It was the last he remembered.
But it was enough, Bone thought as he wiped more blood from his eyes, again reached to the bag dangling from his belt for a handful of chalk dust. Then he swung up, grabbed the rim of the ledge, swung free and started up the last leg of the journey to the top of the escarpment and his identity.
The sky seemed inexplicably to be growing dimmer, he thought, and wondered why. He wondered why the terrible ache in his arms and shoulders and the pain in his belly had vanished; he wondered why he could barely feel anything at all . . .
(ii)
Zulu's first reaction upon seeing Bone unhesitatingly grab hold of a narrow ledge at the top of the rockfall and swing up onto the face of the escarpment had been to attempt to scramble up the loose rock in order to grab Bone, whom Zulu was certain had become demented and wished to die.
Zulu had dashed forward, then stopped at the base of the rockfall. It was too late to try to stop the other man; even if he could climb up through the loose rock without slipping—a feat which Zulu considered doubtful—there would be nothing to grab for but rock and air. In the space of only a few seconds, Bone had somehow managed to climb out of reach up a rock face that to Zulu seemed almost absolutely sheer, except for a few cracks and slight protuberances.
Zulu had never seen anything like it—or initially thought he hadn't, until he considered the leap Bone must have made to the side of the Chemical Bank Building in order to escape Lobo and his Wolfpack—and now Bone had not only managed to cling to that smooth surface, but even moved along it.
He'd shouted repeatedly, but the man steadily ascending the rock face gave no indication that he heard. Finally Zulu lapsed into stunned silence, watching what was happening before him with amazement and disbelief.
Zulu tried to think of something comparable to what he saw, but could not; he could not see what it was that Bone was clinging to, and yet the man kept moving up the face of the escarpment with virtually nonstop, fluid motion that exuded enormous self-confidence. Indeed, it was this fluidity of motion as much as the feat itself that filled Zulu with awe. To him, Bone seemed to be defying gravity as he unhurriedly, almost effortlessly, ascended the cliff face like some graceful white ape, his hair waving like a flag in the breeze off the Hudson.
Zulu, mesmerized, continued to stand and stare until Bone reached his first rest stop; it was when Bone hooked his legs over the ledge and hung back in space that Zulu saw the blood staining the front of the other man's T-shirt.
The bone-man was going to die this day, Zulu thought, suddenly numb with foreboding. The bone-man had been lucky to get as far as he had, but he was less than a third of the way up. Despite what he had seen, Zulu still considered it impossible for any man without a gash in his belly to climb all the way to the top of the escarpment, and he could not see how Bone could climb back down before he became weakened from loss of blood and tumbled off the cliff face to be mangled on the rocks below.
And there was absolutely nothing he could do to prevent it, Zulu thought, stunned and chilled by this feeling of helplessness. It was useless to even shout; all that was left to him was to stand here in silent witness to an incredible feat of courage and uncanny skill that could only end in death.
Zulu was still staring up, his mouth hanging open, when
Bone reached his second rest stop, once again locked his legs over a ledge and hung back in space. The other man was now so far up the rock face that Zulu could barely make out his features; but Zulu could see the crimson stain that was his T-shirt, making Bone appear like a blotch of white and red smeared on the brown stone.
When Bone, after what seemed to Zulu a very long time, finally left this perch and once again resumed his climb, it occurred to Zulu for the first time that the man actually might make it to the top.
Then, with perhaps no more than twenty yards left to go, Bone slipped. His feet shot out from under him, his right hand lost its grip—and yet the fingers of his left hand remained locked over the rim of a small ledge. His breathing rapid and shallow, his heart hammering, Zulu watched as Bone's right hand slowly came up, found a grip; his legs moved as In-searched for a toehold—and found it. And then Bone once again began to climb. But the fluid motion was gone. The arm and leg movements had become laborious, and Zulu knew he was watching a man who could pass out at any moment from pain, loss of blood and exhaustion.
For the last ten yards of Bone's journey Zulu was shouting incoherently, jumping up and down, urging the other man on, and when Bone finally clambered over the upper rim of the escarpment and rolled away out of sight, Zulu began to sob with joy.
He abruptly stopped celebrating when it occurred to him that he did not know how to get to the top.
"Shit!" Zulu shouted as he spun around and sprinted back across the grassy plateau toward the access road leading down to North Broadway, and to Nyack Beach below. He continued to curse to himself, at himself, as he raced down the road. He had been so convinced that Bone could not reach the top of the escarpment that he had given no thought to what he would do if Bone did reach the top. And now his friend was in imminent danger of bleeding to death. He had to get the bone-man to Nyack Hospital, Zulu thought, but the hospital was more than two miles away—and he did not even know how to get up to the bone-man. He needed help, and quickly.
Zulu reached the entrance to North Broadway, kept going past the empty guard's kiosk, down the access road toward the beach. A hundred and fifty yards down he came to the small brick structure that was the information building; he cursed again when he saw that the receiver on the pay phone outside the building had been torn loose from the housing.
He turned back just in time to see a patrol car of the Nyack Police Department brake to a stop in front of the steel barrier across the road. The officer, a young man with a thin moustache and a wary demeanor, got out of the patrol car and stood behind the open door, his hand near the gun on his hip, obviously not knowing quite what to make of the fact that there was a seven-foot black man with a fierce expression on his face, panting with exhaustion, sprinting up the steep hill right at him.
"My name's Horace Thorogood," Zulu gasped as he reached the top of the hill and sagged on the metal barrier across from the police officer. "A friend of mine is bleeding to death up on top of the mountain. We've got to get up there."
The young officer backed up a step, swallowed hard, squinted, "You on drugs, man?"
"There's no time to talk about it, sir," Zulu said as he ducked under the barrier, opened the car door on the passenger's side and slid onto the seat. "I told you there's a man bleeding to death up there. Let's you and I go get him."
The officer stared uncertainly at the gasping, black giant who was occupying the front seat of his patrol car, then made his decision. He jumped behind the wheel, put the car in reverse and gunned the motor. The car screamed backward. The officer braked, shifted gears, and the car raced forward onto North Broadway. He turned right at the first street, put the accelerator to the floor.
The patrol car, tires screeching, sped to the top of the steep hill, where the officer made another sharp, hard turn onto an access road. He straightened the car out, then picked up his radio handset and called for an ambulance.
"Over there!" Zulu shouted, pointing ahead and to his right, toward a copse of fir trees. "Stop up there! He should be in there someplace! I saw trees from the bottom of the cliff!"
The policeman braked the patrol car to a skidding, shuddering halt by the side of the road. Instantly, Zulu was out of the car and running toward the trees, then through them, hoping against hope that he was not too late. He suddenly found himself past the trees, standing at the brink of the cliff.
Bone was nowhere in sight.
"Where's this friend of yours?!" the policeman snapped as he came up beside Zulu. "Man, if you're trying to jerk—"
Zulu turned and began running to his left, along the rim of the escarpment—until he saw blood stains on the stone and adjacent grass. He darted int
o the trees, stopped and groaned aloud when he saw Bone on the ground, leaning against the trunk of a tree, doubled over and pressing the blood-stained folds of his T-shirt into the open gash on his belly.
"Bone-man!" Zulu cried, dropping to his knees beside the other man. "Can you hear me?!" When Bone nodded slightly, Zulu bowed his head, closed his eyes and took a deep breath in an effort to control his trembling. He could hear an ambulance siren in the distance, approaching fast. "Help's on the way," he continued in a low but steady voice. "Just hang in there."
Bone's head came up, and he whispered hoarsely, "My name's John Granger, Zulu. You have to call Anne . . . warn her. Also call Lightning and tell him where I am . . . have to see him. Barry Prindle's the killer."
Chapter Seventeen
(i)
Lieutenant Perry Lightning, his mouth set in a grim line, stepped out of the elevator on the second floor of the hospital. Accompanied by a Nyack policeman, he strode quickly and stiffly to his left, to the room at the end of the corridor. He was surprised to see Bone—looking extremely pale, with dark rings around his blue eyes—sitting up in bed, his back braced by two pillows. Beside the bed was a rack holding a bottle of plasma which was draining through an intravenous tube and needle in Bone's left arm. The huge black man Lightning knew as Zulu was sitting in a chair near the foot of the bed, looking at once both concerned and just slightly bemused.
"Before you ask me anything, Lieutenant," Bone said in a soft but firm voice as Perry Lightning entered the room, "tell me if you've been able to locate Anne Winchell."
Lightning glanced at Zulu, who stared back at him impassively. Then he turned and whispered something to the uniformed policeman. The policeman stepped out of the room, but remained standing near the open door.
"No," Perry Lightning announced evenly as he turned back toward the other two men. "Barry Prindle's missing too."
"Oh, Jesus, Lieutenant," Bone whispered, closing his eyes and breathing a deep sigh. "Then I was right; Prindle has her—or she's dead."
The police detective pulled another chair over by the bed, sat down, leaned back and crossed his legs. His face and his one good eye revealed nothing. "So you say," he said in the same even tone. "Your buddy Zulu here is pretty persuasive, Bone-which is why you've got me here in person. But the story he told me over the phone sounded pretty incredible; I'm not sure I believe it."
"You're a real piece of work, Lieutenant," Zulu said drily. "II you don't believe it, go get yourself some heavy mountain climbing equipment—or a derrick. We can drive up the road to Hook Mountain and you can climb that cliff following the bone-man's blood stains right to the top. What do you say?"
Lightning's gaze flicked over Zulu's face, came back to Bone. "Like I said, your friend is pretty persuasive. I've got a citywide APB out on both the Winchell woman and Prindle. We're talking lots of manpower and man-hours."
Bone shook his head, clenched and unclenched his fists. "You won't find them. If Prindle hasn't killed her, he's got her somewhere underground; he's as at home down there as he is up on the streets." He paused, swallowed hard, looked away. "And Anne has a phobia concerning darkness."
"You listen to me, Bone," Perry Lightning said with quiet intensity. "I told you we've got a lot of men looking for those two, so don't you worry about it; you've got more than a few problems of your own to attend to. You're a fugitive from justice, and a story from a friend about you climbing some cliff without any equipment doesn't prove—or change—anything."
"There was a bit more to my story than that, Lieutenant," Zulu said. "I told you he was with me during the night those last three people were killed. I'm his witness."
"All that means is that you've aided and abetted a fugitive; it doesn't mean he didn't kill the other people."
"I didn't kill anybody," Bone said impatiently. "Would I have asked Zulu to call you if I had?"
"I'm not sure what you'd do. I've never accused you of not being clever."
"If you think he's just clever," Zulu said with the faintest trace of amusement, "you should see him climb cliffs."
Lightning continued to study Bone. "You sound pretty convinced when you say you didn't kill any of those people; that hasn't always been the case. Do you remember now?"
"I do," Bone replied evenly.
"So, let's hear it," the lieutenant said, raising his eyebrows slightly.
"My name's John Granger, Lieutenant, and I happen to be an internationally known free climber."
"What's a free climber?"
"I climb cliffs, mountains—whatever—without benefit of equipment."
"Bullshit."
"Whooee," Zulu said, his tone flat. "I hope you didn't swallow any stupid pills before you came across the river, Lieutenant."
"Watch your mouth, Zulu."
"I'm also a pretty good spelunker—cave explorer," Bone said impatiently, distracted by thoughts of Anne. "You can check that out by calling the National Cave Rescue Commission. Ask them to describe John Granger, ask them what he does and then ask when was the last time anybody saw him. When you get finished with that call, I'll give you the names of a few dozen mountaineering schools and organizations around the world. You check out John Granger, and then tell me that what I've told you is bullshit."
Perry Lightning stared hard at Bone for a few moments, then abruptly rose, walked to the door and spoke in low tones to the policeman standing outside the room. The man nodded, then walked away. Lightning returned to stand at the foot of the bed. He passed a hand over his shaved head, absently rubbed his milky left eye. "Considering the fact that you've supposedly got a stab wound in your gut, and you supposedly pumped blood all over the face of some cliff, you don't look in such bad shape to me."
"It's not a stab wound, it's a gash. Zulu patched me up. It's not that deep, but it's true that I bled a lot. I'm told that I lost a little more than three pints during the climb. The doctors have already put two back in, and they're working on the third. If you don't believe Zulu, ask the cop and ambulance attendants what they saw when they picked me up."
"The bone-man's tough, Lieutenant," Zulu said quietly. "In fact, he's just about the toughest man you're ever likely to meet. Give him a break."
Lightning grunted. "Who cut you, Bone? Lobo?"
Uncertain of what to say, Bone looked away.
Lightning continued, "I don't suppose the cut on your belly has anything to do with the three dead Wolfpack members we found cluttering the street a few days ago, would it? Lobo's neck was broken, and the other two had their skulls bashed in. How about you, Zulu? You know anything about that?"
"As a matter of fact, I do, Lieutenant," Zulu replied, his tone flat, his manner casual. "I killed two of them, and the bone-man killed Lobo by accident. It was self-defense. First they were trying to kill Bone-man, and then they came after me. Bone-man saved my life when he jumped on Lobo."
"And Zulu saved my life, Lieutenant," Bone said.
"I don't suppose it occurred to you to report it," Lightning said drily as he inclined his head in Zulu's direction.
The street poet shrugged his massive shoulders. "It slipped my mind; I'm reporting it now. If it hadn't slipped my mind, we wouldn't be sitting here now, would we? And the bone-man wouldn't have found your killer. If you're going to charge me with anything, it should be for littering."
"We'll talk about it later," Lightning said quietly, after a long pause, and almost smiled. "If it doesn't slip my mind."
"Whatever you say, Lieutenant."
"What else do you remember, Granger?" the policeman asked, turning back to Bone.
"I've been free climbing for almost fifteen years, exploring cave systems for ten. I'm a professional. I climb, around the world, for my own pleasure, and I get paid for teaching at various mountaineering and caving schools in this country and others. How long I teach depends on how much money I need to get to the next mountain I want to climb or cave system I want to explore. I move around a lot. I have a post office box in Denver, but it
doesn't get used a lot. My friends are used to having me drop out of sight for long periods of time, which is why I was never reported missing.
"Occasionally, if I'm offered enough money, I also guide parties with members who have advanced climbing or caving technique and want to see some unusual cave systems. Two years ago I guided a party of New Yorkers. We spent a week exploring parts of Mammoth Caverns, in Kentucky, that few people have ever seen. One of the men and I hit it off pretty well. He works for a company called Empire Subway Limited. Have you heard of it?"
"I've heard of it," Lightning replied.
"Barry Prindle used to work for them, before he went to work for the city; it's how he gained his knowledge of what's under New York's streets. Anyway, this man in the party I was guiding said I should come to New York and check out the underground; later, he sent me some maps."
"What's this man's name?"
"Matthew Tolovich, and I'm sure he still works for Empire Subway. If he doesn't, they'll know how to reach him. He'll verify what I'm telling you."
"You didn't tell him you were coming?"
"No, and I didn't contact him when I got here. I'm not very social, and I wasn't sure how long I wanted to stay. I was mainly interested in seeing some of the aqueducts the Dutch settlers built in the seventeenth century—they're under the Wall Street area."
"Where did you stay?"
"I rented a room in the YMCA down there."
"Why didn't they report you missing when you didn't show up to claim your stuff?"
"You'll have to ask them."
"All right; go ahead."
"While I was poking around down there I worked my way into a very large and complex natural tunnel system which wasn't indicated on any of the maps Tolovich had given me. From all indications, it was virgin territory.
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