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There was no movement and no further sound. There were the relentless flies that ignored me as I crab-crawled up alongside the too still body. I scrambled around him, furiously chasing the insects off.
He was lying on his side, his back to me as I reached up to touch his shoulder. "Alex please, talk to me." I stroked his neck, red and rough from sunburn. No response. "I need you, Alex. Don't leave me." I crawled around him, needing to see his face. His eyes were closed, his face so pale his freckles stood out in sharp relief. He had lost his glasses. How could he see anything? How could he see me? Maybe he didn't know I was here—frantically I looked around for his glasses.
He needed them, didn't he? He—
I realized I was acting crazy. Alex didn't need his fucking glasses. He needed to get to a hospital. Was I fucking nuts? I scrambled back to Alex. I knelt beside him and gently eased him over onto his back. Taking him in my arms, I begged him to stay with me. He looked so white. Dead. I was so sure he 240
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was dead. My tears left streaks of clean flesh on his pale face.
Only when his eyes fluttered open and I saw his chest move did I know he was alive. His eyelids fluttered again and a soft groan cheered me as I'd never thought the sound would. He was in pain. But he was alive.
Then I saw his side and nearly passed out. His shirt was in shreds, torn by God knows what. The wound I had tended so carefully only a few days ago was a writhing mass of white, squirming maggots. I bit my tongue to try and stop myself from gagging, but it had been so long since I'd eaten anything that nothing came up except bitter bile.
"Oh, God, Alex. Oh baby...I should never have left you. I won't ever again. I'll never let you make me do that again."
I wanted to sweep the loathsome things off him, but I was terrified I'd hurt him more. There were shouts in the direction of where the sirens had come from. No more gunfire, only staccato orders shouting out commands. The cops? Had to be. The drug dealers wouldn't be making that kind of noise with the cops nearby, and the cops wouldn't be announcing their presence if the dealers hadn't been caught. I straightened and started screaming.
"We're here. Help! Over here." Then I thought of the one thing that would bring them fast. "Officer down. For God's sake, there's a cop here and he's been shot! Help!"
A heartbeat filled with silence then the voices drew nearer.
Bushes crashed and more voices shouting orders. Then I heard the welcome crackle of radio calls. They were putting out the call for help.
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When the first uniformed officer, a thin Anglo forest service guy, broke through I wanted to cry, but I couldn't give in to weakness now. Alex needed help. Fear would just have to wait.
"He's been shot. He needs a doctor, now!"
"Easy, mister, help's coming. Who are you? Who is he?"
"Detective Alexander Spider, Santa Barbara PD. He's been shot. Days ago."
The cop that followed him had his hand on the butt of his gun when he came into view. "Step away from him. Keep your hands in plain sight."
I wanted to scream at him that I wasn't armed but I knew that would only raise his hackles and turn this whole thing into a macho farce. I scrambled back then stood slowly, hands out at my side, making it obvious I had no weapons.
Not satisfied, he approached me, one hand on his gun, the other thumbing open his radio.
"One man down, unknown injuries. We have a male Caucasian in our custody." Without a word to me he whisked my arms behind my back and cuffed me. Any other time that would have sent me off, but now all I cared about was getting the help Alex needed. I could stay calm for him.
"He needs help," my voice was shaky, but I managed to keep my hysteria at bay. "Will you do something for him?"
"Help's here." The officer pulled me away from the scene, toward where the sirens had come from. "You can start by telling me who you are and what you're doing up here."
"We're hikers. We came up here a week ago." I tried to ignore the heat flowing down my arms from being pinned 242
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behind my back. "He's a cop, for God's sake. We came up here together. We stumbled across them and they shot at us."
"Who is them?"
"Whoever those guys were. The pot growers. We found their plants. They were trying to kill us. They killed those other poor hikers. Did you catch them? There were at least four of them. Maybe more—"
"We have the men in custody. One of them was severely injured. Did you do that? What did you use? A knife? One of those machetes we found?"
I knew they wouldn't believe me, not right now at least.
Still, I had to try.
"It wasn't me. It was a bear."
He stopped and swung me around to face him. His face was torn between confusion and anger. "You trying to tell me a fucking bear did that?"
"Believe me or not, but yes, it was a bear. He shot at her and she attacked him."
He scanned my face and I didn't know what he was looking for, or even what he saw. I knew I must look a mess, bloody and beaten from the last few days. My clothes filthy and not in much better shape than Alex's. I imagined I must have looked half mad. Maybe I was.
"Please, forget about me, just get Alex out of here. He's in bad shape. Take me in, I don't care, but get him to a hospital right now."
"He'll be taken care of. You're coming with me." He started me moving again and within minute we entered a clearing 243
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filled with Forest Services' vehicles and Sheriff's cars, lights flashing and one blessed ambulance standing on the sidelines, two EMTs standing at the open rear door clearly waiting for Alex to be brought out. As I was stuffed into the back seat of the nearest Sheriff's black and white, two other EMTs emerged from the trees with a stretcher between them and Alex laid out on it, covered with a sheet. Seconds before the ambulance doors closed I saw three of them working around him, slapping blood pressure cuffs on him and getting an IV
ready.
I sighed and lay my head back on the hard headrest, and for the first time in days allowed myself to fully relax. He was safe. My Alex was safe now.
I shut my eyes and slept or passed out for my trip down the mountain to safety. I wasn't even really awake when they took me to emergency services to have my own injuries looked at, and tried to figure out what to do with me.
Thankfully they called Alex's boss and she was able to come down and tell them who I was. Still, I spent the night in the same hospital as Alex, released the next day only to find they weren't telling me anything about Alex or letting me see him.
Nancy left me once she knew I was safe. The screaming fit I threw brought her back.
She found me in the lobby of the hospital threatening bodily harm to the next person who tried to throw me out on the street. Unlike anyone else present she wasn't afraid to approach me. She was in my face and took an iron hold on my shoulders.
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"Jason! Settle down. Alex is okay, got it? He's being taken care of, but no one can see him right now. Not you, not me.
Not anybody."
"I'm not leaving until I see him."
"Then you're going to have to settle down and stop acting like a madman. You keep this up and they'll toss you in the can. You don't want that, do you?"
This was the first thing that actually penetrated my rage.
Like a slap of ice water, I blinked and stared at her. "All I want is to know he's going to be okay," I whispered.
"I know. I want that, too. We all do. But you aren't helping anyone by being hysterical. He's in good hands and right now we have to let them do their job."
"What am I going to do?" I realized how plaintive and weak that sounded but I couldn't help it anymore. I
was tired of being strong. I wanted Alex in charge again. He was my real strength. "I'm so tired."
She guided me over to a row of hard orange chairs and forced me to sit. "You've been through a lot in the last few days. We need you to tell us about that, Jason. Tell us exactly what happened up there. Can you do that?"
"I...I don't know."
"Do it for Alex, okay?"
"I...okay." I took a deep, shuddering breath. "Now?"
"Yes. Then you can rest, I promise. And I'll make sure someone tells you as soon as Alex is able to see you."
"Where is he?"
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"He's in surgery. He'll be in there for hours. But the doctor's told me it looks good. He was brought in, in time.
You did a good thing, Jason. You saved his life."
I shook my head, feeling my filthy hair flop over my forehead, almost reaching my eyes. "My fault. I made him leave his gun at home. If I hadn't he wouldn't have been hurt. My fault—"
"No, Jason." She shook me again. "Not your fault. None of this is your fault."
I buried my head in my hands. She patted my shoulder awkwardly.
"He's going to be okay. He needs you to believe that."
Finally, I raised my head to meet her gaze. "He is?"
"Yes, he is. Now go, get some rest. Come back in the morning."
After I answered all their questions, I let a uniformed cop take me out of the hospital to a nearby motel where he booked a room for me. I think I remember entering the room.
I thought about taking a shower but never made it that far. I didn't even take off my Merrills when I fell across the bed and passed out.
The next day one of the Sheriff's deputies drove me up the mountain to get Alex's pickup and get a more detailed report of what we had seen on our hike. Now that I was no longer under their suspicion radar I felt free to talk to them. They already had statements from all the people we had encountered on our hike, and the Sheriff gave me the impression they had also recovered the bodies of the dead 246
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hikers, including, sadly, the two women we had seen with the young man.
I had been about to drive off when I caught movement in the distance. I paused, wondering if it was more hikers, and was startled when the Shepherd crept out. He looked terrible, fur matted and burr covered, his paws lacerated from too many days running over rough ground. I didn't think twice. I called him over and when he shoved his nose into my hand and whined I opened the truck door and signaled him to jump in. I swear he sighed when he settled on the passenger's seat, spilling over the sides he was so big.
The Sheriff watched this, a bemused expression on his face. "He yours?"
"No, but we've got some shared history. I can't leave him up here."
He shrugged. "Well, you take care, sir."
"Thanks." I shut the door and fired up the truck. All the way down I struggled over what I was going to do with the dog. His owner was dead, I had no way of knowing if there was anyone else who might want him and I sure as hell wasn't going to dump him in some pound awaiting God knows what fate.
In the end, I found a kennel willing to take him until I decided what I would do. Knowing the choice wasn't really going to be in my hands. Only Alex could make that kind of decision.
I patted the dog one more time on the head before the kennel girl led him away, then headed back to the hospital where I planned to stay until I knew Alex was safe.
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248
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Spider
I blinked. Blinked again. Then I shut my eyes against the glare and realized the pain was gone. Did that mean I had died, and there really was an afterlife? Wouldn't that be a fucking bitch? Without opening my eyes again I took a deep, lung-purifying breath. No, this can't be heaven or hell. Unless one of them smells like antiseptic and starch. My awareness came back in slow increments. I was lying on my back, underneath stiff, but clean, sheets. I wiggled the toes of my left foot. They scraped across the sheet that covered them. A rush of joy filled me. I wasn't paralyzed. I wriggled my right foot and felt the same satisfaction when it moved, too.
Then I began a closer examination of the rest of my body, one part at a time. My side felt stiff, but the sheer agony that had existed before I had passed out for good was gone. In its place, a numbness I suspected was morphine or Demerol induced.
Voices still filled my head but they were gentle, civilized ones. They were real. Wheels squeaked and rattled over hard floors. Metal banged and music played something soft and classical. Something else beeped beside me and I was vaguely aware of a needle in my arm, tape tugging at my skin. I suspected it was an IV. How long had I been here?
Hell, where was here? Was I in Santa Barbara or L.A.? How bad was I? My memories were flaky at best, but I knew I had been dying. That memory was too solid to be a dream or a hallucination.
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I suspect I came damn close to taking the big sleep.
I was fuzzy on all of it. Who had found me? Who had brought me out? Jason—
Jason! I surged up, adrenaline pumping through me. My eyes flew open. I looked around frantically, ignoring the hands that tried to hold me down. The face peering down at me was a stranger. Dark skinned, gray-streaked beard. He had sharp, brown eyes hiding behind thick glasses.
I tried to shove his hands away but didn't have the strength to lift paper. I was pitifully exhausted when I sank back into the bed. I blinked up at him, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't bring him into focus. Then I realized I wasn't wearing my glasses. When had I lost them?
"Take it easy, Mr. Spider. You're in Cottage Hospital.
You've been through a rough spot, but I assure you that you're going to be okay."
I tried to remember where Cottage Hospital was. Santa Barbara. That didn't answer my main question. Where was Jason—?
Then he came into view. He looked like shit. I tried to smile at him, but from the look on his face I knew the effort failed miserably. His attempt was equally disastrous. His eyes were full of pain and exhaustion, and something I didn't want to identify. But I knew what it was. Fear. When I raised my hand to touch him, the IV in my arm jerked. Jason grabbed my wrist and leaned in, his face inches from mine. So close I could smell his sweat and fear. Sweat dotted his forehead and deep pouches of darkness under his eyes made him look like a cadaver.
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"Don't, Alex. Don't move."
"I want..." I was appalled at how weak I sounded. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Want to touch you."
He leaned down and touched his lips to mine. His hand stroked my cheek and I closed my eyes again, savoring the feel.
"I love you, Alex. Now I want you to stop fighting and rest."
"How...long?"
I saw him look over me at the man on the other side of the bed. My doctor, I assumed. He nodded but it was Jason who spoke.
"Ten days. You've were in surgery for six hours and they moved you from ICU to here four days ago."
Ten days? Ten days gone who knew where. I didn't need Jason telling me to know that a lot of those ten days had been spent keeping me alive. A chill sent shivers down my limbs and I realized to my horror that I was shaking.
My distress upset Jason. He sat on the bed facing me.
Holding my shoulders in both hands he leaned down and whispered for my ears only. "You're going to be okay, Alex.
But you have to rest. I won't leave you. I'll be here forever.
No matter what, I'm never leaving you again."
I had to say it, because if I didn't, maybe I'd never be able to again. From the loo
ks everyone was giving me, I knew I wasn't in the clear yet.
"I love you, Jason. Always. Never forget."
"I know, hon." And his lips brushed mine. "I love you.
More than you will ever know."
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Relief washed over me, along with a smile.
"I need my glasses," I finally whispered. "I can't really see you without them."
"Right now that's probably a good thing. Don't worry, I'll have some new ones brought to you. Now you have to rest.
And that's an order from your doctor, not me."
"Good. I don't want you forgetting your place, do I?"
"Never. I know where it is. Right beside you."
Still smiling, I let sleep claim me again.
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Jason
The minute I knew Alex was no longer conscious I got up off the bed and started pacing. I was torn between wanting to scream or fall on my knees and beg Doctor Abena to make it right. He watched me, silently. The gibbering horror I felt when I had stumbled onto Alex after I drew the two shooters away to their encounter with my bear, still hovered in the back of my mind. It was too ready to unleash again if I didn't keep rigid control. I'd asked about the men the police had arrested. Last I heard one of them was in another hospital, they were all under federal indictment for drugs and interstate commerce or some such bullshit. I didn't care. All I could remember was the first sight of Alex. Sprawled on his side like a discarded sack of potatoes. His hands had been bloody, his fingernails torn off, his face scratched and covered in pine needles and dirt. Flies buzzed around him, landing on his lips and crawling over his half-shut eyes. Crawling and buzzing everywhere, including his still open wound.
I had dressed that wound maybe five days before. Cleaned it with antiseptic and bandaged it. Crudely, yes, but it had been clean. When he forced me to leave him, the bullet wound had been a slice across his side, opening up a six-inch gash that had still been leaking blood.
