Rushed (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Eric continued on.  Time passed.  The fields gave way to a rocky, brush-strewn hillside and the path began to wind down into another wide valley.  Again, the land took on that deeply shadowed look, though the sky remained clear and bright.  And the stifling summer air was suddenly cut by a cool wind, as if a storm were approaching. 

He scanned the area all around him, alert for any sign of movement.  Something he had never seen before would likely be appearing any moment and he was sure it wouldn’t be anything as benign as the curious but harmless coyote-deer or a few mutant chickens. 

He wasn’t sure how much more of this his poor heart could stand. 

The ground grew rockier as he reached the bottom of the valley.  And as he followed a narrow stream around the base of a hill, he found himself descending into a deep, rocky canyon.  Everything his eyes fell upon came back to him from the forgotten memory of the dream, as vivid in his mind as it was to his eyes in the present. 

The shadows grew even deeper as the rock walls rose on either side of him.  He had no idea how far the canyon went.  He couldn’t see the far end.  That peculiar chill in the air grew even colder.  The sickening dread that had filled his belly since he first discovered the barn at the far end of Annette’s field began to burn hotter within him.  He caught himself holding his breath as he gazed up at the high walls that held him prisoner on this path, unable to go anywhere but forward and back, and back was apparently not an option. 

Something was wrong here.  He couldn’t recall exactly, but he sensed that something in this place had frightened him in his dream. 

But so far he remembered nothing but these same sheer walls and this winding stream. 

He tried to make himself relax.  There was nothing here.  He was alone.  Being jumpy would not help him avoid hidden dangers.  It would only make things worse when they finally revealed themselves. 

One step after another.  Eyes wide open.  Aware and alert.  This was clearly the path.  The dream told him so.  He needed only to keep moving. 

But then he paused as a memory finally surfaced.  Though nothing appeared now, he suddenly remembered that he
had
seen something in his dream, something high up on the ridge, looking down at him, a hefty, menacing shape. 

In the dream, he had begun to hurry.  And he hurried again now. 

He scanned the canyon walls, looking for the shape from his dream, but it was not here.  Not yet. 

For the time being, at least, he seemed to be alone. 

But just two days ago, something had been prowling this canyon. 

He stepped through the narrow stream, unconcerned with keeping his shoes dry.  (They were still damp anyway from his trek through the swamp.)  He made his way between the rocks, clam
bering past boulders and trying to watch both the walls above and the ground where he put his feet. 

A broken ankle would do nothing to help him survive whatever hunted here. 

In his dream, the creature had disappeared.  He had no idea where it went.  He prayed that it had simply slunk away. 

Here in the waking present, he felt a deep, rising dread inside him as he realized that the dream was about to become a nightmare. 

He considered turning back, but at this point he was already too far within the canyon to see where he entered.  It might be quicker to continue forward.  Besides, the creature in his dream had already seen him.  It might have seen him this time, too.  It might be stalking him even now.  Turning back might only bring him face-to-face with the beast even sooner. 

He needed to trust the dream.  That’s what he had been told.  The dream had always shown him the correct way.  The dream didn’t take him into Altrusk’s house.  The dream didn’t take him to the wardrobe.  He only experienced those awful places because he left the path laid out for him in his dream, the path he would have taken if he’d arrived before the foggy man, safe from his nasty tricks. 

Many of the things he’d seen today were not to be found in his dream.  Two days ago, he never spotted a coyote-deer.  He never ran afoul of Furious George with his terrible teeth.  But there had also been things in his dream that weren’t here today.  There was the thing swimming in the swamp, for example.  It never showed itself to him today as it apparently would have two days ago.  Maybe this would prove to be the same. 

He scanned the walls on either side of him, watching for a prowling shape. 

The dream continued to unroll in his mind, revealing itself to him as it would have happened.  He was afraid in his dream.  And he was afraid now.  Something lived in these rocks.  And he was sure it was still here somewhere.  In both times, it remained nowhere to be seen. 

He followed a bend in the stream, where the canyon floor grew narrow, and peered up into the crack of sky above him.  The walls were at least sixty feet high now.  There was no way out but back and forward. 

A lone hawk was circling high above.

He glanced behind him as the previous section of the canyon was obscured by the crowding walls, and recalled that he’d done the same in the dream. 

In the dream, he glimpsed a shape bounding along a high ledge, following him. 

His fear swelled, both in his dream and now, though he saw no such shape today. 

It was not his imagination.  Something was here.  It had been here two days ago and it was here now.

“Isabelle?”

Immediately, his cell phone chimed a message.

I’M HERE

“Are you seeing this?”

I AM

“What is it?”

I DON’T KNOW

He turned in a circle, scanning the rocks all around him, looking for some sign of something watching him, but still there was nothing. 

I DON’T REALLY UNDERSTAND THE DREAM, BUT I KNOW IT’S REAL.  WHATEVER YOU SEE WOULD HAVE BEEN HERE TWO DAYS AGO

“What should I do?”

I DON’T KNOW

“Yeah.  I don’t know, either.”

DON’T PANIC

“Right.”

In his dream, he’d begun to move faster.  He did the same now. 

Weaving between the rocks, following the stream, splashing through the water, Eric made his way deeper into the canyon, his eyes wide open for the slightest indication that he was no longer alone.

BE CAREFUL

Eric thought that went without saying.

He glanced back.  Still there was nothing.

He’d glanced back in the dream, as well, and something was peering back at him from behind a boulder, watching him with fierce, yellow eyes. 

Only two days ago, there was a monster in this canyon.  Where was it now? 

His dream began to unravel faster.  He hurried onward, weaving around the rocks, looking back and forth from the unending path before him to the danger behind him.  He saw the creature slip lithely from behind its rock and stalk after him.  It looked like a cat, a mountain lion, perhaps, but it was a deep shade of speckled red and appeared to have very long hair. 

Dream Eric did not linger to appreciate the cuteness of a fluffy killer cat.  He began to run.

In the present, Real Eric began to run as well, his eyes wide open.  No such cat was visible today, but the terror of his dream fueled him.  He could not make himself believe that the same cat was not here at this moment, already preparing to pounce. 

He remembered the beast charging. 

He came to a stop as the memories came flooding back to him, and stared at the rocks ahead of him.  That was where it happened.  Where it
would have happened
.  He’d run for his life.  He’d leapt over that boulder, but the cat was faster, more agile. 

It was on him in seconds, knocking him to the ground.  It dug painful gashes into his right arm as it pinned him to the ground.

Now, Eric seized the same arm, wincing.  He could actually feel the pain as the memories overwhelmed him. 

He tried to defend himself, but the cat was so strong.  It snapped at him.  Its teeth were so big, much bigger than any cat’s teeth.  And its ears were wrong for a cat.  They were long and floppy.  And something about the nose wasn’t quite right either, but he couldn’t recall it exactly.  He’d only had a moment to take these things in before the beast that wasn’t quite a cat bit off half of his right hand. 

Eric looked down at his hand, the same hand, trying to grasp the absurdity of remembering this hand without three of its fingers, without half the palm. 

So much blood. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

He remembered.  God, he remembered it all, every excruciating detail. 

He’d clutched for something—anything—to fight the monster off.  It slashed him with its claws.  It nearly tore his ear off! 

Its back claws dug into his legs, holding him down. 

He was going to die. 

Eric pressed his hands to his face, trying to force away the image of those horrible, blood-covered teeth snapping at him, but it wouldn’t go away.  The dream was going to reveal itself and he had no choice but to watch. 

The pain was excruciating, but still he struggled. 

His cell phone chimed again.  He looked down at it, numb with shock at the things he was seeing. 

GOD, ERIC…

Still, the memory unraveled.  Somehow, his left hand fell on something.  A rock.  His fingers wrapped around it.  He swung it.  He missed.  He swung again and clipped the beast’s bared teeth.  It roared at him. 

In the present, Eric opened his eyes.  There was the rock, lying right where he’d found it, unmoved because he never actually came here that day, never had to face the hell cat. 

He remembered thrusting the rock upward.  His aim was true.  The narrow end of the rock struck the creature in the eye.  It roared with pain and leapt off of him, shaking its head. 

He scrambled away from it, his eyes searching the ground for a better weapon.  He found another rock.  One with a sharper tip. 

He could see that rock too, lying near the base of the canyon wall. 

Dream Eric stood up and faced the cat, threatening it with the sharp rock. 

He could see himself, his mangled hand dripping blood, more blood running down his arm, down the side of his face, down his legs, soaking his shirt and pants. 

The cat-thing seemed to consider this weapon.  It wasn’t impressed.  It moved closer and he thrust the rock’s tip at it, aiming for its eyes, though he wasn’t quite close enough to reach. 

The creature stopped.  It eyed him carefully.  It almost seemed to
calculate
the situation.  Then it began to back away. 

Even in a state of shock, Dream Eric had realized that it wasn’t over.  The cat wasn’t stupid.  It hadn’t managed to kill him, but it wasn’t over.  There was no reason to risk being struck by the rock.  Its prey was badly hurt.  It wouldn’t be much longer. 

It retreated back into the canyon from which it came, but it didn’t go far. 

Eric’s eyes scanned the walls.  He could still see no sign of the cat, but this was an excellent hunting ground.  He had no doubt that if it wasn’t here now, it would soon return. 

Isabelle sent him another message:  GET OUT OF THERE!

He paused long enough to retrieve the pointed rock from the dream.  If the cat put in an appearance today, he’d at least have something to jab into its eye from the start.  Now armed—though he’d much rather have one of Father Billy’s assault rifles—he moved on, still shocked by the horrors he’d just recalled.  And still the memories continued to play out in his mind. 

Wounded, bleeding profusely, nearer to death than he’d ever been in his life, the Eric of two days ago had continued on, desperate to get out of this canyon before he collapsed and became an easy meal for the clever cat. 

He recalled using his shirt to slow much of the bleeding, but he couldn’t stop it.  Not all of it.  Death had become a grim probability. 

Now, two days after that encounter with the cat that never actually happened, Eric followed the stream along the canyon floor, his eyes scanning every rock, every crevice, searching for the beast he knew would try to kill him because it had already happened…even if it hadn’t actually come to pass. 

All this insanity was beginning to make his head hurt. 

As he rounded the next bend, he came upon a pool of blood beside the water and bent to examine it. 

He was no hunter or tracker, but even he could tell that something had been badly wounded here recently, probably within the past couple hours.  Maybe sooner. 

In his dream, he’d stumbled through this area, watching the rocks above him, occasionally catching sight of a dark, red shape moving along the rim above him, watching him, waiting for him to collapse and serve himself politely up for dinner. 

He saw no blood in his dream, except of course for his own, which he left in frightful quantities. 

Perhaps today the cat had found another meal.  Perhaps one of those coyote-deer had wandered through the canyon, or even an
ordinary
deer.  If that was the case, then perhaps the cat was fed and napping, unconcerned with Eric’s trespass.