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Coward, I sneered. You lie here feeling sorry for yourself?
Who knew you'd be so weak in the end.
I dragged the canteen over and pried the lid off with my teeth. There was little more than a dribble of delicious warm water that barely wet my lips. It wasn't enough. I'd need more, and soon. I realized with despair and disgust that I had lost control of my bladder at some point. My jeans were dank with piss. Was that what had driven the snake away? I would have laughed if the effort hadn't hurt too much. Talk about telling someone to piss off.
Something crashed in the bushes beyond my meager shelter. Jason came back? God, I hoped not. I wanted him gone from here and not putting himself at risk by coming back, thinking he could save me. Then the crashing stopped and a male voice hissed, in Spanish and broken English.
" Callate. Tiene que estar aqui en algun lugar.Yo vi sangre. Le di y no pudo aver ido muy lejos."
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"If he's around here, then where the fuck is he?" a second voice snarled. "What the hell you thinking, taking potshots at them before we got close enough to surprise 'em?"
" Chinga tu madre, pendejo."
" De seguro vienen a los mendigos policias con la estupides que hicistes. Agaramos dos esta vez, que no, una para cada uno. Vamonos, no cres que es dulce."
I felt sick. They had taken the two women we had met earlier, just as I'd expected. The ones traveling with the dead guy. His next words made me cold.
" Entoces para que tubimos que decasernos tan rapido? No habia terminado."
So the girls were dead, too. I didn't want to think what their last moments had been like. Bad.
"We gotta get out of here. No telling who heard those shots, you goin' all psycho on me. Let's harvest this shit and clear out."
" Es muy temprano, Sabes Dominguez tenemos que esperarnos otro mes," the second male voice said. I had no idea who Dominguez was. Probably their cartel handler. I knew they'd be moving soon, now that heat was coming down on them. They knew they'd lose the crop if they waited. His next words confirmed that.
" Que es lo que van a decir si encuentran esta mierda?"
"We take it now, before they find us, that's what," the Anglo growled. "Should have shot that damned dog when you had the chance. Damn thing almost took my foot off 'til I scared it away. You see that fucker run? What a pussy."
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The Latino guy muttered something about not waiting next time. Like there was going to be a next time.
"Bitches are a lot easier to handle then, that's for sure."
The Anglo one laughed. "That slut pissed her pants when I nailed her old man."
I wanted to believe they were just more hallucinations, voices from a fevered mind. Then I heard the sound of a magazine being ejected and slammed back into a gun and it sent ice through me. They had automatic weapons. I was unarmed and they were almost close enough to breathe on me.
God help me, I hoped it was all in my head.
Try as I might, I couldn't keep my eyes open. And I couldn't stop shaking. Hard shaking. Bone crushing shaking.
My jaw was in agony from trying to keep my teeth from chattering and giving me away. My tongue felt mangled from being worried by my uncontrolled teeth.
The voices faded, then came back stronger and louder.
Only this time there were at least a dozen. Christ, how many of them were there? I'd met homicidal pairs, but never committees. My confusion grew. Cotton under my cheeks, the unmistakable scent of the laundry soap Jason used on our bedding. I was back home. How had that happened? Had I lost consciousness and been rescued? By who? Jason?
But where was he? I looked around as best I could but I was still paralyzed. Only my head could move, and what was visible threw me into deeper confusion. It smelled like home, but it wasn't our bedding. Neither Jason or I would ever use flowery pink sheets. The last time I had seen sheets like 193
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that—I realized I wasn't at home. At least, not my current home. I was back in the house I had shared briefly with my wife, Barbara, nearly five years ago. The house she had thrown me out of when I had come out to her, and asked for a divorce. There had been nothing amicable about that divorce, either. She never forgave me for lying to her so completely from day one. Only the fact we had no kids, and she had a better paying job at her law firm than I could ever hope to achieve, saved me from losing everything. As it was, she took the house, sold it then moved to New York where I heard she married another corporate lawyer and now had her two point five kids and the champagne lifestyle she had always wanted.
None of which explained why I was back in our marital bed unable to wiggle so much as a toe. She was in the other room. I knew it. But, and this made no sense at all, Jason was there, too. Just out of sight, barely audible, but I would know his voice anywhere. So was my partner, Miguel Dominguez, which made even less sense. The two of us never socialized, even over lunch. Their murmuring voices were added to the cacophony of other voices shouting and laughing. The party was back in full force.
Then somebody I recognized appeared. Nancy, my old partner and new boss. She bustled through the door—door
?— and walked by me. In total confusion I called out to her.
She ignored me and vanished through another door that was ablaze with flashing lights and growing disco music. The music grew loud enough to almost drown out the voices. I 194
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swore I heard Jason among them, laughing and talking away a mile a minute, something he rarely did with anyone but me.
Nancy was back. I shouted at her and she turned toward me, sneering. "Don't you know it's rude to expect people to always do what you tell them to? Who do you think you are?
Jason's out there, you know. Having fun. I bet you hate that, don't you? He's not supposed to have fun without you."
"That's not true," I protested but she ignored me. She vanished again before I could tell her she had it all wrong, about everything. Then she was back. "You always were a hard ass, weren't you, Lieutenant?"
She giggled, a light tinkling sound that was like nothing I had ever heard from her and frankly, couldn't imagine her doing. Somehow it unnerved me more than anything else that was happening to me.
I must be hallucinating, or dreaming, or something. Maybe dying. Was that it? I was lying in the dirt on top of a mountain dying because I forgot to duck in time? How stupid was that? And here I was. The man who always controlled everything couldn't even stop the fucking voices in his head.
Couldn't stop himself from pissing his pants. Who lay here shaking like a newborn kitten. Who had lost control of everything.
She wouldn't give up. Nancy came back. This time in full uniform, her Lieutenant's bars and shiny new badge all spit and polished. She leaned over me, head cocked as though listening to something only she could hear. Finally she met my eyes.
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"You're dying, you know? How does it feel? Like shit? You think you're getting a shitty deal? Imagine what it's going to be like for Jason. You leaving him again. Not a good track record, there, Spidey-man."
"Fuck, don't call me that."
"Spidey senses all wonked out on you? That's cause you're dying, Detective. Hate to be the bearer of bad news," she lied, sounding gleeful. "But you've bought the farm. Dead man walking—or crawling in your case, I guess. Going to meet your maker, and won't you be a sorry sight at the pearly gates—"
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut—"
The barking brought me crashing back into reality. The music and voices faded, along with my old domestic domicile, to be replaced by the savage barking of a dog then the crash of something fleeing through the bushes outside my shelter.
"What the—"
&nbs
p; Several shots went off in rapid succession, pinging off trees and stones, followed by more shots and some choice, guttural curses. Then silence. Fire filled me, my gut burned. I flashed between furnace hot and arctic cold. I was shivering so hard I was actually moving with the vibrations across the ground. My mouth was beyond dry. My eyes would barely open, they were so gummed up. Even when I forced them apart, my eyeballs vibrated and nothing would come into focus.
It was true. I was dying. But suddenly, I was damned if I was going to die in here like a sick animal crawling under the porch to pass in shame. I reached out and grabbed a handful 196
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of loam, digging my fingers below the carpet of needles and twigs and getting a grip. I pulled myself onto my stomach.
The pain in my gut flared into white, hot agony that didn't subside as I dragged myself toward the tunnel of faint light I was sure marked the opening of my living tomb. There must be a moon, since I was sure the sun had gone down long ago.
The pain pulsed behind my eyes and through my clenched jaw, but I persisted. Sweat poured off me, my hands grew slick with wet loam that I belatedly realized was a mix of blood and sweat. I had torn my fingernails off leaving bloody trails behind as I dragged and pulled myself out from under the pine boughs.
I could barely hold my head up, in fact it kept rolling forward, digging my chin or my nose in the rich, fecund needle covered loam that smelled of decay and mold. I was chewing on dirt and pine needles, vainly trying to spit them out of a mouth that was bone dry.
Nausea gripped me and I vomited, though nothing but a sour bile came up. The stomach spasm sent raw bolts of pain so pure it transcended my fear. I screamed, but it emerged as a pathetic croak. Still, too loud. Something was out there, listening.
"What was that?" They were back. The two killers. Mutt and Jeff.
"Sounded like a bear to me. Let's get out of here—"
"Weren't no bear. You think you're in some kinda Disney movie?"
"Fuck it was."
"It was a dog, chocho. "
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"Dog don't sound like that."
"Maybe you hit it. You ever think of that, pendejo? You shot at the damn fool thing often enough."
"Hope so, that was a mean looking chingada."
The voices faded as the two of them moved off, or maybe it was just another psychotic delusion. I didn't stop to think.
Thinking was wasted now. All I could do was act. I dug in and pulled myself along. I tried to use my feet to push, but any movement below my chest brought breath-stopping torture and sent me tumbling toward a blackness I knew would be permanent if I let myself slip into it. As comfortable and pain free as it might be, I wouldn't give in like that. Not yet.
Maybe my control of everything else, including my mind, was gone, but I could still control this.
There was no dramatic moment when I broke free of my prison. The ground under me was still loamy and covered with tree debris. I tried to avoid the myriad of sticks and things that dug into my hands and face, nearly poking out my eyes more than once. I was covered in scratches and the bug repellent Jason had lathered on me generously was fading.
The bugs apparently found me delicious. Flies persistently buzzed around my face and the bloody wound at my side.
Whenever I stopped moving they would swarm the torn flesh and fight over the feast. Their buzzing grew in intensity. It was all I could do not to scream. The inflamed flesh was so tender even the minuscule weight of their bodies, the tickle of their feet was agony. But any movement on my part to shoo them off brought equal pain. And the pain was spreading, everything from my neck down was afire. Each time a fresh 198
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spasm passed through me I shuddered, and dug my bleeding fingers into the ground, squeezing my eyes shut to try to ride it out. Each episode left me weaker and weaker.
I tried not to think about what the flies were doing. I'd come across my share of decomposing bodies, riddled with maggots. Laid by the sort of flies that were now lighting on my wound. Is that what they were doing? Turning me into a fly feast?
Then something worse. Squeaking. Mice? Rats? Squirrels don't eat flesh. What else did up here? I never paid any attention to Jason talking about the wilderness animals he loved. I had no idea what was sniffing around me looking for a free lunch.
I pushed on, fleeing from my pain, from the terrible future that awaited me.
Knowing that soon I wasn't going to be able to move at all.
* * * *
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Jason
As long as I was in the open I could keep moving fairly quickly. But once the forest canopy closed over my head, I was forced to slow to little more than a crawl. At least that's what it seemed like to me. I reluctantly pulled the miniature flashlight I had pocketed, knowing it would give me away instantly if I was spotted by the killer. I did my best to keep the beam shielded, focusing it on the ground at my feet. Even so, I tripped often and banged into more than one fallen branch, leaving my shins black and blue.
The dog had vanished a long time ago.
I should have slowed down. I was going to hurt myself, or worse. But the knowledge that Alex was up there, at the mercy of the elements and that monster, spurred me past all caution. It would have been nice to wait for the authorities, but they were going to take too long. I didn't even know if they would venture in this far in the dark, or would they set up a perimeter and insist on waiting for dawn?
I wasn't sure Alex had until another dawn, not if he was being hunted.
The nighttime forest was alive with its own sounds.
Creatures sang, the wind shivered through the branches overhead, and once a female Great Horned owl called out.
Soft rustles fled from me and once something larger crashed through the heavy brush away from me. When I raised the flashlight to get a look at the terrain ahead of me, I would catch glimpses of brilliant eyes watching me. But nothing 200
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showed itself, for which I was grateful. The last thing I wanted was a run in with something big enough to cause bodily harm. I kept hearing things move in the darkness. Just out of sight.
Maybe it was the dog coming back. Maybe it was something worse.
The air had grown cool, which was another good thing. It kept my body from overheating and with any luck would keep the local reptiles quiescent.
I came across the bear sign soon after. I found it by literally stepping in it. Something squished under my Merrels and I stepped back, shining my flashlight down around my feet. The scat was fresh, black and runny. Not a good sign.
Fresh meant the bear was still in the area, black and soft meant this particular bear was feasting on flesh someplace.
Probably carrion. Breaking a thin twig off, I prodded the nearest mound. It broke apart, releasing a pungent odor that further confirmed what it was.
I scanned the ground around the scat and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. A second, smaller mass of scattered excrement. This bear was female, and she had at least one cub. Shining the light around revealed the trail leading north, uphill. I stepped into it and had to crouch to fit inside. Wide enough for two men to walk side by side, but not stand up. A bear trail.
I backed out fast, hyper alert now. My skin was literally crawling as my nerves jumped in anticipation. Fight or flight.
That's what survival always came down to. Over the whisper of the wind exhaling through the tree branches above me, the 201
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passing of tiny rodent feet seeking shelter and food as they scurried through the underbrush, I strained to hear anything that would suggest I wasn't alone. No further sign of the b
ear sow or her cub. Small reassurance. I knew they were near.
That scat they had left couldn't have been more than a couple of hours old. No telling how old the meat was they were eating. The light was too low to see any detail of the clumps of hair I had seen buried in the shit. But there had been fur, so that was a relief. I'm not sure I could have handled the suspicion that the bears had found a human body.
I checked my wristwatch. Ten-forty-three. Dawn was hours away. I had to find shelter, preferably off the ground.
Good luck with that. I was physically fit but climbing trees was not among my skill sets.
I slipped through the shadowy trunks, using the ambient moon and starlight, and occasionally my flashlight to search out one that had branches low enough to give me something to grip. After nearly half an hour I found one I thought I could manage. I stood underneath it, contemplated what I was about to do next. Pulling a handful of granola out of the bag in my pocket, I chewed, stalling. For what? Someone to deliver a miracle to me? God to show me a way to save Alex?
Get real, Zachary. No one's going to save you or your man except you. So stop wasting time.
With a deep sigh I took one last look around, checking for the bear. Even if I couldn't see or hear one, I knew she was out there, probably on the prowl for food for her and her cub.
Rule number one in bear country: you don't want to mess with a mother bear and her cub. Ever. All mother animals will 202
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defend their young, bears have a particularly savage way of doing so. Rule number two in bear country: you don't want to mess with a bear and her dinner. Bears spend most of their awake time browsing for sugar-rich berries, tubers and other fat inducing foods. All designed with one thing in mind—build up bear body fat for the long hibernation in the upcoming winter. Cartoon movie makers got more than one person mauled or dead because they wanted photos of the cute bear taking their treats—and the bear tried to take a lot more.
