go back for your truck tomorrow morning, providing you’re thawed?

      Can’t accomplish much otherwise. Would you have a couple hours to help with the stream survey while we’re there?

      I can squeeze it in if we leave by seven. Are you going to be okay tonight? Brock asked as he turned in the winding

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