Shadow of a Killer

by David Anderson

  The next morning I ate and drank with a new purpose and set off eager to find out what lay at the end of the westward leading valley. The optimism in my head seemed to permeate on down through my body and I found that my strength had returned after the long night’s rest. I started out full of enthusiasm that only increased when the snow under my feet grew firmer and less deep. The battered snowshoes became more of a hindrance than a help, and I took them off and threw them away.

  For the next several hours the only sound I heard was the steady crunch of my footsteps on crisp snow. Then, slowly, I began to hear a low hiss that became a sort of gurgling as I got closer to it. Finally, as I approached the end of the valley and took the turn down into the left arm of the Y, the gurgling grew to a raucous churning. From somewhere deep inside I found extra energy to increase my pace. As I rounded a bend, I saw it.

  After an eternity of nothing but snow, the vista ahead looked like paradise. The icy floor stopped and from under it poured a torrent of gray-blue water flecked with foamy bubbles. It flowed at tremendous speed into a deep, rocky gorge. Here there were more wonderful colours – patches of green grass, brown rushes, and bright yellow and purple flowers.

  I stood perfectly still, transfixed by the miracle in front of me. Tears flowed down my cheeks. A bird drank from a rock pool and flew away. I saw something that might have been a lizard scurry across a boulder.

  I rested for about an hour in the sun, drinking and chewing the new, softer grass. Birds, seemingly fearless of my presence, perched close by. I was confident now that I was saved but I still had to press on and find human help, reach somewhere with proper food, warm shelter, a bath, and rest.

  Massive boulders bestrewed both sides of the gorge. The going looked a little easier on the left of the river, though I still had to climb over rocks the size of armchairs. I took my homemade sunglasses off to see the crevices at my feet properly and the searing sunlight dazzled my eyes.

  Several hours later, just as I was starting to think about evening and rest coming up soon, I reached a barrier and had to stop. A massive wall of rock rose hundreds of feet high in front of me, extending well out into the river where it dropped away precipitously like a cliff face.

  I walked up and down the wall’s entire length, from the shore to the sheer side of the gorge, twice. There was absolutely no way around it.

  Chapter 43

  I sat down on a boulder and tried not to panic. Firstly, I admitted to myself that I’d made a bad decision. This side of the river had grown progressively worse. By contrast, the ground on the other side of the river now had smaller rocks, was flatter and more even. I could camp here for the night and retrace my steps all the way back to the gorge entrance the next day, then take the right side rather than the left. Otherwise, my choices were to try to scale the rock face in front of me, or swim across the river to the other side.

  There was no way that I was going back. The very thought of it totally demoralised me. If I tried to scale the rock face and fell, I would hit unforgiving boulders and probably break my back. In my present physical condition, I was almost certain that I would fall. I was no great swimmer but at this stage of my journey it seemed the only option.

  The water was about thirty to thirty-five feet wide, ice cold, and I had no way of judging how deep. Worst of all, it was flowing with such force that large rocks were tumbling down its foam flecked torrents. On the plus side, there was a boulder in the middle that looked big enough to stand on, if only I could get to it.

  I stripped off most of my clothes and spent some time tying them all together in a bundle, which I then tied to my waist. With rocks under my feet it was impossible to get much of a run up. I did the best I could and leapt from the shore about ten yards upstream from the boulder, hitting the water about halfway there. The water struck me like an electric shock, my arms and legs moved automatically, and I got up onto the smooth, flat boulder within about thirty seconds. From there I jumped again, swam some more, and made it safely downstream on the other side.

  Everything I had was completely soaked. I squeezed out as much water as I could and kept going until I reached an overhanging rock at about head height where I could camp for the night. The low sun was still shining and warm, so I laid out my clothes to dry and ate some meat, washed down with fresh water. A large stone-faced lizard swivelled its eyes at me from a nearby boulder.

  When the sun set my clothes were still very damp but the night was the warmest I’d had so far. I laid my head on my bag and slept soundly.

  The morning sun woke me and I felt something crawling on my face. Whatever it was flew away before I could swat it. The incident made me almost ecstatically happy, it was so wondrously normal. There was life here; birds, lizards, insects, grass, and water. It was a place where humans could live; where humans surely did live.

  By midday I neared the mouth of the gorge, after which I hoped to have a clearer view ahead. The light grew even brighter as I emerged into an open vista. To my disappointment I was still in the mountains, though only at their very edge. The gorge opened out into a broad valley where the sun shone on green trees and bushes growing on shallow slopes. In the distance I could see tiny specs moving. I watched them for a long time and decided it was cows grazing. Near them, above a copse of trees, arose a slight movement of air. The hazy smoke of a fire? I squinted and stared but couldn’t be sure.

  It was just what I needed to keep going. My body had aches and pains all over it, with bruising on my face and hands and big, puss filled blisters on my feet. And, while the horizon looked lush and verdant, the terrain immediately ahead was not much easier than it had ever been; I still had to leap from one wobbling boulder to another, or wade ankle deep in water at the riverside.

  An hour later I came across another great encouragement; at my feet lay a rusty, battered tin can. My first real sign of civilisation. As I continued down the valley I saw a hare leap over the rocks on the other side of the river. Then I almost stepped in a small oval patch of something brown, wizened and strawy. I picked it up and smelled it. The musty but distinctive odor of dried out cow dung filled my nostrils. Wonderful, wonderful cow dung.

  I washed my hands in the river and unpacked the remainder of the meat. I still had enough for a few more days, though I hoped I wouldn’t need it much longer. For the first time I noticed that it was beginning to smell. The warmer temperatures I was now enjoying were making it go bad. The realization disturbed me for more than one reason, and I repacked the meat without eating any.

  Later I found a rusty horseshoe. There was no way of telling how long it had lain there but it filled my imagination with gauchos riding alongside their herds. And where there were people, habitation could not be too far away.

  More evidence came quickly. I rounded an outcrop of rock that jutted out into the valley and came upon a small herd of cattle. Some had long, curved horns and I walked cautiously around them as they eyed me with equal suspicion. I noticed tree stumps that had obviously been axed by human hand, the wood probably used for camp fires. Further down the valley I found a crudely made shelter made of branches and brushwood. I guessed it was for the cattle but it would do me just as well for the night.

  I threw my heavy bag down and again unpacked the meat. As soon as I unwrapped it the stink hit me. I was ravenously hungry but even if the meat had still been fresh I would not have eaten it. In this new, normal environment, that had become impossible. While it was in my backpack I had forgotten about it but here, holding it up in front of me, it was once again what it truly had been all along. I took out my knife and buried the meat in the ground, marking the spot with a heavy stone.

  The thought of human flesh passing my lips ever again filled me with revulsion. I was immensely relieved at that fact. Tomorrow I would need to find a cowherd or a farmer who could give me real food, the guilt free kind.

  When I awoke the next morning, the cows had disappeared. The air was warm and I went through my bag, discarding some raggedy
clothes I no longer needed as well as the heavy rubber mat. With my now lighter load, I set off down the valley, hoping to find a farmhouse or at least a camp of cattlemen around every outcrop. However for the next several hours, the landscape continued much as it had been, with no signs of human settlement. Indeed, despite careful looking, I couldn’t even find another tin can or horseshoe.

  As the day wore on, I became increasingly concerned about my physical condition. Without food, my decline into total exhaustion was coming on rapidly. My whole body ached and the blisters on my feet made each new step an agony. When I stopped to rest, it took an increasing effort of will to start putting one foot in front of another again.

  By mid afternoon I reached another large outcrop of rock. To get around it I veered to the right, where the ground fell away steeply down to the river. There I discovered what looked like some sort of track or path that led along the side of the river. It could have been just a cattle run. Even so, it might lead to another herd, another shed, and that would be better than nothing.

  Or it could lead to ranchers. A farm, food, a soft bed.

  The track was the easiest walking surface I’d found so far and its discovery gave me a short burst of energy. It didn’t last long. Weary, wretched and lame, I stumbled on, fighting negative thoughts that kept coming into my head.

  I can’t go on.

  You must go on.

  I’m too tired. I can’t walk anymore.

  Don’t be stupid. You’ve come this far, how can you give up now?

  My shuffling foot tripped over a rock and I came crashing to the ground. Felt a sharp new pain in my forehead. Then all was numb, unconscious darkness.

  Chapter 44

  How long I was out for I don’t know. When I opened my eyes again, the sun was still high in the sky. Lacking energy to get up, I rolled over onto my side and felt my head. My hand came away sticky. Good. It meant I could only have been unconscious for a little while. This new injury to my forehead was just one more thing to add to an already long list of cuts, bruises and ailments.

  I drank some water and got up. Down the valley, the river curved in a sharp bend and the track sloped upwards to higher ground, a raised plateau. I swung my bag onto my back and started a slow walking rhythm, determined to get to the plateau before dark. It was early evening before I reached the escarpment sides. The track wound upwards, providing a steep path. I promised myself I would rest at the flat top.

  It took the last dregs of my energy but I staggered up there. In the setting sun I made out crude stone walls and a wooden gate. Some sort of corral? In the middle was a tall post driven into the ground, which I guessed might be a place to tie horses. The ground was rough and uneven and when I gave it a closer look it was churned up in circular cuts. Horses’ shod hooves. I staggered over to a small copse of trees and collapsed under them.

  Utterly exhausted, I sat with my back propped against a tree, sipped water and admired the view. The place seemed absolutely beautiful to me. There was real grass all around, trees over my head, and purple wild flowers I wished I could name. Directly in front of me was the river, its millions of gallons of fresh water tumbling around the sharp bend, several hundred yards away. None of these things I took for granted anymore and never would again.

  My belly gnawed away at its own walls but I ignored it. I thought about the cows I’d seen. Too big to kill – even if I could somehow summon the energy to try – but maybe I could milk one? Then I realised they weren’t the milking kind. My mind was wandering now in crazy, absurd directions. I wasn’t able to focus my thoughts or reason anymore; raw instinct was all I had left.

  The orange sun low on the horizon made long black shadows in the trees and boulders on the other side of the river. The shadows seemed to move and change shape and I rubbed my eyes to clear my blurry vision. It helped a little, but to my dismay all I saw now were tall rocks and lengthening shadows. There was no-one there. I shook my head from side to side, took another drink, and rubbed my eyes one more time.

  When I looked again, the movement was still there and sharper now, in focus. With edges and definition; a single mobile shape.

  Like a man advancing on a horse.

  I struggled to rise to my feet, stumbled and fell over, face down. My legs felt like jelly, my feet were endpoints of pain I could not put pressure on. I tried again, this time using both hands to push me up off the ground. As I rose, I felt enormous pressure behind my eyes, my head swam and my vision became even blurrier than usual. I waved my arms blindly and almost fell over again. Ignoring the noise of the river, I shouted “Help, help” over and over again at the very top of my voice. To keep myself from passing out, I forced my flaccid, powerless feet to shuffle forward.

  Other side of the river. Other side of the river. Other side of the river.

  The mantra ran through my numbed brain. I fell again and tumbled down the escarpment, rolling head over heels, and landed on my knees at the bottom. From there, I crawled towards the sound of the river, cutting my hands on sharp stones. How far away was the riverbank? I guessed a couple of hundred yards.

  Keep going, keep going.

  Out of breath, I paused to look up. My mouth opened and closed as I tried to shout for rescue. No sound would come out. Silver gray movement flashed brightly on my left. I was going in the wrong direction. Don’t stop now. I turned towards the rushing water and kept crawling; entering it upriver of where I’d first spotted movement.

  All at once I was waist deep in water. My arms, then legs, spread out and I was swimming. Could I make it across? The river was even wider now, was I crazy to try? My mind could no longer cope with such problems. I was on autopilot, no longer thinking, just doing. The frothing water swept over my body, drowning me. Desperately, I raised my head to grab a breath and look for the rider.

  I was being carried along fast. The water became shallow again and my feet touched bottom. What’s happening, am I back on my side? No, the current rushing around the bend must have somehow swept me across. I stumbled forward, hands clawing water from my near blind eyes. Suddenly there was a mass of brown and white moving forms all around me, closing in. They pushed me back as if I was a featherweight, forcing me down into the water.

  Strange sounds, like low mournful car horns filled my ears and long white spears swayed directly in front of my eyes. Wedged between living, steaming walls, my head went underwater again. This time there was no way back up.

  Chapter 45

  A massive avalanche was rolling down the mountainside straight for me. I turned and ran but it was far too late. Tons of snow crashed onto on my head, crushing me, squeezing me like a vise until I couldn’t breathe . . .

  I awoke lying on my back, knowing that I’d been asleep for several hours. My arms felt restricted, as if I was tied up. A dim light illuminated my surroundings and my vision was sharp again, able to make things out. Gradually, awareness of my situation came to me, followed by sheer wonder. I was indoors, resting in a bed. Not a straw bed but a real one, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. There were three other beds in the large room, all of them empty. Narrow, shaded windows ran along the wall on my right.

  A round, heavily wrinkled face framed by curly wisps of white hair appeared above me. I stirred, tried to move my arms but couldn’t.

  “Good morning,” the old man said, “Here, let me loosen your blankets. Sometimes Nurse Constanza tucks them too tight.” He reached down and I felt the pressure suddenly ease.

  My nose twitched. The room was filled with warm air scented with flowers. I wasn’t used to either.

  “Let me move these further away,” the man said.

  He went to a small table beside me and picked up a vase of red and yellow flowers, putting them somewhere further away. I couldn’t move my head far enough in that direction to see where.

  How had he known what I was thinking? Maybe he’d read it on my face. He appeared back in front of me.

  “I still smell something scented,” I said, s
niffing around myself, “Very strong.”

  “Probably soap and shampoo. You had to be scrubbed clean before they could patch you up.”

  I nodded. “I’m not trapped there anymore,” I said.

  “The mountains? No, you’re safe now.”

  “What happened?”

  “You really don’t remember?”

  “I was in the river, on the other side. Then there was all this movement around me, big brown walls pushing me back under. That’s all I remember.”

  A smile expanded the man’s broad, friendly face still further. “Yes, I’m told you have some memory loss. I talked to most of the people who helped you so that I could fill you in later on. And for my own interest, I admit.”

  “You’ve had time to do that?” I looked around the room. “Where am I? How long have I been here?”

  “This is Santiago,” he said slowly, “You were taken to San Fernando Hospital first. That’s in central Chile, south of here. You were stabilised there, then flown up here where the facilities are a lot better. Here you have this room all to yourself, by government request, no less. You’ve been here five days, drifting in and out of consciousness.”

  All I really held onto were the two words; “five days.” It seemed unbelievable.

  “By the way, my name’s Father Sergio and I’m senior hospital chaplain here at St. John the Baptist Hospital. I studied in Boston for over a decade, but I was a young man then, so I apologise if my English is rusty.”

  “Tell me what happened,” I said.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, tilting the mattress. “Okay.” He took a little notebook out of his cassock or whatever it’s called, and a pair of half-moon glasses. “I wrote down the details,” he said almost apologetically, “I knew it would be important later on.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Not at all. Here’s what happened. The place where you were found is called Los Maitenes on the River Azufre in the province of Colchagua. I’ve only been up that way a couple of times, it’s really remote. Three herders found you when they brought their cattle to the river for their evening watering before setting camp. They fished you out of the water just before the cattle stomped all over you. Make sense so far?”