by Jeff Vrolyks
By the second hour she wondered how much farther she could go without drink. She drank that morning but had already sweated out her entire reserve. Her parched throat and tongue ached dully. “There will be a trail coming soon,” she said, panting. “We’re almost there.”
“We better be.”
To her satisfaction she saw what looked like a trail ahead. It was probably a horse trail, one that hadn’t been used since Teddy Roosevelt and John Muir explored Yosemite nearly a hundred years ago, but it was prominent enough to point at and rattle off a lie that postponed the threats for a short while longer. She impulsively led them west (toward the setting sun) on the trail. The winter breeze was mild, punctuated with leaf clapping gusts.
She heard something. Something... wonderful. The dreamlike murmur of moving water. Her dehydrated body ached for it. They had to be thirsty, too, Alison thought. Who wouldn’t be thirsty after hours of intense exercise?
“If you guys are thirsty, there’s a brook over there,” she said, pointing to where she judged the brook to be. They spoke their language back and forth before agreeing to get a drink of water. She thanked God and trembled with anticipation. Her stride lengthened. The babble of flowing water increased. She paced down the embankment with cracked lips open, the Sahara in her mouth, and the leathery carcass of a desert snake for a tongue. She dropped to her knees, indifferent to the sharp impact of her knees against the rock-bed. She gulped the cold water from her cupped hands caked with filth. It burned like hell before it reversed her thirst and soothed her mouth and throat. She glanced at her engagement ring as she slurped water—her heart wept. This is for you, Mike. This is for you, sweetheart. Before she finished drinking, she startled.
Booom!
She sprang to her feet. Red glowered at Kenseth. Kenseth pointed at a wantonly killed twelve-point buck. Red dropped his shotgun at his side (Alison eyed it like a pickpocket to a wallet, but decided against risking it). He clutched a fistful of Kenseth’s neck collar and lifted him to his toes. In a deep guttural voice he vowed, “Ego mos iuguolo vos quod puella.” He released the terrified subordinate and checked back with Alison.
“What language are you speaking, if you don’t mind me asking?” she said, vocal chords signifying their damage.
They stared blankly at her.
“Was it one of you who wrote on Pietra’s mirror in Silverton, Texas?”
An expression stole over Red that spoke more truth than any response he might have vocalized. He was both surprised and impressed. He said nothing, but stepped to her and clasped her throat with one hand and bared his teeth in a sardonic half-grin. His breath was a toxic jambalaya of meat and sulfur. He pressed his face flush against hers, nose to nose. In a voice not entirely human he said, “Find the fucking girl.”
Chapter 58
An hour of daylight remained, at best. The sun had already disappeared beyond the crest of the mountain and the giant sequoias cast deep overlapping shadows. Alison’s lies were increasingly desperate and they sensed it. When the trail ended at another brook with no continuation to be found, it set them off. Four hours of traversing the Sierra’s with nothing to show for it but a lying bitch with fresh new lies from her lie rolodex.
Ali was expectant. She knew it was coming and it came with a vengeance. She wished they had gotten farther when it came to this, but they traveled at least three miles an hour, almost non-stop, for four or more hours, which put them at a distance of twelve miles from the Wawona campgrounds (give or take) and approximately eleven and a half miles from Holly and me.
Red’s eyes sharpened on Alison, his brow tightly knit, his upper lip twitching. He thrust his left hand to her throat and squeezed, and with less restraint than he had before. He closed her wind-pipe before she could squeak out an apology. Then harder, feeling her spine readjusting in successive pops. “You lied to me. I warned you. I should have killed you yesterday.” His face was glowing red, the perfect embodiment of rage in its most extreme state. “I could have found the bitch myself by now! Four fucking hours!”
He squeezed harder yet. Veins like fat worms surfaced on his temples.
Ali’s legs went rubbery. Her weight was solely in his white knuckled hand. The air in her lungs was dead, her brain starved of oxygen. She didn’t feel her bladder give out and wouldn’t have cared if she did. She was looking into the eyes of the man murdering her. He looked up through a gap in the pine boughs, at the transitioning twilight, and in his frustration bellowed wildly in his alien language. His chest grew large with each massive inhalation. He met eyes with Alison, seething fucking mad. Her cracked lips went numb, followed by her ears; the vision in her one good eye blurred, then faded to black as she turned blue.
He released her: she fell to the ground like a sack of meat. He drew a pocket knife from his jeans and pried the blood-stained blade out. She peeked her good eye open. The blade spoke loudly to her, inducing frenzied terror. At once she was thrust back into the nightmare of yesterday, being explored and circumnavigated by the imperialistic knife of Red. She pushed herself away from him in a flailing, back-stepping, backward-crawling, attempt to put any amount of distance between them.
She spoke in double-time: “I’m so sorry, please, I didn’t mean to. Please, I beg you, I lost my way, honestly, I’m so sorry, please. God, don’t use that on me again, please, I’m so sorry, don’t cut me, please. I’ll show you the way to Holly, I swear, please, God, If I’m wrong you can kill me. I’m so sorry, please don’t use that on me again, give me one last chance, you won’t regret it.”
Red closed what little distance she attained over him and pushed her flat on her back with his boot to her chest. Then pressed the boot to her neck, firmly enough to quell her resistance. “You have an hour to get us to her. If you fail… if she gives birth to her son—”
“I will. I’ll get us—”
“Don’t interrupt me. If you don’t get us there in an hour, I’m turning you over to him to do whatever he wishes with you.” He removed his boot from her neck and knelt beside her, feeding off her fear. He grazed the backside of his hand across her cheek and down her throat. “And you will be alive, very much alive, to feel all of his darkest fantasies come to life on your flesh.” Her dirt and blood-caked skin glistened with sweat. He slid a pair of fingers down her V-neck collar, into her cleavage until the shirt became taut and resisted him. “He will do things to you that your most fertile imagination could never create.” Her gaping eyes fixed on his hand. The rise and fall of her chest paused as her breath hitched. With an explosive jerk, he ripped down past her sternum, threads tearing in harmony with Ali’s gasp. He circled his fingers around the bra’s gore, against the silky skin that had not yet been altered by his knife, blank canvas not yet painted by the creative brush of his genius. The rapid heartbeat against his fingers excited him. He moved to her heart, pressed hard, digging his fingers between ribs and feeling her pulse more profoundly. She was frozen in terror.
Kenseth gravitated closer, undetected. He stood over her salivating, erection pressing against his jeans.
“He will explore every inch of your body,” Red pursued, “some more than others. And he’ll taste you, you little bitch, he’ll savor you. Devour you. Your death will come slowly and without dignity. You’ll be nothing more than an empty food wrapper to him.” He released his hand from her bare heart to cup the side of her face, scarred from forehead to jaw with a dirt and a blood-crusted gash. He stroked her cheek, used his thumb to smudge a fresh tear. “You will decompose on this goddam mountain, but he will still remember your scent, the unique and delicious flavor of your skin, membranes, blood. He will remember you for an eternity. And each and every time he recalls fucking and eating you alive, your soul will be summoned to relive the horror. Recalled to life to relive your death, this I vow to you.”
She was a stone pillar of fear. She didn’t move until he went to the brook to drink water. She returned the shirt collar above her chest and pressed both hands against it, shuddered
and wept. For the first time in her young life, she contemplated a means to kill herself.
Chapter 59
From six to seven o’clock was the longest hour of her life. As she led them farther from Holly and me, she perpetually searched for a cliff. Her biggest fear was not dying soon enough. She listened to their alien conversation and assumed the one destined to rape her (and worse) was asking how much time remained before he could claim his prize. Her internal clock estimated that she was out of time. She picked up her pace, peering through the deepening shadows for any sign of a way out. Even if she could find a drop as little as ten feet, she could plunge head first toward a rock at the bottom. It was worth a try.
A hand groped her butt. She cried out and rounded on Kenseth, who grinned ominously. Red’s agitated expression hadn’t changed in hours. She expected him to shoot her in a fit of rage at any moment, and desperately wished he would. She faced forward and sprinted a few steps ahead of his reach. He made kissing sounds and whistled at her. She had become Kenseth’s toy, and his superior finally allowed his advances to go unchecked.
She closed her eyes, displacing puddles of tears, and opened her heart. “My Lord God, my Savior,” she prayed, “I humbly beg for your mercy. I’m not strong enough to endure this. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better Christian. I know you forgive all who ask. Please Lord, from the bottom of my heart, forgive me for my many sins. Maybe I don’t deserve what I am asking you, but if you could find it in your grace to bring me to you before this man sends me to you, I will sing your praises for eternity. Wrap me in your protective hands and deliver me from evil. Amen.” She opened her eyes and looked behind her. They were still following her. Of course they were. God works in mysterious ways, she told herself.
“Times up,” Red decided. He spoke his native tongue to his servant.
She began sprinting as fast as her legs could. The reprobate laughed and engaged in a game of cat and mouse. Dead ahead she perceived something that gave her hope. And then she saw it: a drop-off.
Hallelujah, her way out.
She had no idea if it was a hundred feet, a thousand feet, or five feet, but she would make due with what God gave her. She continued her long strides. Perhaps they guessed what she was preparing to do, which was in essence ruining Kenseth’s good time, because in tandem they shouted a warning at her. She found it in her to run even faster.
She was no longer afraid of them. They had their chance to take her innocence, what little she may have retained, but now she was free to exit on her own terms.
“Please don’t let it hurt, God, I am not good with pain.” She arrived at the edge of the precipice.
“Stop! Don’t you dare,” shouted Kenseth.
She glanced down as she reached the point of no return. Before her was a jagged granite face with shrubs clinging to the many crevices that scarred the giant moon-lit rock. It was farther down than she had hoped for, thought not quite as steep (plenty enough to do the job).
She leaned forward, lacking the courage to dive head-first, and leapt off the cliff.
* * *
Red and Kenseth ceased running when she jumped. They walked to the edge and peered down to the bottom. She was almost completely engulfed in darkness, leaving only the silhouette of a body sprawled out in an unnatural position.
They looked at each other. Red nodded once. They exchanged a few Latin words and initiated Plan-B. Red raised his shotgun and shot Kenseth point-blank in the head. He then turned the gun on himself and squeezed the trigger.
From the two headless bodies came a black fog rising up and consolidating into single- and double-horned shadow entities.
The wind soughed in their wake as they covered vast amounts of terrain alarmingly fast in search of Holly before the deadline.
* * *
God works in mysterious ways, cycled through Ali’s mind as she fell, tumbled, fell, tumbled and fell some more. A bone snapping melody played with each impacting tumble, but she felt nothing. At the bottom she anticipated seeing a white light or perhaps an angel. She drifted toward eternal sleep without feeling, paralyzed wholly, and was thankful for it. What little vision remained in one eye faded to black. A warmth then soothed her, pervaded her, and she believed it to be death taking her away. Her heart beat slower and slower.
She didn’t hear the rustling of pine-needles as pawed steps made their way to her in a great hurry.
Chapter 60
Footsteps squelching the forest’s carpet of pine-needles caught our attention. They’ve found us. I handed the revolver to Holly and picked up the shotgun. The soft crunching made its way to the front of the tent and stopped. I took aim, held my breath, and waited.
Ffft Ffft
Holly and I looked at each other. We were thinking the same thing, said the gleam of hope in her eye. “Nawien?” I whispered.
A whine.
I unzipped the tent. The wolf came inside. It didn’t possess a white underbelly and was male. I recognized his missing ear-tip.
“It’s Loofis,” I said. “He is Nawie’s mate.” I had no idea how I knew this, I just did. It seemed probable that it was learned information in the RV that fateful night.
Loofis chuffed. He pawed at me and left the tent, looked back and whimpered.
“We have to leave?” I asked.
“Oh my God… Kevin…” She moaned and grimaced. “It’s time.”
* * *
Ranger Sally O’Mally led Ranger Sandy Bell out of the Hotel and through the amassing concert hopefuls. She checked her watch: five minutes before ten. Even the time tickled her stomach. What the hell was going on here?
Her hand-held radio squawked. She gave dispatch the go-ahead.
“Sally, you’ll never believe the call I just got.”
Dispatch went on to tell Sally that the County Sheriff’s office informed her of incoming deputies and paramedics to Wawona to assist the in-labor sister of Kloss VonFuren, hiding out just past the Wawona campgrounds. Not only was Sally not surprised, she somehow expected it, though that made no sense. But she did expect it.
“What else, Patricia.”
“That’s not enough excitement for ya?”
“There’s more. What else?”
“Yeah, there is, actually. The caller claims that someone is in pursuit of them, trying to kill them. You’ve been advised to remain alert.”
“Is there a description of the pursuer?”
“No description.”
She thanked Patricia and holstered the radio. They decided to go to the campgrounds and search for the pregnant girl. At her truck she looked back at the Hotel and grasped just how many people were gathering at what appeared to be a rendezvous point. She shuddered.
“What is it?” Sandy asked.
She remained transfixed on the crowd and mumbled, “I don’t know.”
Two men quickly separated themselves from the crowd and strode peculiarly fast. Sally recognized them as two of the familiar faces from the lobby. They crossed the parking lot to an unlocked Ford Explorer and got inside. The engine roared. Tires chirped. Their direction: the campgrounds.
“They’re in a hurry,” Sandy said thoughtfully. “Wawona campgrounds, looks like.”
“Let’s follow them,” Sally decided.
Sandy got in his truck.
“Wait… Sandy, one second. Maybe you should stay.”
“What? Why?”
“One of us should stay here.”
“I’ll go to the campgrounds if you want to stay here.”
“How about the other way around,” she said, as she got inside her truck.
“Uh, sure. What am I supposed to do here?”
“I don’t know yet. Maybe nothing. Keep an eye on these people. Besides, when they find out the concert is a hoax they might get agitated and start causing trouble for poor Boaz.”
“All right. Radio me if you need me.”
“I will,” she promised. “Your gun, it’s loaded, right?”
Sandy chortled. “Wh
at do you take me for, Barney Fife? I think you’re making much ado about nothing.”
She drove the quarter mile to the entrance of the campground and then continued down the paved loop searching for the Explorer.
Chapter 61
Claude Bergman—formerly Thomas ‘Red’ Hunter, formerly Johnny Glazier, formerly Bertha Potter, formerly Garret ‘Garrecus’ Lipton, et cetera, et cetera—parked as close to the brook as he could. He and Kenseth-reincarnate met at the rear of the Ford and opened the tailgate. They shoved a handgun in their waistbands and selected a shotgun, ran to where they had finally stumbled upon as specters (our hiding spot) after almost three hours of searching. Red was so enraged to learn that the hiding spot was just past the campgrounds that he was tempted to return to Alison and take his frustration out on her corpse. But there wasn’t time. Holly was dangerously close to giving birth. They hurried down the embankment of the ravine and trudged across the low brook.
It was going to be an easy victory. It was two against two, and with an incapacitated pregnant woman, a single shotgun, and the element of surprise working against them, it was almost enough to put smiles on their borrowed faces. They slowed down and stealthily made their way to the tent. Having to rely on the eyesight of their human hosts was a handicap, but having a pair of lanterns glowing inside the transparent nylon tent created a laughable target. Twenty feet from the dome tent, they took aim. He whispered, “Promptus… tentatio…”
Gunfire murdered the silence (if nothing else) and blast after blast the tent was shredded to tatters. The propane tanks under the lanterns exploded in an ephemeral fireballs.
They swapped out their empty magazines and approached the mess.
