Hunted Past Reason

  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.

  Now the coffee was steaming. Using his shirttail to hold the hot metal handle of the cup, he sipped at the coffee with powdered milk and sugar in it. It tasted wonderful too. He ate an energy bar and took continued sips from the metal cup. As he did, he kicked dirt onto the hole in which he'd placed the rabbit directly on the stone, turning it over and over, blackening it on the outside, hoping that the inside would get cooked enough to make it edible.

  He looked at his watch. He'd been here almost twenty-five minutes. Had it been too long? There was just no way of knowing where Doug was, how fast he was moving in his demented pursuit.

  No matter. He had to eat and he did. The rabbit, probably more raw than cooked, sat in his stomach in lumps. To hell with it, he told himself. He needed protein, he had it now.

  He finished putting out the fire and kept sipping at the hot coffee, nibbling at the rest of the blackberries in his pocket. He'd finish the coffee, then move on. Even sitting, he was aware of every ache in his body. Never mind, he thought. You saved that mountain lion, didn't you? He had the time. Even as he thought it, he realized that the logic made no sense at all. Yet, somehow, it was satisfying to him. He was amazed that he was even able to stand after the strain he'd put on his back, lifting that tree. Adrenaline, he thought. There really was something to it. To his knowledge, he'd never consciously experienced its effect before. He sure did this time though.

  It came to him, as he thought, that his belief system had value to him only as a philosophy that had no tangible effect on the realities of his life. Perhaps if he was so spiritually advanced he would actually control those physical realities. He wasn't though. He had the belief system, period.

  So he believed in life after death. So what? It didn't make his plight any easier to endure. Surviving death, however certain it might be, didn't alter by a single detail the knowledge that a madman was chasing him, planning, after the killing, to move in on Marian. Under these circumstances, his belief system was of limited or no use at all to him. He didn't have the time to sit on a log and ponder on the infinite.

  Karma? Sure, maybe this entire terrifying experience was part of his karma. Again, so what? Believing that Doug would eventually pay the price for what he was doing didn't help a bit. Big deal, he thought in disgust. The only thing that mattered was staying alive; and the details of living were up to him.

  Maybe he'd spent so much time thinking about the meaning of life that he'd almost overlooked the fact that he was alive.

  It was a bizarre notion but, in a real sense, maybe Doug was doing him a favor. He knew very well that this was the last thing in the world Doug intended. It was true though.

  By threatening him with death, it was just possible that Doug had reacquainted him with life.

  2:16 PM

  He emerged from the forest and saw an open, boulder-strewn slope in front of him at the bottom of which— about fifty yards distant— was a cliff overlooking distant forest and mountains.

  He felt a stab of dread. Had he miscalculated the compass reading? Hastily, fingers trembling, he removed the compass from his jacket pocket and took a reading. An even more severe stab of dread now. The route Doug had instructed him to follow pointed directly toward the cliff. He couldn't possibly climb down that. Had it been a ruse on Doug's part after all? A ghoulish trick to lead him to this hopeless end?

  "No, wait," he muttered. "Wait." Doug had told Marian that she'd enjoy the cabin's deck, which overlooked forest and mountains. This had to be the view he was describing to her. He must have drifted to the left or right, probably the left, he decided. Looking into the distance, he saw what appeared to be a turn to the cliff top. At this right turn, the forest continued. He'd keep moving into it. Eventually, the cliff would turn toward the north and the compass reading would lead him on correctly. He had to believe that anyway.

  He went back into the forest and kept on walking as rapidly as he could. If the cliff was here, maybe the lodge Doug had mentioned was just ahead.

  He was sitting in a blackberry patch, eating some of them, when a black bear pushed its way into the patch.

  "Oh, my God," he muttered.

  Without thinking, he immediately rolled himself into as tight a fetal position as he could, thinking about having his flesh clawed open.

  Ignoring him completely, the bear turned and ambled out of the blackberry patch.

  Bob unrolled himself and sat up. "It wasn't a grizzly bear, it was—"

  His words broke as he began to laugh softly and uncontrollably. It didn't even pay attention to him for chrissake! It must have thought: Who in the hell is that idiot rolling himself into a ball? Bob laughed until tears were running down his cheeks.

  Then he went on eating blackberries and washing them down with water.

  A few minutes later, his bowels moved so quickly, he barely had time to pull down his pants and assume a squatting position.

  He'd been moving steadily for the last hour, walking as fast as he could, deliberately
ignoring the aches and pains he felt. Taking three aspirins had helped. He didn't dare take any more and risk possibly falling asleep.

  At least, he seemed to be still ahead of Doug. To say the least, it was encouraging. Maybe he'd reach the cabin today after all. If his luck held out.

  He was traversing a slope with a ten-to fifteen-degree decline toward the cliff edge. He leaned away from the edge as he walked, feeling edgy at being so close to that tremendous drop.

  Suddenly, catching him completely by surprise, a burst of wind hit him, throwing him down to the rocky ground, tearing the cudgel from his grip. My God, where did that come from? he thought.

  He started to stand, then found himself slipping on the layer of pine needles on the slope. He struggled up to his knees and tried to stand again. The pine needles slipped out beneath him again and he fell on his chest and stomach.

  To his horror, every move to stand he made caused him to fall again and begin sliding backward toward the cliff edge. "Oh, no," he muttered. Was this the way it was going to end, falling thousands of feet to a horrible, crushing death?

  He tried to crawl away from the cliff edge and found himself slipping backward again, the pine needles shifting constantly beneath him.

  "No," he said, terrified. He tried again, more desperately this time, to crawl up the slope. The movement only caused him to slip even more.

  Spread eagle, the thought came abruptly. He stretched his legs and arms to the side, lying motionless, feeling his heartbeat pounding at the slope.

  Now what? he wondered. He thought hard, then, very slowly, using his right hand, he brushed away the pine needles in front of him.

  His gaze scanned the rocky face. With the pine needles gone, he could see that the surface of the slope was uneven, cracks here and there.

  Very carefully, again as slowly as possible, he reached up and curled the fingers of his right hand into the tiny crevice. His fingers dug in tightly, and grunting from the effort, he pulled himself up to the crack, using only the strength of his right arm to get him there, the pain in his right wrist, arm, and shoulder making him groan.