Hunted Past Reason (30 page)

He tried to deflect his sense of exhaustion by looking at the area he was passing through. On each side of him were darkly forested hillsides that disappeared in heavy mist. The entire valley he was walking through had a low ceiling of mist, lying like pale wool above the trees. He could barely see the target pine tree through the mist. The valley was dead still. The only sound he could hear was the crackling stumble of his boots. He hoped he would be out of the misty section of forest soon. His jacket, still damp, felt cold on him.

Still, the silent valley was extremely beautiful, he thought, then recalled that, somewhere he had read that, just before death, everything looked beautiful. He forced away the notion but realized that his resistance was becoming weaker and weaker. He had to face the facts. At any moment, he might break down, crumple to the forest floor, and lie there helplessly, unable— even unwilling— to go on.

Don't, he pleaded with himself. Just keep moving, moving. Doug couldn't run after him; he had to be tired too. His grip tightened on the cudgel. Just keep on, he thought. Keep on. Keep on.

Keep on!

10:48 AM

His gaze nearly out of focus, he almost walked directly into the mountain lion.

With a dry gasp, he recoiled, hearing the hiss and snarl of the lion; it was big, its tawny body eight feet long. He froze, preparing himself to die. There was no possible way he could escape.

But the lion didn't attack. As he stared at it in terror, he saw it slump back on the ground, its greenish-gray eyes fixed on him, its mouth open, teeth bared in a threatening growl. Why doesn't it attack? he wondered. Surely, this was not another apparent miracle of protection.

Then he saw the reason. The mountain lion's right rear leg was pinned beneath a fallen tree, it was unable to do more than try to stand on its front legs.

"Oh, you poor thing." Bob couldn't help but feel sorry for the trapped cat. "How long have you been that way?"

The mountain lion growled again, a rumbling in its throat and chest.

"It's all right," Bob told it. He quickly put down his branch cudgel. "You don't have to growl." He made shushing noises until the mountain lion grew still. Bob saw now that its tongue was hanging out and it was panting. "You're thirsty," he said. "Well . . ." He couldn't very well put water in his palm for the cat. He'd lose his hand if he tried.

He stood immobile for a while, wondering what to do. Practicality advised that he move on, Doug was still after him.

He couldn't though. He knew that if Doug ran across the mountain lion— and he probably would— he'd immediately fire an arrow into the trapped cat. Or cut off its head with his golak.

He couldn't allow that. I'm not
like
him, he thought. I can't just leave it here. I
won't
, goddamn it.
I just won't
.

He looked around and saw that the trunk of the fallen tree had some bark torn away. Maybe he could . . .

Taking out his knife— the movement made the lion growl— he began to peel away a section of bark several feet in length.

"You don't have to growl now," he told the cat in a gentle voice, "I'm going to see if I can give you a drink. Just lie still now. Shh. Shh."

The cat became quiet and watched, seemingly curious as to what he was doing. "That's right," he said, "I'm going to try and give you a drink, okay?"

Now the mountain lion's mouth was shut except for the tip of its red tongue protruding slightly. It watched as Bob peeled away the section of bark. "Now," he said, "let's see if this will work."

The strip was already curled up on both sides. At first he considered trying to use it as a trough through which he could pour the water into the cat's mouth. He gave up that idea immediately. Cats didn't drink that way.

Carefully, he began to bend up one end of the curled bark strip. It wouldn't hold, making him frown. If he only had one of those backpack straps now, he thought. He looked around. Something to tie up the end with, he thought. Something to—

"Ah," he said. He reached into his trouser pocket and took out his handkerchief. It was still damp but that didn't matter. He twisted it again and again until it formed a kind of thick, white twine that he used to tie up one end of the bark length. Then, pouring water from the bottle into the curved bark, he began to slide it slowly toward the lion. A rumble sounded in its chest. "No, don't growl," he told it quietly. "I'm trying to give you a drink. Don't growl now. Shh. It's okay. I'm just trying to give you a drink."

The bark-held water was close enough now for the cat to drink from it but it only eyed the bark suspiciously, not moving. "Go on," Bob told it softly. "Water. It's water."

The mountain lion extended its broad white paw and hit the bark, knocking it aside as the water spilled on the ground. "Aw,
no
," Bob said. "Don't do that. I'm trying to give you a drink. Come
on
now."

As he pulled back the length of curved bark, Bob wondered if he was committing suicide by staying so long with the trapped lion. He made a hapless sound. "What am I supposed to do, just let it die?" he asked, of whom he had no idea.

"All right," he said, "I'm going to try again. Now just don't knock it over. I know you're thirsty."

Pouring more water into the curved bark, he pushed it back toward the cat. "All right, I'm doing it again," he said. "Now
drink
, will you? Just drink?"

The cat slapped at the bark, spilling the water again.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, pussy," Bob said unhappily. "I can't stay here all day, trying to give you a drink of water. A crazy guy is after me and wants to kill me."

Again, he put water in the bark, holding the bottle higher so the cat could see the water being poured. "See?" he said. "Water. I
know
you're thirsty. Now you're going to drink this time, all right? Water. Water."

The cat watched him push the length of bark to it. This time it didn't move. "Come on," Bob said. "Drink. Drink."

He felt an unexpected rush of joy as the lion lowered its head and began to lap at the water with its tongue. "That a boy— or girl— I don't know which but I'm not going to check," Bob said, feeling a strange flow of happiness inside himself. "Drink. Good water. Good."

When the lion had drunk all the water, Bob leaned forward without thinking to pour more into the bark. The cat jerked up his head to stare at him but for some reason, Bob didn't feel alarmed. He poured more water into the bark. "There you go," he said. "Have some more."

Without a sound, the mountain lion lowered its head and lapped up the new supply of water. "That's the way," Bob told it, smiling. "You're really beautiful, you know that?"

The cat
was
beautiful, its head covered with multi shades of brown, gray, and beige all blended perfectly, its nose dark red, the fur beneath its nose and on its chin a snowy white, its whiskers and hairs sticking out above its eyes also white. Its long body was a soft, tawny brown, its chest white.

"You
are
beautiful," Bob told it. "And I'm going to get you out of here right now."

He blinked at his audacity. Get it
out
of here?
How
, for God's sake? He couldn't get close enough to the lion to try to raise the fallen tree. The cat would kill him. Maybe glad to get that water but not suddenly domesticated.

Bob looked around uneasily. I have to get out of here myself, he thought. I can't waste any more time. But, again, the conviction gripped him. He simply could not leave the mountain lion for Doug to slaughter. No matter how long it took to—

"Ah!"
he said. Another inspiration. Well, a workable idea at any rate, he decided.

He moved to the fallen tree. A branch wouldn't be strong enough; he had to have a limb. Fortunately, in its fall, one of the limbs had almost cracked away from the trunk. Bob took out his knife and hacked at the splintered wood holding the limb in place. Could really use that golak now, he thought, wincing at the image of how deadly a weapon it was. Not that it was designed to be exclusively a weapon. That was, of course, how Doug regarded it though. He tried to rid his mind of the image as he cut the limb free.

It took only a few minutes for him to cut away the branches. This should do the trick, he thought. "I'm going to get you out of here, pussy," he said. He grimaced at himself.
Pussy?
This was no house cat. He recalled, fleetingly, Doug calling him that. Bastard, he thought.

The limb was ready now. He moved to the opposite side of the tree and spoke across the foliage to the mountain lion. "I'm going to raise the tree now," he told it. "When I do, pull out your leg and move off. I hope your leg isn't broken. However . . . just don't kill me after you're free, okay? I really don't deserve it. Right. Let's see what happens."

He pushed the end of the limb as far beneath the trunk as possible, keeping it away from the lion's trapped leg. "All right," he said. "Archimedes's principle, pussy. The lever. Get yourself ready."

He pressed down on the end of the limb. Nothing budged. "Oh, Christ, I hope it's not too heavy," he muttered. He pressed down harder, using more strength. The effort sent barbs of pain through his lower back. "I'm not sure I'm going to be able to do this," he told the cat and himself. "Jesus, don't let the tree be
too
heavy."

He pressed down harder, teeth clenched against the pains it caused in his back. "What am I doing this for?" he muttered. "Trying to save you, I'll ruin myself. Is that fair?
Ah!
" A quick smile pulled back his lips. The tree was lifting off the ground. "Get ready, pussy, get ready," he said, breathless now. "Pull out your leg."

The cat remained motionless, its throat filled with vibrating growls.

"For Christ's sake, pussy, pull your leg out," he begged. "I can't keep holding up the tree." Wasn't there enough of it lifted for the cat to free its leg? he wondered. He groaned in agony as he pushed down harder on the limb. "Come on," he said through gritted teeth. "Pull out your leg. I can't keep—"

He broke off in shock as the limb snapped and the tree trunk fell back on the mountain lion's leg. Its high-pitched scream of pain horrified Bob. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," he said, barely able to speak. "I didn't mean for that to happen. It wasn't me, it was the limb. It broke, it broke."

The mountain lion uttered an unearthly sound of pain and fury.

Suddenly, uncontrollably, Bob began to cry. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said brokenly, tears pouring from his eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm trying to help you get away." He could hardly speak he was sobbing so hard. "You can't stay here, you'll die. Don't you understand? You have to move or you'll die."

Fury filled him with startling abruptness. "Goddamn it, pussy!" He began to rage. "Are you just going to give up and die?! Don't you want to live?! Don't you?!"

With a sudden move, he grabbed hold of a still intact limb and struggled to lift the tree. "Damnit, you are going to live, you hear me?" he told the cat in a fury. "I'm going to lift this goddamn tree, and when I do, you're going to pull your goddamn leg out, do you hear me? Do you
hear
me, cat?!"

Later, he wondered where on earth the strength had come to him to raise the tree trunk. Was it the kind of desperate strength that helped tiny women to lift the weight of a car off their child's leg? He never knew. All he knew, at this moment, was that his body felt suffused with a kind of maddened power that enabled him to lift the tree trunk from the mountain lion's pinned leg.

"Now move, goddamn it! Move! Pull out your leg! You hear me, goddamn it! Pull out your fucking leg!"

The mountain lion suddenly lurched free and leaped to its feet, growling fiercely.

All rage vanished in an instant, all unnatural strength. He stood frozen, watching the mountain lion starting to limp around the tree to get at him.

"Now come on," he pleaded. "I just saved your life. I gave you water. I lifted the tree and freed your leg. You don't want to kill me. You know you don't."

The mountain lion stopped its limping move around the tree. Was it the sound of his voice, no longer furious but, once more, gentle? He had no idea but kept on talking.

"Just move on now, pussy, just move on," he said. "If your leg is broken, there's nothing I can do about that. But at least you aren't trapped. My crazy friend can't kill you now." He broke into a bitter laugh, causing the cat to cock its head and gaze at him curiously. "He's not my friend. He's nuts. He wants to kill me. I'd love it if you got
him
instead of me. But just move on. I'm going to turn and get on my way. Don't jump on my back now, please. Just stay here 'til I'm gone, then move on. Okay? I'm going to turn and walk away now. Just stand still. I wish you well. Good-bye now."

As slowly as he could, he picked up the cudgel, turned and started off into the forest, chills lacing up and down his spine as he walked, anticipating a dreadful roar behind him, the sound of the huge cat's thrashing body, the crushing weight of its body leaping on his back, the claws digging into him, the sharp teeth rending at his flesh. Much good the cudgel would do him.

Nothing happened though. After a minute had passed, he stopped and turned around. The mountain lion was standing motionless, watching him go. Without thought, he raised his right arm. "Bye," he said. "Take care of yourself."

He turned around and walked on into the forest. A miracle? he wondered. Or simply that the mountain lion knew he'd saved its life?

He sighed. At least that bastard Doug would never get to kill it now.

12:09 PM

He'd followed the instructions in the booklet Marian had given him, found a flat, concave stone and heated it over a fire. Then, when the rock was hot (he'd put drops of water on it until the last one sizzled) he'd placed the rabbit, open side down on the rock and fried it as long as he dared.

It was barely done, but it tasted magnificent. He was conscious of tearing at it like a wild animal, ripping off large chunks of it with his teeth, chewing it noisily and probably swallowing it too soon. But it tasted delicious and he ate every scrap of it.