The Totem 1979 (45 page)

“What kind?”

“A state policeman.”

There was no way that the overweight man could see from where he was. He veered to the side to get around his companions. He climbed a slope of fir trees, looked down toward the men on the gametrail, and saw Parsons plus two members of the town council searching through blood-stained clothes.

“The shirt has a captain’s insignia,” the overweight man heard Parsons say. “This was Altick’s.”

“But what happened to him?”

“Do I have to draw you a diagram? This gametrail leads up to the mining camp. What do you think happened?”

Apprehensive, the wind-blown men flinched and raised their heads, directing their gaze toward the rockwall miles above them. Even that far away, it dominated.

The overweight man stared at it, wishing that he hadn’t come here. This was wrong. The notion had been fine as long as he was in town, but up here, everything was strange and different. You’re just a little scared is all, he told himself. Just keep your eyes on Parsons. He knows what he’s doing.

All the same, he didn’t understand why there were no policemen here. He’d heard about the trouble Slaughter was in, about Slaughter’s holding back, not acting until it was almost too late. Even so, that didn’t sound like Slaughter, and he wondered if the rumors were true. It could be that we shouldn’t be here, he thought. But he knew that the group could not turn back now, that he’d be considered a coward if he went back on his own. He had to stay, to go with them, although he wished desperately that he had stayed in town.

Then he heard the helicopter. Peering up, he saw it roaring toward him. It was just above the trees. It must have used the gametrail as a line to follow, and it swooped up past him, Slaughter’s grim face distinctive through the canopy. The helicopter’s rotors added to the wind. The overweight man saw the chopper’s belly and the landing struts. The other men stared up, frowning, pointing. Parsons stared up as well. The bloody clothes he held were contorted by the wind.

On the slope, the overweight man stepped higher, peering through an open space between the trees at where the helicopter roared past him, getting smaller, and he strained to catch a final look. He lost his balance. He slipped on the slick mountain grass, thrusting his arms out to grab a branch. But he missed the branch and rolled. When he hit, the slickness beneath him muffled his impact, and he felt the slickness soaking through his pants and shirt, and he gaped beneath him, seeing mashed lungs, bowels, liver, and kidneys. He screamed. But it wasn’t just the guts that made him scream. It was also the bones, ribs and legs, arms and pelvis, shoulders, and most of all the skull, its lipless tongueless teeth bared smiling at him. Throat raw, shrieking, the overweight man tumbled down the slope.

Chapter Six.

In the helicopter, Slaughter pointed. “There they are.” The men were bunched out on the gametrail, wearing red-checkered shirts and khaki hunting jackets, examining an object they had found. At first the trees obscured them. The men were small, then growing larger as the helicopter neared them. Then they must have heard the rotors, and they peered up, and Slaughter saw one man on a wooded slope above the group. The man was squinting up at him. The helicopter roared past, and as Slaughter looked back, he had lost them. He was glancing forward at the final rising sweep of ridges, disturbed by the rockwall looming miles ahead.

‘Just as well we found them. We’ve got less than a quarter tank of fuel,” Hammel said.

“Take her down. My business isn’t on the escarpment. It’s with Parsons.”

“Well, I don’t know where to land this thing.”

They stared ahead. There wasn’t any clearing. All they saw were wooded ridges stretching toward the mountains and the rockwall far above them.

“Look, there has to be a way for you to land. A few more minutes, and we’ll be too far ahead of Parsons for me to walk back and reach him before sundown.”

“There were open spaces behind them.”

“Far

behind. I still wouldn’t be able to reach him before sunset.”

“Well, I don’t see a clearing, so you’d better sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.”

The wind tugged at them, buffeting.

“I don’t think we’ll have a chance to find a place to land. The wind will choose it for us.”

“I don’t understand.”

But then he did. He saw the higher ridge of pine trees they were heading toward. He felt the helicopter jolt to one side, felt the snap of branches underneath him. ‘Jesus, I don’t think you’ve ever flown a helicopter until now.” He braced himself as green obscured the sky. Metal scraped against wood. The helicopter tilted. Slaughter’s head slammed back. Through the canopy, down among the trees, his stomach swooping, he saw granite rush toward him.

Chapter Seven.

Slaughter crawled from the wreckage, stunned, moving slowly. There were broken branches in the boulders all around him, and his shoulder throbbed, and there was something he’d forgotten. Then it came to him. “Is she going to blow?” he blurted to Hammel.

“More than likely!”

Hammel squirmed out on Slaughter’s side. The far side was impassable, the helicopter wedged among boulders and shattered trees, the broken rotors adding to the chaos. Slaughter stood and slumped against the helicopter. He was dizzy. “We have to get these men out.”

He leaned in, feeling off-balance until he realized that the helicopter had tilted when it hit the trees, falling head first, its tail in the air now. He wiped at his eyes to clear their double vision, reaching in for Lucas who was slumped above him, hanging from his seatbelt, dangling across the seat that Slaughter had been in. He had snapped ahead, then back, then forward again, and Lucas now was moaning.

“I smell gasoline,” Hammel said.

“Hurry.”

Slaughter unhitched the seatbelt and pulled at Lucas, bracing himself to take the weight, but even so he stumbled backward, nearly falling in the rocks and broken branches as he felt support behind him and Hammel clutched at Lucas.

“Have you got him?” Slaughter asked.

“He’s mine. Go back for Dunlap.”

Slaughter struggled back into the wreckage. Dunlap was slumped behind the pilot’s seat, and Slaughter had to climb up to reach him. He stretched, his stomach hard against something, and gripped Dunlap’s suit coat, tugging.

“Dunlap, can you hear me?”

Dunlap moaned.

“We have to get you out of here.” Slaughter’s chest was pressed so hard against the top part of the pilot’s seat that he almost couldn’t muster enough breath to talk. He tugged again. ‘You hear me?” He gasped. “This thing’s leaking fuel. We have to get you out of here.”

Slaughter tugged again, and this time Dunlap moved a little.

“Good. That’s good. You’re going to make it,” Slaughter told him. “Unhitch your seatbelt. Try to climb down toward me.”

Dunlap peered groggily toward Slaughter, and his face was bloody. “What?”

“Unhitch your seatbelt. Let me grab you.”

Dunlap nodded, but his eyes were stupid, and “he didn’t move.

“You’ve got to-“

“Yes, I heard you. Can’t you see I’m trying?” Dunlap murmured.

‘Jesus, try harder. This thing’s going to blow.”

Dunlap nodded again. He blinked, fumbled to release his seatbelt, and tried to push himself toward Slaughter. Then Slaughter had him, tugging, and they both slid downward, tumbling low against the instrument panel on the upended helicopter. Slaughter felt Dunlap’s weight upon him, gasping. “Dunlap, I can’t breathe.” Slaughter’s voice was muffled by Dun-lap’s chest against his face.

“I’ll get him off you,” Slaughter heard. He felt Hammel reaching in, and then the weight was off him.

Slaughter inhaled deeply. “Get moving.”

“What about-?”

“I’ll bring the rifles and equipment.”

“Leave them.”

“Can’t. We’ll need them. Get away.”

Hammel almost argued. Abruptly he lifted Dunlap and stumbled through the boulders.

Slaughter strained to raise his head, and then he stood and stretched up to grab the knapsacks, which had fallen behind the seats. He threw them out. Then he grabbed the rifles. He was just about to leave when he saw the camera he had lent Dunlap. Gripping it, he lurched from the helicopter. He fell, gasped, wavered to his feet, hoisted the knapsacks and rifles, and he was running. The odor of fuel was everywhere. He stumbled over a branch, but he managed to keep his balance, and he kept running although he didn’t know where he was going.

“Over here.”

He saw Hammel on a slope above him, tugging Lucas and Dunlap, fir trees thrashing in the wind. Slaughter struggled up the slope, but they were moving higher, cresting, disappearing down the other side. He rushed to catch them, smelling fuel. He slipped and almost fell but kept surging higher. Then he reached the crest and lurched across it, saw them and tumbled toward them, falling. He fought to breathe, huddled among sheltering boulders.

‘Those packs weren’t worth the risk,” Hammel said.

“The rifles are, and anyway we’re stuck up here, we have to eat.”

“I still say-“

“Are you hurt? Is anybody hurt?” Slaughter asked.

“Well, he is.”

They frowned at Dunlap who was propped against a boulder, his eyes closed, blood across his forehead.

“Dunlap, can you hear me?” Slaughter asked.

“Let me rest a minute.”

“Hold still while I check your head.”

Dunlap’s hair was bloody, matted. Slaughter saw the gash above his hairline.

“Is it deep?” Hammel asked.

“I don’t know. There’s too much blood.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Dunlap muttered.

“You’re all right. The blood is clotting.”

‘Jesus, Jesus.”

“Take it easy. Lucas?” Slaughter turned to him. He saw that Lucas was awake at least. The eyes were cloudy, narrowed, but nonetheless open.

“I hear you,” Lucas said.

“This knapsack.” Slaughter tossed it to him. “There’s a first-aid kit. Some bandages and disinfectant. Help me.” Slaughter could have done it by himself, or he could have asked Hammel, but he wanted Lucas to get moving, to regain control, and now he turned to Dunlap. ‘Just hold on. Apart from your head, does the rest of you feel okay?”

“I’m sore, but nothing’s broken. At least, I don’t think so. Jesus.” Dunlap winced, and Slaughter watched as Lucas found and opened the first-aid kit. Slaughter took a bandage. Then he fumbled in the second knapsack for a canteen, wet the bandage, and swabbed at Dunlap’s face.

“You’re looking better.”

Dunlap shook his head and grimaced as Slaughter dabbed the gash above his hairline.

“There’s no more dirt that I can see. I don’t see any bone.

These head wounds can be awfully bloody, even when they’re nothing.”

“Slaughter, you don’t need to lie to me.” ‘

“I’m telling you it’s deep but not too bad. We’ll make sure you don’t go to sleep. We’ll watch for signs of a concussion. If you get afraid, though, you’ll only make it worse. Now hold still while I do this.”

Slaughter opened a tube and squeezed disinfectant onto the wound. He put a square of gauze on top, then wrapped a bandage around the head and tied it. “Don’t touch the bandage. It might slip off.”

Dunlap nodded, slumping lower against the boulder. “Jesus, Jesus.”

Slaughter opened a canteen. “Here. These pills will help the pain.”

He watched as Dunlap took the pills, drank, and swallowed. Then Slaughter turned to Lucas and Hammel. “Both of you are sure you’re all right?”

Both men thought a moment, felt themselves, and nodded.

“What about you?” Hammel asked.

“A little dizzy.”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t mean you’re going into shock.”

“At least the chopper didn’t explode,” Lucas said.

Slaughter leaned against a boulder, wincing. “Well, I guess things could be worse, although right now I’d hate to think exactly how. We’ll rest a little. Then we’ll look for Parsons.”

“Better make it soon. The sun is heading down.”

They all looked up then, and the sun was dipping toward the rockwall up there. The wind thrashed the forest.

“How soon?”

“I don’t know. A couple of hours.”

“And if we don’t find Parsons by then,” Slaughter said, “in the dark we might never Find him.”

Chapter Eight.

The gruesome discovery of the mutilated organs and the dismembered skeleton had not been anything that they’d expected. They’d anticipated the possibility of finding corpses, yes, but not organs that had been chewed and bones from which the flesh had been gnawed. No one had imagined that further degree of horror. For a time they were distracted by the need to calm the man who’d fallen onto the guts and the bones. Then they directed their troubled attention toward the rockwall and were forced to decide if they intended to go farther.

“Look, in nineteen seventy I helped kick out those hippies, but I’m telling you that this bunch isn’t like those others.”

“Sure, that first bunch, they were pacifists.”

“What do you mean ‘pacifists’? They fought us.”

“But they didn’t want to. They knew they were whipped before they started.”

“Christ, what’s wrong with you guys? We just found-“

“I know what we just found. Don’t talk about it.”

“But they-“

“/ don’t want to talk about it! Did you think we’d just hike up, kick their asses, and chase them down the mountain?”

“Hey, you were as eager to come up here as the rest of us.”

“Yeah. And now I wish to God I hadn’t.”

They were silent as the wind howled.

“Well, we have to make a choice. We either go on or go back.”

“They’ll catch us in the forest.”

“What?”

“We don’t have a choice. You saw the barricade, the blood. Hell, you saw Altick, what was left of him. They’ll trap us, and they’ll kill us.”

“We’ve got too many men for that.”

“You think so? There were-what?-five hundred hippies in that commune.”

“There could be less,” a man said, hoping.

“Or a shitload more.”

The hopeful man frowned.

“Why not say two hundred? That’s still more than we have, and they know these hills, they live up here. We haven’t got a chance.”