Jase & the Deadliest Hunt (16 page)

THERE ARE TIMES
when the joke is over, and life has given you something hard and awful to deal with, and you have no idea how to handle it. At these points, all you can do is stand up and stay strong and pray for God's help.

That's exactly what you're doing.

You're wet and you're bleeding, but worse than that, you're completely bewildered.

You still don't know what you saw.

You still don't know
what
you're waiting for.

But as you crouch behind a boulder on the edge of Mount Fear, a jutting rocky cliff straight in front of you, you realize that you've never seen or heard anything like this before.

You breathe deeply.

It'll be okay. I'll be okay. The boys are fine, and Willie's hopefully fine.

The jokes are done. This is some serious crazy stuff.

You wipe your face as the rain gushes down.

It started a couple of hours ago as you hiked up the mountain. You all got soaked when it began to rain, but that wasn't a big deal.

The big deal started with the strange sounds. Loud, ferocious cat noises. Everyone assumed they belonged to a cougar. To some kind of mountain lion.

So you all searched the area around this cliff.

John Luke was the first to spot
it
.

He fired a shot with his crossbow and actually nicked it.

But then he was out of there.

When he reached you and Willie, he was screaming with terror. You couldn't understand what he was saying at first. It sounded like “The mountain lion talks
 
—it talked to me.”

Surely John Luke had a little too much fun in the sun the day before. Or maybe the strange food and stranger animals have gotten to him.

Then Cole came out of nowhere, screaming that the mountain lion had legs like a human.

At that point, you were beginning to think something was wrong with
both
of them.

But that was before you saw it.

That was before you
heard
it.

No, it wasn't mocking you. It wasn't laughing.

No. It sounded like . . .

That can't be. So don't even think that because there's
no way
.

But you know what you saw and heard.

You saw the mountain lion walking on its hind feet like some kind of weird
something
.

What do I call it? A mountain man? A coug-man? A man-cat?

At that moment, the mountain lion opened its mouth and said, “You act like you've never seen a cat walking on two legs before,
Mr. Robertson
.”

The voice sounded
just
like Count VanderVelde's.

So he's secretly half-cougar, and I've secretly
lost my mind
?

The cougar raced up the mountain before you could respond.

You sent the boys down to the lodge after that. It's only you and Willie now.

Silently you wait with the crossbow aimed toward the flat field just past the steep incline. Willie has gone up to draw the lion out of hiding. He's the bait today.

So this time, maybe I'll accidentally take off a chunk of his side with my arrow.

But jokes aside, there is nothing to laugh at.

This is crazy, and you just want to get out of here.

You keep thinking,
Am I dreaming?
But the rain and the ache in your legs and the fear in your gut mean this is definitely
not
a dream.

Deep breath in, deeper breath out.

Stay focused, Jase. Focus.

Soon a sopping-wet, hideous creature emerges from the dark. Yes, he happens to be your brother, but that doesn't change the fact that Willie's running in complete and utter terror. You've never seen him so scared.

“It's comin'! It's comin'!”

He rushes up to you, stumbling on the way.

Then you see it. The massive, silver-gray mountain lion. This time it's running on all four legs. But as it steps onto the flat ground just past your position, it stands on its two hind legs, tall and menacing.

You don't hesitate.

You fire a shot that hits the creature in the neck. Then you reload fast and fire off another shot.

The hulking mountain lion goes down.

“Did you get it?” Willie asks, panting.

“I got it. Two shots.”

He's got the crossbow in his hands once again. “Okay, come on. Let's go see what that thing is.”

You reload your crossbow just in case, then head over to check it out.

But when you get to where the mountain lion should be, you don't see anything.

“Where is it?” Willie asks.

“It was right here.”

“I'm not seeing anything.”

“It was right there!”

You peer up at the rocky mountainside above you and all around, but you don't see a thing.

“I shot it,” you insist. “It went down.”

“Well, it didn't
stay
down.”

For the next hour, the two of you search for it. You spot a little blood
 
—it's a strange grayish-red color. The downpour has washed away all but a few traces of the bloody trail, and rain continues to fall.

Eventually you're forced to give up.

“I know I shot that thing,” you tell Willie. “I definitely wounded it.”

You don't want to ask Willie about the voice you heard. The fact that it looked like a human on its hind feet is one thing, but the voice . . .

And the fact that it sounded like Count VanderVelde?

That's just insanity.

But you know insanity. You know it quite well.

Go here
.

THE YELLOW PLATE
in front of you contains melted cheese over . . . something. Melted cheese over lots of somethings.

“Ah yes, you have the melt,” Count VanderVelde says.

“The melt?” you ask. “I know what a patty melt and a tuna melt are, but what kind of melt is this?”

“Well, this is the weekly melt. We collect various things in a pot over a week and then put melted cheese on them.”

You start picking at the food. “This looks like a fly.”

“Yes, that’s possible. The pot can collect those over a week. We put it outside.”

“You put a pot outside? For what possible reason?”

“It’s a long-standing tradition that the island will feed you. That’s what the natives think.”

“The natives?” you ask. “Are these people who are still here on the island?”

He smiles without answering. Figures. You take a bite, and the flavor reminds you of cheddar cheese and . . .

“I swear this tastes like dirt.”

“You are eating a portion of the island. You will forever have a part of this place within you.”

“Maybe I’m okay with just having West Monroe inside me.”

The others might normally laugh, but they’re having issues with their own food.

Go here
.

“WE LOOK LIKE A BUNCH OF FOOLS,”
you say as you glance forward at John Luke, Cole, and Willie, who’s leading the pack as point man.

Each of them is carrying a cowbell in one hand and a drumstick in the other.

“Then you look no different from normal,” Willie says.

“I’m holding a
cowbell
.”

“You’re the one who picked it!”

“What if it doesn’t even work?” You’ve been second-guessing ever since leaving the complex.

Winchester told you to make sure the target is at least five feet in front of you before engaging the cowbell. You’re more curious than anything to see if this really, truly is a weapon.

“Why don’t we find out what this baby can do?” you ask.
If nothing else, you could throw it at the target. Or hit the animal over the head with it. Or ring it really loud as a diversionary tactic.

“Yeah, let’s try it out,” John Luke says.

You’re sweating like a dog and seemingly have been walking in circles for the entire morning. You simply want to take a break and have some fun.

“Okay. Y’all stand behind me. I’m going to give it a try.”

You’re near a slight opening in the woods where the blue sky can be seen. You hold the cowbell out and strike it hard with the drumstick.

It doesn’t make a noise at first, but then a sharp blast goes off right in front of you.

“That’s like setting off an M-80!” Willie says.

“I think it fires in the direction you’re holding the cowbell,” you say. “My left arm was pointed this way, and that’s where the blast went off.”

Suddenly another blast sounds. Then another.

“Hey, knock it off!” you call out to John Luke and Cole. “You’re going to scare everything away.”

Cole smiles. “We’re just testing it.”

“Wonder how many rounds we have?” Willie asks.

“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Before continuing, you examine the damage. The cowbell left several six-inch-deep holes in the ground. Whatever and however the cowbell is firing, it sure does pack a punch.

You decide to lead for a while, but soon you get off the trail you’ve been following and head into dense growth. You’re surrounded not only by towering, ancient trees but also by thick vines and brush.

“We should backtrack,” Willie says. “I’m being eaten alive by mosquitoes.”

“I think it gets a little clearer ahead,” you reassure him.

After another few minutes, you’re engulfed by weeds and branches and vegetation, so much so that you can hardly see your feet.

“Okay, this is ridiculous,” you say.

John Luke and Cole hold their cowbells high as they wade through the mess.

Then you feel something jam up against your leg. Something moving.

You pull aside the brush only to see something dark and thick and ugly. Really, really ugly.

A hog.

The biggest hog you’ve ever seen.

For a second you’re about to
 
—wait. You have something that shoots off bomb blasts.

“Gentlemen, I think
 
—”

“Right there! I got something, right there!” Willie is yelling and screaming, and the next thing you know, blasts are going off on all sides of you.

You see two
 
—no, three, four, five
 
—hogs bolting away. Not
waddling or scooting, but
darting
away. Meanwhile, the explosions all around you are tearing tree bark and vines and ripping through shrubs and leaves.

Soon everything quiets down.

Not one hog was touched. They’ve all disappeared.

You run in the direction they may have gone, but it’s pointless. They’re too fast.

You just got beat by a pack of massive island hogs in a footrace. What’s that all about?

“See where they went?”

“No, I didn’t,” you yell, sucking in breaths. “Not with you guys blowing up the entire forest!”

You all stand there looking at the devastation around you. Cole hits his cowbell one more time. There’s just a dull thud. “Guess I’m out of ammo.”

You shake your head. “I’ve never heard of anything more ridiculous in my life.”

Unfortunately you won’t be able to use your cowbell anymore, even though you’ve still got several rounds left. The hogs, or whatever they were, are gone for the rest of the day. It’s like they were never here in the first place.

You can’t go on without game to bring to the count. Your mission is over.

The women are gonna wonder why you’re back so soon.

“Don’t tell anybody I picked the cowbell,” you warn the rest of the guys. “Or that I got outrun by a hog.”

“Oh, I’m telling them,” Willie says. “The world’s gonna know about this. Trust me.”

Some grand hunting expedition
this
turned out to be.

THE END

Start over.

Read “Let the Good Times Roll: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”