Blood Trail: A Novel - Hardcover

Query, Matt; Query, Harrison

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1668024233 ISBN 13: 9781668024232

Verlag: Atria/Emily Bestler Books, 2026

Inhaltsangabe

A poacher-turned-game-warden is on the hunt for a bloodthirsty cult in this unnerving thriller from the authors of the “artful chiller” (Lincoln Child, #1 New York Times bestselling author) Wilderness Reform.

Clark Rickert was once the most prolific big game poacher throughout the Rocky Mountain west but when he lost both his son and his wife, he turned away from hunting. Now a game warden working for the very law enforcement officers that once pursued him so aggressively, Clark is overwhelmingly successful at his job.

So, when there’s a string of disappearances in rural Montana, Clark is selected to join a task force on an operation targeting a mysterious, violent cult in the area. As he works to uncover the truth, Clark begins to be plagued by visions and starts to realize that there is a deeper purpose to his assignment and the cult might up to something far more terrifying than anyone could have guessed.

From two authors who “set themselves apart with sterling prose” (Publishers Weekly), Blood Trail is an eerie and suspenseful horror novel that will sink its teeth in you.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

Matt Query, born and raised in Boulder, Colorado, is a wildland firefighter and a litigator who focuses on legal issues related to water rights, natural resources, public lands, and fish and wildlife management. He and his brother are the authors of Old Country, Wilderness Reform, and Blood Trail. 

Harrison Query is a Colorado native whose work as a writer has spanned multiple genres. He has developed screenplays for a variety of film companies and has worked with Ridley Scott, Chris Columbus, Robert Zemeckis, and more. He and his brother are the authors of Old Country, Wilderness Reform, and Blood Trail.

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Chapter 1 CHAPTER 1
DEPRESSION.

It’s the fourth stage of grief, at least according to the 1969 Kübler-Ross model. The stage of lonely, hopeless, sad, and despairing reflection as an individual comes to realize the magnitude of their loss.

It was visible in the eyes and posture of almost everyone in the room, and audible from the few who’d begun to softly cry or mutter prayers. They weren’t dealing with the death of a loved one, but they’d all just witnessed the death of something equally precious: their grasp on the natural order of the world.

Their conceptions of what fell within the realm of reality, and what was supposed to be relegated to the leagues of fiction, fable, and fantastical impossibility. This understanding had been there for them all since they were children, hearts pounding in their little ears as they fought the dread of what might dwell under their beds, or charge from a dark basement as soon as they turned their backs on it. These were inveterate, foundational notions of understanding everyone developed, honed, and relied upon throughout an entire lifetime. The nameless program within everyone’s mind that ran the profoundly important yet simple calculation: what’s real, what’s not, what’s possible, what’s impossible.

This conception, understanding, program, whatever it was, was something almost everyone filling the Situation Room in the West Wing of the White House had taken for granted, and now they knew it. None of them had realized how important and precious it was until they’d just watched it die.

They’d watched it murdered, kicking and writhing as its face was held into the mud. And they grieved its death like they’d grieve an older sibling.

They’d torn through the first three stages of grief pretty quickly.

Denial, the first stage, really only lasted a minute or so. The distant, confirming expressions on the faces of several in the room—the president, the secretary of defense, the director of national intelligence, the director and deputy director for operations of the CIA, and officers from the CIA’s Special Activities Center—told them all that denial was futile.

Anger came next, demands to know why the hell they hadn’t been briefed on this situation until now, or how the hell those few who’d known didn’t understand it better.

Then came the negotiation phase. This is when things started getting a bit hysterical. The president’s advisers, members of his cabinet, Joint Chiefs of Staff, a few senior legislators, they all began shouting over one another. Suggestions flew with unfounded confidence, growing in both volume and absurdity.

We need the British Royal Household, the Israelis, and the Vatican on the phone immediately. We should nuke the threat. No, we should reason with it, cut a deal. No, let’s find it and sink it to the bottom of the ocean in a titanium cage or send it into space.

Malcolm Thorn, the man who’d just shattered all these people’s minds, stared at the president sitting at the far end of the massive mahogany table. Thorn had spent the last twenty-one years playing this moment over in his mind: who’d be here, what they’d say, and how they’d react when it all really began.

Between the retirement of the man who’d been on duty during the last event in 1909 and Thorn’s first day on the job ninety-four years later, six other men had held Thorn’s title and position. Five of those had gone through their entire careers fully aware of how unlikely it would be for them to be activated to carry out the duties of their position, almost certain they’d never be in this situation. They’d each held their post with faithful dedication all the same, marshaling information and resources to improve the effectiveness of their successor, and all who’d follow. The sixth of those men, however, Thorn’s predecessor, thought he might be on the clock when it all went down. Toward the end of his career, however, Thorn’s predecessor had confidence that his successor would certainly be on station when it happened. As such, he’d recruited, trained, and advised his replacement with that in mind, and had done well.

Standing here, now, staring at the president, Thorn thought about those men. He wondered how they’d critique his execution of the job thus far. He barely heard one of the president’s senior advisers shouting about the Navy’s direct energy weapons and surface warfare lasers, or the vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs’ insistence that martial law be declared and the DHS and FCC shut down the internet immediately. Thorn tuned it all out and just watched the president. He saw the large man’s jaw and fists clench and assumed, correctly, this meant that his deep well of patience and control had finally run dry.

The president launched up from his chair and slammed a heavy briefing binder onto the table. A shock wave of pens, papers, tablets, mugs, glasses, coffee, and water jumped, clattered, and spilled away from the binder’s impact. He paid zero attention to the yelps and gasps as everyone flinched away from the crash. He just slowly planted his massive fists into the mess he’d made, leaned forward, and cast his gaze down the long table. He did not look at the CIA director, but locked eyes with the head of the CIA’s Directorate of Operations, DDO David Benson. He asked his question in the salty, calm, and threatening timbre he was so famous for.

“Benson, ETA on standing up a task force and workup for your direct-action operation?”

Benson responded immediately.

“Five days.”

The president flicked his eyes onto the man sitting next to Benson, chief of the Special Operations Group, Harry Jacobson. The SOG element of the CIA’s Special Activities Center was the most terrifyingly effective direct-action paramilitary force within the Directorate of Operations, or, arguably, within all of humanity’s history. Jacobson had started running the SOG three presidents earlier.

“Your assets ready for that kind of turnaround, Harry? You good with this?”

Jacobson held the president’s gaze as he took a deep, long breath. He knew well that the president, his old friend, was asking him for far more than a simple yes or no in this moment.

“Yes. Most of my Ground Branch operators, aviation personnel, and tech and surveillance teams are stateside. All REDCON-1 and combat ready. When it comes to workup, we don’t have much time, or much need. We’ve only got one target location flagged with any confidence. All we know about enemy force profile is that it’s increasing by the second, so no matter what, we’re going into this with an incomplete target package, and with speed of action as our top priority. Assignment of additional JSOC elements to the task force will only take a day, and with how patchy and thin our intel is, unless we stumble upon a gold mine of information, I can’t see how targeting and mission prep could take more than five days.”

Jacobson leaned forward, glancing at his deputy chief, Charlotte Bishop, as he rested his elbows on the table. Each saw the thoughts of the other in that glance. Charlotte had been his deputy at the SAC for over six years. They’d both grown fluent in the kind of silent,...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Atria/Emily Bestler Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2026
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1668024233
• ISBN 13: 9781668024232
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 400
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Simon and Schuster Netherlands BV, GPSR Europäische Union; info@simonandschuster.nl; ; Herculesplein 96; Utrecht; 3584 AA; Niederlande