Throwback
Page 24
Thinking fast, Dawson saw this was an opportunity. To the right, the sinkhole was long, and though narrow, it was still too wide for the hunter to cross. It would have to go all the way to the end before it could reach his side. He thought it was about one hundred feet. He was surprised at his calmness, and didn’t know if it was good or bad.
He began to slowly back up the path towards the rim of the sinkhole, never taking his eyes off the hunter. If it didn’t go to the shorter end there was a chance. It paced him, its eyes never leaving him, never blinking. It was working, he was moving it towards the longer part of the sink hole. He reached the side of the dirt mound and turned his head slightly to make sure the way was clear. Keeping himself under control he paused, and then jumped to his right and out of view.
There was a loud roar and he could hear the monster running along the sink hole in the direction it last saw him go, the longer way. It was working; it was running away from the cave. He quickly dropped down low and reversed his direction, back towards the cave and safety. The hunter would keep running in the same direction, too late it would find its prey was not where it was supposed to be. But would it give him the time he needed?
He stayed low, where the smaller animals ran under concealing plants, getting closer to the cave with every step. Behind him he could hear the roars of the beast and the noise of it crashing through the forest, but it was not getting any closer. It had worked. He kept moving quickly and quietly, a noise would alert the hunter to his position. Hopefully the dung pouch would keep it from smelling him.
Just as he started to breathe easier though, the backpack snagged on some vegetation and spun him hard to the left and his momentum threw him down a small slope. It was slick from the constant rain and he could not catch himself to stop. He continued to slide until suddenly there was nothing beneath him and he dropped from the mass of vegetation five feet into the stream with a loud splash. The landing knocked the wind out of him but he kept his senses and struggled quickly to his feet. He knew he only had a few seconds to get back into the cover.
The bank in front of him was too high to get back up; he took several splashing steps until he saw a lower bank with some vines to climb. He grabbed a vine and slowly began pulling himself up and into the safety of the forest. About fifty feet to his right, the trees suddenly exploded as the hunter burst into view. It ran into the stream kicking up large splashes of water as it stopped and turned to face him. It slipped for a moment on the mud and rocks but it had seen him and with quick steps it closed in. It was almost on him when with a last pull Dawson was back in the thick forest and the beast was stopped. It roared and lashed out and bit at the trees but it could not get through them or up the bank that was too steep for it to climb.
He ran for the cave as fast as he could, noise did not matter now. He could hear the beast running in the water towards a lower bank that it could climb, it was still tracking him. The stream made a sharp bend though as it approached the cave which again would lead the hunter away. Dawson was not thinking about being quiet now. Knowing the cave was close, all he could think of was getting to it as fast as he could. The hunter was still intent on the kill and he had to run fast.
Suddenly Dawson broke free from the clinging vegetation and into the open space that led to the cliff wall. To his dismay, he saw that the chase had also taken him off his line to the cave, he was farther away than he thought he would be. It was another two hundred feet, it might as well have been two hundred miles, but he did not give up. With an extra effort, his lungs burning, he ran faster, then faster still, as he ran past the landing area where everyone had died. Every step brought him closer to safety, to staying alive for one more day.
Behind him he heard the hunter crashing through the forest again then heard it break through the last line of trees and into the clearing. Nothing separated them now but maybe a hundred feet of space, he knew he was about to die. But now he was at the base of the rock wall, just a few more feet and he would be inside. Hope rose as he moved through the loose rocks leading to the thin opening in the sheer rock face, then hope was lost as he slipped on one of the rocks and pitched forward. The hunter was on him before he could rise; he felt a crushing weight and realized the hunter had stepped on him with one of its large legs. He heard the sound of its snapping jaws and he felt its hot breath. But it fell too in the loose stones as its momentum carried it over him. He felt his backpack ripped off his back as he jumped quickly to his feet.
The hunter slid past him, unable to regain its balance on the loose, sliding rocks. It snapped at him again as he dodged the bite and ran for the cave. Up the slope he sped, rocks gave way and tumbled behind him but now he was at the entrance to the cave. Dawson ran through the thin metal shield that he had put up to keep small animals out and as he threw himself into the tight opening he was aware of footsteps getting closer. With one final thrust, he squeezed through just as razor sharp claws slammed into the cave wall beside his head. Then he fell onto the floor of the cave and crawled away from the enraged hunter. It was roaring and snapping but he was safe.
With a great deal of effort, he slowly got control of himself, and as his breathing slowed to long drawn out gasps, he realized he was sobbing. The hunter was still at the entrance trying to get in but the narrow entrance had saved him again. Just like it had saved him on the very first night. He threw up once, then again, as he gasped for air. As he closed his eyes, the roaring of the hunter grew dimmer and darkness overcame him. Then the nightmare came again as he relived it all over.
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